by Unconquered
“Oh, Mama! It is so unfair that Miranda is unhappy when I am so happy.” Amanda stood up, and hurried after her sister.
“Well, Thomas?” Dorothea Dunham gazed accusingly at her husband.
He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize she felt so strongly, m’dear.”
“Oh, Thomas! You’ve spoiled Miranda to the point of overindulgence, although I can’t blame you. She has always been a difficult girl. And frankly, I have not given her the attention I should have. It has always been easier to let her go her own way. Now I see that by doing so we have made a grievous error. Miranda’s mind has been so filled with Wyndsong that there was room for nothing else.
“We must find a suitable husband for her, Thomas,” Dorothea Dunham went on. “Lord Swynford is perfect for Amanda, but he will not wait forever. I cannot understand why you will not allow the engagement to be announced now.” Her blue eyes were twinkling. “I went along with your decision about the eldest marrying first, and I certainly embroidered on it nicely, but I am at a loss as to when such a custom began in this family.”
She paused and then said, “What is it you have done, Thomas, that you feel requires amending before you can allow Amanda’s engagement to be announced?”
Thomas Dunham gave his wife an embarrassed grin. “You certainly know me well, m’dear. It’s the only thing I’ve ever kept from you. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but … I must change my will before we announce Amanda’s betrothal to Lord Swynford.” He ran a big hand through his iron-gray hair, and his blue eyes looked troubled. “You see, Doro, when I made young Jared Dunham the next lord of the manor, I gave into a bit of personal vanity.
“My will makes Jared my heir, but my personal wealth goes to you and the girls. Jared cannot maintain the island without money, however, so there is a clause stating that if I die before the girls are married, and he is unwed, my wealth other than your widow’s portion will go to him providing he weds with one of my daughters, the choice to be his.
“It isn’t that I believe I’ll die soon, but I wanted my blood to run in the veins of the future lords of Wyndsong. As my will provided a generous dowry for the remaining twin, who was I harming? Now I must change my will if Amanda is to wed Lord Swynford, for now only Miranda remains available.”
“Oh, Thomas!” Dorothea put a plump, dimpled hand over her mouth, trying to hide her amusement. “And they say women are vain!” Then she said seriously, “Perhaps, my love, you have unwittingly solved our problem with Miranda. Why not make a match between her and Jared Dunham? Miranda would then be the first betrothed, your blood will run in the veins of the future lords of Wyndsong, and Amanda can wed Lord Swynford.”
“By God, Doro, you’re a shrewd one! Why didn’t I think of that? It is the perfect solution!” He slapped his thigh enthusiastically.
“It is perfect, provided that Jared Dunham is not already betrothed, wed, or entangled.”
“Well, I know he’s not betrothed or wed. I recently had a letter from his father asking me to obtain a dinner service of yellow Jasper Wedgwood for his wife’s birthday. He mentioned that his eldest son, Jonathan, had become a father for the third time, and said he despaired of Jared’s ever settling down. Jared is thirty now. This plan will please his father mightily. There is no time for me to send a letter ahead, for we sail in a few days, but I’ll send a message once we are home.”
“Then before we go home, you can announce Amanda’s engagement, at least privately, to our families. It would be a mistake not to do so, Tom. Old Lady Swynford wants Adrian wed, and with an heir soon. I fear that she will seek elsewhere if some sort of announcement is not made.”
“He’s a poor-spirited lad if he lets her,” remarked Tom Dunham.
“Thomas, he’s only twenty. And his mama having had him so late in life—why, she was forty!—is doting. If his father were still alive he would be in his seventies. Poor Adrian is just now becoming his own man, but he is honorable, and he truly loves Amanda.
“If an announcement is made to the families now,” she continued, “and then officially this winter, we may look to a wedding next June at St. George’s in Hanover Square.”
“What if Miranda refuses to cooperate, m’dear?”
“Miranda is a very intelligent girl, Tom, or so you are always telling me. Once she faces up to the fact that she cannot inherit Wyndsong, and that she must marry, she will see the wisdom of our plan. Only through Jared Dunham can she hope to become lady of the manor. I do not believe that she will allow some other woman to take what she feels is her rightful place.”
Dorothea Dunham smiled at her husband. “You’re an extremely sly old fox, Tom, and I love you.”
Later, alone with his thoughts, Thomas closed his eyes and tried to picture what Jared looked like. He hadn’t seen the young man for three years. Tall, yes, he was very tall, standing at least six feet three inches. Lean, with an oval, sculpted face that was more his mother’s family than Dunham. Dark hair, and … Good Lord! The boy had green eyes! Not the blue-green of Miranda’s but a funny bottle-green color.
There was a feeling of elegance about him, Tom recalled. He remembered that Jared had, in the height of London society, been dressed in staid, old Boston clothes. He chuckled. Jared had a commendable streak of independence!
At twenty-seven, when Thomas had last seen him, Jared had been a man of breeding, education, and manners. Now, at thirty, would a chit of seventeen appeal to him? Would Jared Dunham welcome the match, or would he prefer to make an alliance elsewhere?
If Thomas Dunham felt any cause for concern he kept it to himself, and instead went about the business of preparing to return to America. He booked his family passage on The Royal George. It would sail south following the trades, stopping first at the islands of Barbados and Jamaica, and then at the Carolinas, New York, and Boston.
Thomas had arranged with the ship’s owners for a special stopover off Orient Point, Long Island, so his yacht could pick the family up and ferry them around the Point to Wyndsong Island, two miles off the village of Oysterponds in Gardiner’s Bay.
The farewell dinner was held, and the happy announcement of young Lord Swynford’s engagement to Miss Amanda Dunham was made privately. The dowager Duchess of Worcester was the only outsider present. She was one of society’s most powerful arbiters. With the duchess a witness to Lord Swynford’s intentions, only death would be a completely acceptable excuse for either party’s crying off.
Dorothea had chosen to garb her twin daughters in identical gowns of palest pink muslin. Amanda, of course, looked utterly adorable, her full young breasts swelling provocatively above the low, square neckline, her dimpled arms white and soft beneath the little lace-edged puffed sleeves. The neckline, the sleeves, and hemline of the gowns were embroidered in a charming band of dainty deeper pink rosebuds. The gowns were ankle length, and the twins wore white silk stockings with heel-less black leather slippers. Their jewelry, carefully chosen by their mama, was suitably modest, little hoop earrings of pink coral beads, and matching pink coral bead necklaces. Amanda wore a wreath of pink rosebuds atop her yellow-gold ringlets, but here Miranda had drawn the line.
She detested the baby pink of her gown with its sweet, girlish embroidery. She knew that pale pink was the wrong color for her unusual coloring, but it was fashionable, and Dorothea insisted that they be fashionable. When, however, the suggestion had been made that she cut her long, heavy silver-gilt hair, Miranda had simply refused in a tone even her mother quailed at. Mama might gown her in ridiculous clothes, but she would not shear her like a sheep or dress her head in silly ringlets.
Since Dorothea forbade Miranda a more adult hairstyle such as a chignon, claiming it was not suitable for an unmarried girl, and since Miranda not wear childish braids, she was forced to wear her long hair loose, confined only by a simple pink silk ribbon.
Miranda’s only pleasure that evening was in her sister’s joy. The littler twin was radiant with happiness and Miranda knew sh
e was truly in love with Adrian Swynford, a fine-looking, blond young man of medium height. She was happy and relieved to see that the young English nobleman returned his betrothed’s feelings, in equal measure, his arm protectively around Amanda, mischievously stealing kisses from her when he thought no one was looking. Amanda cast her swain adoring looks, hardly leaving his side all evening. This forced poor Miranda into close proximity with her three female cousins.
Caroline Dunham, who was also just finishing her first season, was a haughty young woman of but average beauty. Her forthcoming marriage to the Earl of Afton’s eldest son and heir had only increased her feelings of self-importance. She thought that her cousin Amanda had made a very poor match compared with her dear Percival. But then, cousin Amanda was only a colonial, and a baronet had undoubtedly seemed very grand to her.
Caroline’s two little sisters, Charlotte and Georgine, were gigglers. On the whole, Miranda preferred Caroline’s coldness to the younger ones’ silliness. She was at least spared the company of her boy cousins because the two eldest were deeply involved in talk of gaming at White’s horse auctions coming up at Tattersall’s and boxing matches scheduled at Gentleman Jackson’s gym. Besides, once they had discovered that their cousin Miranda was not about to play kiss and cuddle in the darkened library, they quickly lost interest in her.
Thomas Dunham and his cousin, Sir Francis Dunham, stood talking earnestly by the fire. Dorothea, Lady Millicent, and the dowager Duchess of Worcester sat chatting amiably on a satin settee. Miranda glanced about, seeking Adrian’s mama, and was surprised to find the lady at her elbow. Lady Swynford was a tiny old woman with bright, shrewd eyes under a purple turban. She smiled toothily at Miranda.
“So, my gel, your parents say they must marry you off before my son can have your sister. Have you some Yankee swain back in your America?”
“No, ma’am,” Miranda answered politely, beginning to dread what was coming.
“Humph!” sniffed Lady Swynford. “I foresee a long and exhausting courtship for my son.” She sighed affectedly. “Ah, how I long to dandle my grandchildren on my knee. I wonder if I shall live that long.”
“I suspect you shall, ma’am, and even longer,” answered Miranda. “The wedding is to be next June, after all.”
“And will you be married by then, my gel?” Lady Swynford eyed her archly.
“Whether I am or not, ma’am, I promise you that Mandy and Adrian will be wed on schedule.”
“You’re no milk-and-water miss, are you, my gel?”
“No, ma’am, I am not!”
Lady Swynford chuckled richly. “I wonder,” she said, “if they realize the woman they have in you.”
“Ma’am?” Miranda was puzzled.
“Nothing, child,” Lady Swynford replied in a more kindly tone, further confusing Miranda by patting her hand. “Why, I can see you don’t even know it yourself yet.”
The Dunhams sailed for America two days later, driving down from London to Portsmouth the day after the dinner party. The horses were changed four times. They stayed overnight in Portsmouth, putting up at the Fountain, and going aboard their ship the following morning to sail on the late-morning tide. The Dunhams stood at the rail for a time watching the coast of England recede, but then they went to their adjoining cabins. Amanda, gazing at the perfect round sapphire surrounded by diamonds that Adrian had given her, had become quite teary at the realization that she was leaving her beloved. Miranda cared little, for she had not really enjoyed her stay in London, and besides, she was returning home to her own love. Wyndsong.
The Royal George sailed south under fair skies and brisk winds. Captain Hardy declared he’d not seen such fine weather in all his days on the Atlantic. They arrived at Barbados in record time, swept across the Caribbean to Jamaica, and up the South Atlantic to Charleston. At each port they lost passengers, gained passengers, and discharged cargo.
Finally they arrived at New York. The ship stayed overnight unloading cargo, taking on fresh water and foodstuffs, and being loaded with cargo for England. The following morning, a bright blue and gold October Day, The Royal George sailed up the East River into the Long Island Sound. They would be home by the following day.
Just before dawn on the day they would see Wyndsong, Miranda woke Amanda.
“It isn’t even light yet,” protested the sleepy, smaller twin.
“Don’t you want to see the sunrise over Orient Point?” Miranda pulled the covers away. “Get up, Mandy! Get up, or I’ll tickle you to death!”
“I think I’m going to prefer Adrian as a bedfellow to you, sister dear,” muttered Amanda, climbing reluctantly out of her warm nest. “Ohhh! This floor is like ice! You’re absolutely heartless, Miranda!”
Miranda raised a winged dark eyebrow in surprise as she handed Amanda her lace-trimmed, white muslin undergarments. “Prefer Adrian as a bedfellow? I am not sure if I am startled by your want of delicacy, or simply shocked, Mandy.”
“I may be younger, smaller, and slower than you, sister, but my emotions are well developed. After all, I know what love is. You do not. No one has ever touched your heart. Hand me my gown, will you?”
Amanda stepped into the high-waisted, puff-sleeved gown of pink sarcenet, and turned her back so Miranda might button her up. She could not see the perplexed look on Miranda’s face. Miranda felt very strange. She did not begrudge her sister happiness, but she had never not been first at anything. She quickly composed her face and, bending down, picked up her paisley shawl.
“Better take yours too, twin. It will be cold on deck.”
They came out onto the deck just as faint color was beginning to show in the east. The water was black and mirror-smooth. There was a very faint breeze in the sails, and as they stood facing the bow of the ship, they saw the coast of Long Island to their right, through the gray mists of early morning. On their left, but farther away, the Connecticut coast lay shrouded in fog.
“Home,” breathed Miranda, hugging her shawl around her slim shoulders.
“It really means that much to you, doesn’t it?” said Mandy quietly. “Mother and Father are wrong, I fear. You will never love anyone as you love Wyndsong. It’s as if you are part of the land itself.”
“I knew you would understand!” Miranda smiled. “We have always understood each other. Oh, Mandy, I cannot bear to think that this cousin of Father’s will inherit it someday. It should be mine!”
Amanda Dunham squeezed her twin’s hand sympathetically. There was nothing she could do to change the situation, and nothing would soothe Miranda’s troubled spirit.
“So this is where you two minxes have gotten to, and at such an early hour, too.” Thomas Dunham flung his arms around his two daughters.
“Good morning, Papa!” they cried.
“And are my girls anxious to be home? Even you now, Amanda?”
They both nodded enthusiastically. Just then a brisk breeze suddenly sprang up and the remnants of fog disappeared. The sunrise spilled over the bluffs and dappled the green-blue waters with gold. The sky forecast a lovely, clear day.
“There’s the Horton’s Point lighthouse!” said Miranda excitedly.
“Then we’re almost home, darlings!” laughed Dorothea Dunham, coming out onto the deck. “Good morning, my daughters!”
“Good morning, Mama,” they called in cheerful unison.
“Good morning, m’dear.” Thomas gave her a loving kiss, which she returned.
The ship’s crew scurried around them, and Captain Hardy joined the Dunhams. “We’ll come around Orient Point and anchor toward the bayside, so your yacht can come about more easily. Will your people be long? There’s a good breeze with us, and if it keeps up I might make Boston by late tomorrow.”
“My yacht should be standing off Orient now.”
“Very good, sir. I appreciate your cooperation, and may I say it’s been a great pleasure having you and your lady and daughters aboard my ship.” He turned to Amanda. “I hope we’ll have the pleasure of ta
king you back to England next summer, Miss Amanda.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Amanda blushing prettily, “but it is not yet official.” She fingered her ring.
“Then I shall not offer my felicitations until it is,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “I have a wife and daughter myself, and I know how important it is to you ladies to have all the proper amenities observed.”
“Sail ho!” came the cry from the crow’s nest.
“Can you make her out?” called back the captain.
“Baltimore clipper, sir. American flag.”
“Name and port?”
“She’s the Dream Witch out of Boston.”
“Hmmm.” The captain thought for a moment and then ordered, “Keep your present course, Mr. Smythe.”
“Aye, sir!”
They remained at the rail watching as the clipper made its way toward them. Suddenly a puff of whitish smoke came from the other vessel, followed by a dull boom that echoed across the water.
“By God! They’ve put a shot across our bow!” Captain Hardy was incredulous.
“Royal George! Stand to, and prepare to be boarded!”
“W-why, the insolence of them!” sputtered the captain.
“Are they pirates?” Miranda was fascinated, but Amanda shrank back next to her mother.
“No, miss, just the ragtag Yankee Navy being childish,” said the captain. Remembering his passengers’ nationality, he looked uncomfortable. “Begging your pardon.” But the Englishman seethed. He more than outgunned the small, elegant ship now slipping alongside his, but he carried valuable cargo, and passengers. He knew full well that this was simply a retaliatory attack being carried out in revenge for some piece of idiocy committed by the Royal Navy. His owners had been quite specific in their orders. Unless life or cargo was threatened he was not to fire his guns.
The clipper’s crew threw its grappling hooks into The Royal George.
“Make no resistance,” called Captain Hardy to his crew. “No need for alarm, ladies and gentlemen,” he reassured his passengers, who were now all milling around on deck.
