Velvet Chains (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  When Season went downstairs the next morning she was still tired. She hadn't slept well, and she wanted to apologize to Lucas for behaving so badly the day before. She had lain awake long into the night, mulling over the whole unpleasant incident in her mind. She now realized that Lucas had acted with great restraint in dealing with Mr. Bartlett, and she wanted to tell him how she felt.

  When Season entered the dining room, she discovered that Lucas wasn't there, but a note was propped against her plate. Picking it up, she began to read:

  Season, I had to leave. Urgent business in New York needed my immediate attention. Try not to think too badly of me. I am sorry about our misunderstanding yesterday. When I return we will have a long talk. I may be away for several months, so if you should need anything talk to Robert.

  I remain your husband,

  Lucas.

  Season sank down in her chair and stared at the note. What did Lucas mean he could be gone for several months? Why hadn't he told her goodbye? She pushed her breakfast plate aside and stood up, feeling strangely empty inside. How could she go on for months not knowing when Lucas was coming home. What was she supposed to do with herself?

  She walked out onto the veranda and watched the heavy snowdrift down. Lucas wouldn't be home for Christmas. She would be alone, just as she had been as a child growing up at Chatsworth.

  Tears gathered in her eyes. "Why, Lucas, why did you leave me without saying goodbye?" she cried, leaning her head against the veranda for support.

  She watched as several men began to shovel snow from the driveway and clear a path to the stables.

  Molly came out on the veranda and placed a warm wrap about her mistress. "You are going to catch your death if you don't come into the house, my lady."

  Season sighed. Who would know if she just wasted away and died? She thought about The Raven. Perhaps he would, but she wasn't even sure about that.

  27

  The days seemed endless to Season. She spent Christmas with Rebecca and Robert, but she saw the New Year in alone without celebration or fanfare. Each day she waited for the post, hoping for some word from Lucas, but so far, she had received none.

  January was a bitterly cold month, and Season was forced to stay indoors. She passed the time by alphabetizing the library. Each book was put in order, and she made an index catalogue, listing each book by its title. Some of the books were in bad repair, so she sent them off to Philadelphia to be rebound.

  February came and went, and Season still hadn't heard from her husband. She couldn't get Lucas out of her mind. She remembered their parting and the hurtful words she had said to him. She wondered if he was still angry with her.

  Season received a letter from her father. All was well at Chatsworth, but he missed her. He wrote that he would be returning to London in the spring, and Season knew he would again be taking up his political life. She doubted he would ever be content to stay at Chatsworth for an indefinite period of time.

  Sometimes, when Season lay in her bed alone, she remembered the night she had met Lucas in New York. He had been surrounded by a swarm of beautiful ladies. She often wondered if he had now found some woman to warm his bed. Then she became jealous and cried herself to sleep. Season knew she couldn't blame Lucas if he turned to another woman; she hadn't been the ideal wife. He probably thought she had betrayed him with The Raven, and after all, she had, hadn't she?

  She tried not to think of the captain of the Andromeda, but he sometimes crept into her mind uninvited. Season knew it was wrong to let her thoughts dwell on a man other than her husband, but she had little control over her fickle heart. Indeed, she had begun to wonder if she would ever have control over her own life. Was it her lot to be always alone?

  As Season watched the heavy snowflakes fall, she yearned for spring. She wanted to ride over the valley and feel the warm sun on her face, and she wished with all her heart that Lucas would return so she could apologize to him for the cruel things she had said.

  The captain of the Andromeda stood on deck and watched the billowing sails catch the wind as he changed course. He had taken three English merchants and two frigates as prize. The crew had been celebrating the night before, for each man knew he had made his fortune. When the war was over every seaman aboard would have the wealth that other men only dreamed about.

  Deep in thought, The Raven didn't hear Briggs come up behind him until he spoke.

  "We have a fair wind, Captain. I sight land dead ahead. Do we go ashore at Tripoli, sir?"

  "Aye, Briggs."

  "You can't be too sure what our reception will be. Everyone there will know that you disposed of De Fores. He had friends among the scum there."

  "We have little choice, Briggs. We need to put in for repairs and supplies. I don't anticipate trouble. That lot always shies away from a bold show of strength."

  The next morning the captain of the Andromeda stepped ashore at Tripoli and walked slowly down the streets as if he were out for an afternoon stroll. When he entered the foul-smelling tavern, he was flanked by twelve of his crewmembers. Suddenly the din ceased and hostile eyes watched his progress. He looked neither left nor right, but kept his hand lightly resting on his sword hilt.

  The Raven nodded his head at several of the men, but he didn't stop to talk. Finally he stood, legs spread apart in his usual arrogant stance, and scanned the room as if daring one of the pirate captains to challenge him. Angry murmurs arose, and his men came up beside him to show their support for their captain.

  "If they was of a mind, sir, there could be a nasty fight," Briggs said, his eyes alert.

  "Fear not, Briggs; there is no fight in this motley lot. We could easily handle anything they might throw our way, and they know it." Even as The Raven spoke he began to move among the tables. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a group of men come through the door and move to his side. He smiled, knowing Maude had sent her crew to reinforce his men.

  At one point a mountain of a sailor stepped angrily in front of The Raven, but when he saw the masked captain fingering the hilt of his sword he moved aside.

  Maude sat with her feet propped up on a table, watching his progress. The Raven smiled and made his way toward her.

  When he reached her table, he pulled up a chair and rested a booted foot on it. "I am glad to see you are well, Maude. Thank you for the support."

  She leaned forward and motioned for him to be seated. "It's good to see you, Raven. I thought I might be called on to help you as you crossed the room. You always were a bold devil."

  Laughter issued from behind the mask. "It would seem this lot has no stomach for a fight. They don't know how to band together—they are too busy trying to cut each other's throats."

  "I would have died defending you had the need arose, Raven," Maude said with glowing eyes.

  A gloved hand reached out and touched her face. "You are much too fine a woman to be wasted on this beggar's lot, Maude," he told her.

  "If only you felt…" Maude's voice trailed off. "I heard that you rescued the Lady Chatsworth from De Fores."

  "You heard right."

  "Where is she now? Did you bring her with you or take her back to England?"

  "As it happens, Maude, she is married and lives with her husband in Virginia."

  Maude tried to see past the black leather mask. She knew The Raven had been bewitched by the lady. "I'm sorry, Raven."

  "Don't be sorry for me, Maude. Let's drink and be merry," The Raven said, as he lifted a mug from a passing serving maid's tray."

  Maude picked up her mug of ale and held it out to him. "What do we drink to, Raven?"

  The Raven laughed deeply. "I drink to a fair wind and a fair friend. May the first always blow strong, and the second live long."

  Maude took a drink of her ale. "Later, will you come to my house? On your last visit, when I kept the lady for you, I waited for you but you never came."

  The serving wench passed the table and gave The Raven a saucy wink, but he nodded a negat
ive response. He lifted his mug and took a drink before he answered. "I won't be coming this time either, Maude. We have to make some hasty repairs and then head out to sea again."

  Maude sighed and, trying to act indifferent, shrugged her shoulders. "I would venture to guess that the lady hurt you badly, Raven."

  "Perhaps we hurt each other, Maude."

  "Will you see her again?"

  "Yes."

  Maude stood up and smiled at him. "Don't forget you always have Maude to help you over the rough spots, Raven. Should you change your mind, you know where to find me."

  "Goodbye, Maude," he said in his raspy voice. "Take care of yourself."

  Maude tipped her hat and smiled before turning away. She had a strange empty feeling, as if she would never see The Raven again. She left the tavern, knowing her crew would look after The Raven's safety while he was in port.

  As Maude made her way to her house the sky didn't seem as blue as it had before. She shrugged her shoulders. Men were plentiful. She would try to put The Raven out of her heart. She knew he had never thought of her as other than a friend. The Lady Season Chatsworth came to her mind and she wondered how the lady could marry another man when she had won The Raven's heart. Maude knew she would give all she owned to have The Raven feel deeply about her.

  When the Andromeda was under sail once more, her captain stood on deck and watched his first mate turn the wheel into the wind.

  "Where do we head, Captain?" Briggs wanted to know.

  "Set a course for the United States. I have just received word that the British have waged an all-out campaign in the South. They think to weaken our forces by dividing our troops; let us hope they will not succeed."

  "All hell's going to break loose, sir."

  "Yes. Our army in the South has been joined and reinforced by French troops, and they now pose a serious threat to Charleston. France and Spain have formed an alliance and threaten to depose the British supremacy at sea."

  "The war cannot last much longer, sir. We are getting stronger, but I do not know that we can defeat the British on land," Briggs stated.

  "If the men in the Congress would only stop quarreling among themselves and give their wholehearted support to General Washington, the war would have been won long ago."

  "Do we join the French and Spanish fleets, Captain?"

  "No, I have received word that General Washington wishes to see me. I must find him."

  As spring came to Virginia Season felt her heart become lighter. She often rode over the plantation, watching the slaves till the land and plant the seeds. Everything seemed to be reborn. Foals frolicked about in the meadows, and calves trailed after their mothers. Season couldn't help but think she would be a mother now if she hadn't lost her baby.

  Each day she hoped for some word from Lucas, but nothing came. For all she knew he might be dead.

  She had tried to keep busy by rearranging the furnishings, and by now she had taken over the tasks of the lady of the manor. The servants had readily accepted her authority and the house was running smoothly, but Season rarely saw her neighbors, and was never invited to their houses. She knew they resented her because she was British and because of Lucas' stand on the war.

  She had heard rumors that the war had come to the South, but so far she had seen no signs of fighting.

  Season refused to let herself be overcome with melancholy, although each night when she climbed into her big empty bed she ached for her husband's return. She realized more and more that they were little more than strangers. They had not been together long enough to really know one another.

  Season was determined that she would care for Lucas' home and be his wife in the eyes of the world. She knew when he did return home, she and Lucas would have to come to some kind of understanding. She was beginning to resent the fact that he seemed to have cast her aside as if she didn't exist. She doubted that Lucas had even given her a thought since he had left Rosemont.

  28

  August, 1790

  The summer days were hot and humid due to the fact that it rained almost every afternoon. Season felt isolated and cut off from the rest of the world. Sometimes it seemed to her that she was no less a prisoner than she had been while on board the Andromeda.

  Robert had taken Rebecca to Philadelphia and Season missed them terribly; they were her only friends in Virginia. She was almost sorry now that she had declined their invitation to accompany them to Pennsylvania.

  She still waited in vain for some word from Lucas. She tried to tell herself that perhaps he had written and his letters had gone astray, but she had received three letters from her father so it didn't make sense that only Lucas' letters would have been lost.

  On an overcast day as Season rode across the green valley, she reined in her mount at the river, noticing that it had swollen almost to the top of the banks. Heavy rains had caused the peaceful river to run rampant like a raging torrent. Glancing across the valley, Season realized in horror that should the river spill over its banks, it would damage the cotton crops and flood much of Rosemont! She wondered why Mr. Walls, the overseer, hadn't seen this danger.

  Turning her horse, she urged it back toward the house. She couldn't understand why the overseer wasn't preparing some kind of defense against the floodwaters. She intended to confront him for neglecting his duties.

  When she reached the overseer's cottage, she jumped from her horse and banged on his door. Mrs. Walls answered the door, and her mouth gaped open when she saw the lady of the manor standing on her doorstep. Mrs. Walls was an elderly woman with gray hair that was pulled back at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were a nondescript color.

  Season had often tried to talk to the woman, but had gotten no response other than a sullen yes or no. She could sense Mrs. Walls's hostility even now.

  "I need to talk to your husband at once, Mrs. Walls," Season said hurriedly.

  "He ain't feeling well. He's got the fever and is clean out of his head. If n you had taken the time to inquire, you would have knowed he was sick for the past two weeks," the woman said sourly.

  "Why wasn't I informed about his illness? I would have sent for the doctor."

  "We ain't needing any charity from the likes of you. I been telling my man that we should just pack up and leave, but he won't listen to me. I ain't happy about living under British rule right here on Rosemont. We was just as happy before you came with your fancy ways."

  Season pushed past the woman. "Take me to see your husband at once! I have no time to quarrel with you. The river is about to overflow!"

  Mrs. Walls moved to the bedroom door and blocked it with her body. "You can't see him. He's too sick."

  "I'll send for the doctor immediately," Season said, turning to leave.

  Before she reached the exit, the bedroom door opened and Mr. Walls staggered forward. His face was pale as death and his eyes were fever bright. "Don't pay no attention to my wife, Mrs. Carrington, she don't mean no harm," he said, gripping the door to hold himself upright.

  "You must not concern yourself about anything, Mr. Walls. I will have the doctor attend you as soon as possible," Season said with concern.

  "I…don't bother about me, ma'am. I know you got your own troubles. I been hearing the rain and the river must be . . ." As Mr. Walls gasped for breath and wavered, Season moved quickly across the room and took his arm.

  "Help me get your husband back to bed, Mrs. Walls. He should never have been disturbed and I offer you my apology. He needs attention right away."

  The two women managed to get the sick man back into bed and Season turned to face a less hostile Mrs. Walls. "I will send my maid, Molly, to help you until the doctor arrives. You were wrong not to tell me of your husband's illness. While my husband is away from Rosemont everyone is my concern."

  The older woman looked at the beautiful lady and thought she might have misjudged her. She didn't want to like the mistress of the manor, because in her eyes Season represented the enemy. "I am powerful worried
about my man. I hope you won't hold what I said against me," she said slyly.

  Season placed her arm about the woman's shoulders. "I'm sure you are out of your mind with worry. You look as though you are dead on your feet. I will instruct Molly to help you in any way she can. Who's the best man on the plantation to help me take charge, Mrs. Walls? I need someone who can take orders as well as give them. If we don't act fast the cotton will be ruined."

  "The last time it flooded was back in 1765. At that time it wiped out the slave quarters and many people were drowned. I think Winston would be the man you are needing. My husband says he's a great help to him."

  Season knew that time was against her. She had to send for the doctor and then do something about the threat of a flood.

  When she reached the door, Mrs. Walls's voice stopped her. "Ma'am, Mrs. Carrington . . . thank you."

  Season smiled at the woman. "Don't mention it, Mrs. Walls. All you need to think about is your husband's health, and try to get some rest yourself. In the future I hope you will keep in mind that I am more than willing to help you."

  "You mean you ain't going to make us leave for the way I talked to you?"

  "No, Mrs. Walls. We all need each other. We will just forget about the incident and not mention it to your husband, or mine."

  The older woman watched the young mistress leave, knowing she had badly misjudged her, but her heart was still filled with bitterness. Mrs. Walls resented Mrs. Carrington because she was British, and now her eyes gleamed spitefully; Winston had been giving her husband trouble for years. It would -serve Mrs. Carrington right to have to deal with a rebellious slave, she thought bitterly.

  Season mounted her horse and headed toward the slave quarters at a gallop. When she dismounted a crowd quickly surrounded her. She felt as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders as she searched the dark faces about her.