Her frankness brought a blush to Selena’s cheeks. Involuntarily, she cast an embarrassed glance at her new husband and found his green-gold gaze assessing her. Selena’s blush deepened at the measuring stare Kyle was giving her. But then she caught the ironic flicker in his eyes and realized he didn’t plan for there to be any children. Trying to hide her disappointment, she turned away.
Yet as she continued the introductions, Selena thought Kyle seemed impressed both by her people and her management, and she felt a sense of pride, for she valued his good opinion. She was also inordinately proud to be able to present the rugged sea captain as her husband. He was, she decided suddenly as she watched Kyle converse easily with the plantation’s chief driver, the kind of man her father would have wished her to marry, the kind of man who would accept responsibility for a vast estate and all the obligations that entailed, despite his own inclinations and preferences.
The music began again shortly, and Selena noted Kyle’s surprise that it was a minuet. He watched with interest as couples paired off and began to dance with as much grace and correctness as any fashionable throng at any ball in England. The only striking differences, besides the dark colors of their skins, seemed to be the exotic flair of their dress and the presence of children, who laughed and ran about underfoot, chewing on short pieces of cane.
The ball became livelier when a Scotch reel was struck up, and livelier still as, some time later, the music progressed from British to Caribbean. Kyle listened attentively as the dancers raised their voices in chanting song, and the drums beat out a rhythm that was dark and primal.
Selena, who was intimately familiar with Antigua’s customs and culture, found more pleasure in watching Kyle. She smiled to see him question one of the musicians about his musical instrument—an African balafo, which was made from pieces of hardwood of different diameters, laid on a row over a sort of box—and allowed herself to hope that his interest meant that he might be forming an attachment for the island that had always been her home.
When two maskers dressed in elaborate costumes took the floor to perform the whip dance, Selena felt she could safely slip away. She wanted to change out of her wedding gown and then consult with her factor about the future of her plantation. She left Kyle watching with fascination as one man chased and lashed at the other, who dodged gracefully just out of range of the wicked rawhide.
Beth caught her up as she reached the house.
“I thought you could use my assistance,” Beth said somewhat breathlessly as they climbed the gallery stairs to Selena’s bedroom. “You’ll never manage those hooks and laces by yourself, and your maids are all at the celebration.”
Selena smiled and clasped her friend’s hand. “Dearest Beth, ever practical and kind as always. You’ve been a pillar of strength for me. How can I ever thank you?”
“You did the same for me when I wed Drew, if I recall.” Beth gave her a sober glance. “I want you to be happy, Selena.”
“Yes…well…” She fell silent, and so did Beth—for a moment.
Then Beth, who obviously felt a duty to bolster her friend’s spirits, launched into a spate of praise for how smoothly the day had gone and kept up a flow of bright chatter as she helped Selena struggle out of the beautiful wedding gown.
As Selena bathed her face in water from the basin, Beth went to the armoire. “What shall you wear? The rose sarcenet would be extremely becoming.”
“The burgundy-and-gray crepe, I think,” Selena replied, patting her cheeks dry. “The one with the matching pelisse. It will be more appropriate for traveling. We are sailing this evening.”
Beth turned to stare at her. “So soon! I expected you to remain for several more days, at least. Perhaps I should ask Drew to persuade the captain.”
Selena shook her head. The governor could have obliged Kyle stay for a day or two longer, but she didn’t wish to rouse her husband’s anger further. “No, it is what Kyle wants.”
“Well,” Beth said brightly, “I’m sure you will find America very pleasant. Indeed, I fancy you will have a wonderful life. How could you not, with a handsome husband who adores you—”
“Beth… it isn’t a love match. You know it isn’t.”
The look Beth sent her was full of sympathy and compassion. “Surely you’re mistaken. I thought the captain seemed very taken with you. Perhaps he just doesn’t want to admit his feelings.”
“No,” Selena said in a low tone, looking down at her hands. “Kyle doesn’t love me.” Her fingers tightened on the linen cloth in her hands. “Not yet. But he will. One day he will,” she vowed quietly, realizing suddenly how very much she wanted it to be true.
But then she caught Beth’s eye and was embarrassed to have confided so personal a thought, even with her closest friend. Briskly Selena completed her toilette and turned to Beth for help in relacing her corset.
“Will you be taking one of your maids with you to America?” Beth asked.
“No. I would enjoy the company, certainly, but their homes and families are here.”
When she was dressed in the high-waisted burgundy gown with the pale gray sash, Selena glanced around the room that had always been hers and sighed. “I suppose I ought to begin packing.”
“Why don’t you go and join your new husband?” Beth said gently. “I can pack for you, and you can check later to see if there is anything I’ve missed.”
“But the portmanteaus and trunks are in the storehouse—”
“I’m sure I can find someone to fetch them.”
“And the portraits of my parents in the salon—I would like to take them with me. I doubt Edith will appreciate them as much as I will.”
“I’ll see they are carefully wrapped.”
Selena gave a helpless shrug and smiled. “Very well, if you’re certain…”
“I’m certain!” Beth exclaimed, and with a grin, gave Selena an impulsive hug. “Now go! Captain Ramsey no doubt is wondering what has become of you.”
Selena was far more skeptical, but since she was anxious to find her factor and discuss how the plantation was to be operated in her absence, she pinned on an attractive hat that was bedecked with gray satin ribbons and made her way back to the clearing.
Her footsteps slowed, however, at the sight that greeted her. Ignatius Foulkes was sitting in a gig at the edge of the clearing, his portly bulk taking up most of the seat, while Kyle was preparing to climb up beside him.
Kyle paused when he saw her, one booted foot on a carriage step. He watched Selena warily as she approached, remaining silent when she reached them. When he offered no explanation as to their intention, Selena looked a question at the solicitor.
“The captain asked for a tour of the estate,” Foulkes replied in his most formal tone, with more than a hint of disapproval.
“Now?” she said without thinking. Then realizing she sounded critical of Kyle, stammered, “I mean…the festivities are not yet over.”
“I would like to see the property before we sail,” Kyle said finally, “and that leaves very little time.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Foulkes told Selena, “you would care to come?” He turned to address Kyle. “Mrs. Ramsey would better serve you than I, sir. She is more knowledgeable about her particular holdings and therefore better able to determine the fair market value.”
“Market value?” Selena echoed, feeling a sudden sick dread in the pit of her stomach.
Ignatius nodded, his jowled face creasing in a stern frown. “Yes, my dear. The captain has not taken me into his confidence, but I rather fear he wishes to offer up the Markham plantation for sale.”
Chapter Six
Selena paled at the solicitor’s speculation. Reaching out, she grasped the edge of the gig to steady herself and looked up at Kyle with pleading eyes. “Please…” she said in a stricken voice. “Don’t… Why are you doing this? To punish me?”
Kyle’s eyes darkened in anger. “Perhaps, my love,” he said carefully, with an undertone of grimness, “thi
s is better discussed in private. Mr. Foulkes, would you be so kind as to allow us the use of your carriage for an hour?”
The solicitor looked from Kyle to Selena. But he must have felt this was a matter to be settled between the two of them, for he issued a terse reminder to Selena that he was at her disposal should she require his counsel, then clambered down and went off, leaving them alone.
“Get in,” Kyle said through clenched teeth. When Selena merely stood there gazing at him in anguish, he grasped her arm and marshaled her into the gig. “I only just now began to entertain the idea of selling your plantation, Miss Markham. And certainly I intended to discuss it with you first before I made any decisions.”
After settling himself in the leather seat beside her, Kyle took up the reins and turned the bay gelding toward the road. “And I am not,” he insisted with strained patience, “intent on punishing you. You can’t return here, but you’ll be able to use the proceeds from the sale of the plantation to begin your new life.”
Which didn’t include him, Selena thought wretchedly. He hadn’t said it, but the thought hovered between them and, if anything, deepened her despair.
“Look,” Kyle said somewhat desperately, “I may not be a farmer, but I know enough to realize that an absentee landlord does no one any good.”
Still Selena didn’t speak, and Kyle’s fingers clenched the reins in frustration. “Deuce take it! Why don’t you say something?”
Selena took a shuddering breath. “What…would you have me say?”
“I don’t know! Curse me or scream or threaten to haul me before the governor—anything but look at me like I’ve just murdered your favorite relative.”
She glanced away then, looking down at her hands, remembering her foolish declaration that Kyle would someday come to love her. “You are right, of course,” she said finally, in a small voice. “An absentee landlord wouldn’t be at all desirable. It was just a shock…I hadn’t thought of selling…” Yet she should have thought. Everything had changed when she married Kyle.
“You knew you would be leaving the island,” Kyle replied defensively, trying to see her face, which was partially hidden by the knot of gray satin ribbons on her hat.
“Yes.”
“Look, Miss Markham—”
“Do you think,” she asked, her tone becoming tight with anger, “you might bring yourself to address me by my given name? It seems rather foolish to be so formal now that we are married, even if you don’t intend it to last.”
He liked her better angry than when she got that wounded look in her eyes or when she retreated into cool civility. “Very well…Selena. What I meant to say was that I wouldn’t consider selling to anyone you didn’t approve of. And in any case, we don’t have to sell it at once.”
“No. At once is better. The longer you delay, the harder it will be for everyone.”
Kyle fell silent then, until he realized he didn’t know where he was driving. “Where are we headed?”
She looked up with a start. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were going to give me a tour of the plantation.”
“Oh, yes… of course.” Selena roused herself from her despondent thoughts to direct him along a path to the left.
They passed several fields of cane stubble and shortly came upon the Negro quarters—a wide area that was cool and colorful, shaded by tall breadfruit trees and brightened by the purple and green of young mango leaves. In the clearing stood scores of good-size huts, most walled with wattle and daub, some of stone, all on stilts and all neatly thatched. Beside many of the huts were pens for poultry and livestock, and beyond, soaking up the sun, lay dozens of well-tended gardens.
“How many slaves does your plantation have?” Kyle asked thoughtfully as he drew the horse to a halt.
“Three hundred fifty-six, since Rose was delivered of twins the other day. But we employ more than fifty freemen, as well—factors, artisans, bookkeepers and the like.”
He sat there a moment, looking around. Then he slowly shook his head. “I hadn’t imagined it would be so big. It’s a vast responsibility—to own so many lives. Not one I’m sure I like.”
“But you’re a plantation owner, too,” Selena observed.
“Yes. But somehow I never thought of myself… Of course, my father owned slaves once he moved to Mississippi from England, but I put it out of my mind. I went to sea when I was twelve, a few months after my family moved there. It was easy to ignore the situation, for I didn’t go home much.”
She eyed him curiously. “You inherited your plantation from your father?”
Kyle nodded. “When my parents were killed last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
His mouth twisted. “For what? Because I inherited or because my parents died?”
“Both. You aren’t happy about becoming a planter—”
“You’ve noticed?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “It’s never easy to lose one’s parents. Were you close?”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t suppose you could call our relationship close. I was young when I left home, after all. But I do miss them.”
“Are you the eldest son, then?”
“I’m the only son. I have four sisters—one a few years older than I, the others much younger.”
“I should have liked to have sisters,” Selena said wistfully.
Suddenly realizing how personal the conversation was becoming, Kyle took up the reins again and urged the horse around.
As they passed more cane fields that were laid out in regular patterns, Selena explained that each year two-fifths of the land was planted and another two-fifths allowed to lie fallow. The remaining acreage, usually the most fertile, was used as a provision ground.
“And just what is a ‘provision ground’?” Kyle asked as they approached the buildings Selena said were the sugar works.
She gave him an odd look. “It’s where we grow our food. We can’t live on sugar alone, I’m sure you understand.”
The rueful twist of Kyle’s lips was almost a smile. “I don’t suppose so.”
“Everyone on the plantation has a garden plot, if he wishes, and two hours free at noon to work it. Most of the Negroes sell their excess produce at the market in St. John’s.”
“And do they get to keep the money they earn?”
“Of course they get to keep it. Most spend it on tobacco or trinkets or clothes. But some of the slaves save and eventually buy their freedom.”
Kyle looked surprised at that, but they had reached the sugar works by then, so he didn’t question Selena further.
She took him through one of the two sugar mills on the plantation, and he was able to see at close range the great iron rollers that pressed the cane into a pulpy mass she called bagasse. The bagasse was used as fuel to raise steam in the boilers, while the juice flowed into the rows of iron caldrons that lined the boiling room. They also toured the curing house, where the molasses was drained from the crystallizing sugar, and then the distillery, where scummings and treacle and lees were mixed with water and fermented into rum. By the time he came out into the bright sunlight, Kyle knew far more about sugar making than he had ever cared to know.
Still, he listened politely as his new bride explained how during the sugar season they usually worked late into the night, for Selena spoke with such enthusiasm that he could almost believe himself interested in whether or not cane needed to be pressed within a few hours of cutting to keep the juice from fermenting. He found himself watching her face and thinking how lovely it was and how much he preferred seeing it animated than saddened or distressed. She lost much of her reserve then. When Selena turned to him suddenly with a question, her blue-gray eyes bright, he blinked and was obliged to ask her to repeat it.
“The growing season here is opposite that in America, isn’t it?”
Kyle grinned for the first time in several hours. “You’re asking me? I hardly know the difference between a plow and a harvest. We grow cotton in Natche
z, that much I do know.”
“My father once experimented with cotton here but found it wasn’t as advantageous economically as sugar. What kind do you grow? Green-seed or shrub?”
“There are different kinds?”
Selena eyed him with faint amusement. “You really aren’t a farmer, are you?”
“I told you so,” Kyle replied, giving a short chuckle. “My father, now he was a farmer. He never wanted to do anything else. But he was the younger son of an English squire, and his older brother inherited everything. He managed to scrounge together a few acres, but it wasn’t enough to feed his family, so he moved us to America, looking for a better life. In Natchez land was inexpensive and labor cheap, and he already had relatives there. A cousin of his had purchased a big tract of land back when England owned part of what later became the Mississippi Territory.”
So that was why, Selena reflected as she allowed Kyle to hand her into the carriage, his accent was more clipped than the Americans’ usual broad drawl. Then she realized that he had actually laughed just now, and she slanted a glance at Kyle as he took up the reins. He was extremely attractive when he laughed, she thought, gazing at his rugged profile. His eyes danced with lights of amber and green, and the tiny lines at the corners crinkled.
“Is that where Natchez is located, the Mississippi Territory?” she asked, keenly interested about his home and family.
“Yes, except that Mississippi is no longer a territory. It recently became a state. Natchez is a few hundred miles north of New Orleans on the Mississippi River.”
“And your sisters live there on your plantation?”
Selena interpreted the quick, measuring look Kyle gave her as a warning that her questions were becoming too personal. Not wanting to spoil his good humor, she didn’t press him to share more about his family, as she would have liked. Instead, she began to tell Kyle about the celebrations that were held at the end of the grinding season, keeping the conversation impersonal, as she sensed he wished. They drove away, more in charity with each other than they had been since the night of their engagement.
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