by Pam Hillman
“What is the meaning o’ this?” Anger turned his eyes to a tempestuous shade as dark as the roiling clouds in the sky.
“I don’t know what—”
“Don’t give me that rot, lass. You’ve played me ever since I got here. First, you bought my papers t’ fix this house; then I had t’ put that task aside and gad about Natchez on a whim.”
“Going to Natchez was not a whim. We did what we had to.” Isabella clenched her fists within the folds of her skirts. “You knew that when you agreed to go.”
“As if I agreed. I was ordered t’ go, and you insisted on going as well.”
“I can’t undo what’s been done, Connor.” He was determined to put her in a bad light over the trip to Natchez. As if she didn’t feel bad about it already. “I had no way of knowing we’d be attacked by highwaymen.”
“But you knew the state of affairs here at Breeze Hill when you bought my papers.” He took a step closer, his demeanor daring her to deny the charge. “Didn’t you?”
She looked away.
“The truth, Isabella.”
Thunder clapped, and she jumped. “I knew. But—”
“But you signed those papers anyway. All the while asking if I could abide by the terms, when you knew you’d have a difficult time o’ it yourself.”
The heavens opened up and poured out buckets of water. Connor advanced, his ire rolling across her in waves. Isabella glanced around, wishing for someone to come to her rescue. Martha. Susan. Or even little Lizzy. But everyone had taken shelter during the thunderstorm.
“I’ll abide by the terms of our agreement.” She lifted her chin, determined to show him that she wasn’t afraid. She stepped back as he moved closer. Well, maybe she was. A little.
“Ah, ya will, will you? And how, pray tell, will you do that, lass? I’ve wasted three months here.” He held up three fingers and shook them in her face. “Time I could’ve been working somewhere else to earn passage for my brothers.”
Tears sprang to Isabella’s eyes and she just stood there, unable to answer his question, unable to undo the damage she’d done. She’d messed things up so badly, Connor hated her and there was nothing she could do about it.
“I’m sorry. I never meant—” She stopped. An apology wouldn’t fix things. So she stood, her back against the railing, her heart breaking.
Suddenly the fury leached out of him, to be replaced by a coldness that shook her to the core. He closed the remaining distance between them. She pressed her back against the spindles, willing her shaking limbs to hold her upright.
“Why? Why did you bid on my papers?” His eyes narrowed, searched hers with an intensity that ripped her heart out. “Was it because you truly needed someone to repair the damage done to Breeze Hill, or did you like what you saw on that auction block?”
He caught her hand before it connected with his cheek.
“How dare you,” she sputtered, unsuccessfully tugging against his hold.
“Oh, I dare, Isabella. Or should I revert to Mistress Bartholomew?” He pulled her toward him, the fury once again in full force. “What happened to your declarations of love? Surely you haven’t forgotten so quickly.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, and neither have I forgotten your reaction. I’ll not marry a man who only asked for my hand to save his own skin.” Isabella lifted her chin, glaring at him. “I’ll sign your papers. You’ll be free to go.”
“There’s no need, mistress.” He let her go as if the thought of touching her turned his stomach. “Your father’s already given me my freedom.”
She willed her pain to stay hidden behind a cold, emotionless mask. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
The storm raging in his eyes dimmed, and he searched her gaze. For a moment she thought this whole nightmare would end, and he’d declare his love. But he didn’t. He stepped back, paused, then bowed low.
“Yes, lass, it’s what I want.”
Then he turned and walked away.
Pretending all was well gave Isabella a headache of magnificent proportions. But she sat on the veranda overlooking the courtyard, hemming a gown for the baby, half-listening as Leah chattered about this and that.
She smoothed the delicate white lawn pooled in her lap. The impending birth of Jonathan’s child was the one light in an otherwise-dark world. Connor was leaving on the morrow, and her loss was almost more than she could bear.
Leah sighed, shifted her position.
“Are you feeling all right?” Isabella tossed a concerned look toward her sister-in-law.
“Just having trouble getting comfortable.” Leah reached for another pillow and positioned it behind her. “My back’s been giving me fits the last few days. Martha says it’s a sign that the baby is ready to be born.”
She smoothed her hand down her rounded stomach, a tiny smile gracing her face. “I’ve decided on a name.”
“You have?”
“Yes. If it’s a boy, I’m naming him after his papa—Jonathan William Bartholomew II.” Leah bit her lip, sudden tears shimmering in her blue eyes. She blinked them away. “He won’t ever know his father, but he can carry on his father’s name.”
“You seem pretty confident that the babe is a boy.”
“I am.” Leah nodded. “A boy who looks just like Jonathan is what I’ve been praying for.”
Isabella reached out and took Leah’s hand. “Me, too.”
Lord, give Leah the desires of her heart. She’s suffered such a great loss.
The baby garment in her hands blurred as unshed tears pooled in her own eyes. Without question, Leah’s loss was greater than her own. Jonathan was gone to his grave, never to return, never to see the birth of his child. At least Connor was still alive even if he would be gone by morning. Maybe in time she’d forget him. And maybe in time people would forget her indiscretion.
Her lips twisted at the ironic turn of events. If nothing else, the scandal had given her more time, as suitors would hesitate to call on her in the foreseeable future. Even neighbors would be likely to press on to Mount Locust to avoid being tainted with her disgrace. For that she could be grateful.
The two of them fell into a comfortable silence as they worked. Frowning, Isabella concentrated on the tiny stitches as she put the finishing touches on the gown’s neckline, angling the material to catch the best light.
Finally, last stitch in place, she held it up for Leah’s inspection. But her sister-in-law’s attention wasn’t on her sewing. Isabella followed her gaze to the far end of the courtyard, where William sauntered toward the grape arbor.
Leah shifted her focus, saw Isabella watching her, and her alabaster skin flushed scarlet. Isabella pretended to be engrossed in examining her stitches. “Isn’t it wonderful how well William is getting along?”
“Yes, wonderful.” Leah sounded as if she were choking on a persimmon.
Isabella couldn’t help but tease her. “I suspect he’ll be well enough to travel within the week.”
“So soon?” Leah’s gaze flitted back toward the grape arbor. “Surely the journey on those rough roads isn’t good for him. Not to mention those barbarians plying the trace.” She shuddered, her wide blue eyes beseeching Isabella. “Isabella, you must convince him of the need to stay.”
Isabella gave Leah a pointed look and a teasing smile. “I’ll do my best. But you, my dear, have much more sway with our Mr. Wainwright than I ever will.”
A fresh wave of embarrassment flooded Leah’s face, and she lowered her gaze to her lap. “Surely you jest.”
“It’s no jest. He’s in love with you but has bided his time until you’re ready for his suit.” She placed a hand on Leah’s arm, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Do you think you could love him? He’ll make a fine husband and father to the babe.”
“It’s too soon, but to my shame, I do have feelings for William.” Leah clasped Isabella’s hand, distress stamped on her delicate features. “Just saying those words out loud makes me feel as if I’ve betrayed Jonat
han’s memory. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Isabella shook her head, then glanced over her shoulder. “Now wipe your tears and tidy your hair. He’s headed this way.”
“Oh no,” Leah gasped. “He mustn’t see me like this.”
Leah, big with child, tossed her sewing into the basket and clambered out of the rocker before Isabella could assist her. She waddled through the nearest door faster than Isabella would have believed possible had she not seen it with her own eyes.
The door clicked shut moments before William mounted the steps. “I thought I saw Leah—”
“She retired to her rooms.” Isabella gave him a sunny smile. “You just missed her.”
Disappointment shadowed his features, and he plopped down in the rocker still warm from Leah’s presence. “She’s avoiding me.”
“Yes.” Isabella smiled again, nodding. “This is true.”
William scowled at her. “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”
“She’s avoiding you because she doesn’t feel pretty around you right now.”
He stared at her so long that Isabella thought she’d have to beat him over the head with the truth. Suddenly his eyes widened; then his face turned beet red. “So I have a chance, then?”
Isabella laughed, then reached for her sewing. “I’d say you have more than a chance, my friend.”
Martha stepped into Leah’s sitting room and motioned for Isabella.
She laid her embroidery to the side and tiptoed out, careful not to wake Leah. The poor dear had just dozed off after a restless night.
“Yes, Martha?”
“You have a visitor.”
So much for her hope that she would be left in peace for a change.
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Braxton.”
“Show him to the parlor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Isabella tidied her hair and straightened her dress, then descended the stairs. Nolan stood the minute she entered the room.
“Nolan. So good of you to come.”
He strode to her, took both her hands in his, and kissed her cheek. Isabella pulled back, alarmed. He’d never been so forward. “Sir, you presume too much.”
“My apologies.” He had the grace to look contrite. “I’m just so overwhelmed with gratitude that you have returned home unharmed.”
“Thank you.” Isabella stepped back. “Would you like some refreshment?”
“No thank you. I can only stay a short while.” He eyed her, his scrutiny making her nervous.
She fidgeted. “Is something wrong? You’re not quite yourself today.”
He blinked, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About what, pray tell?” She’d never seen Nolan quite this way. Usually he was talkative, regaling her and Leah with his latest exploits in Natchez or his many trips to New Orleans, but this quiet, reserved side of him was new to her.
He stepped closer. “May I be frank, Isabella?”
“Of . . .” Isabella cleared her throat. “Of course.”
“Your unfortunate . . . uh . . . incident with the highwaymen is common knowledge, and . . .” He paused and took a turn about the room before glancing at her again. “And it’s also common knowledge that your indentured servant, Mr. O’Shea, rescued you from the miscreants.”
“Yes, that’s correct. And if I’m not mistaken, you suggested that my father have Mr. O’Shea incarcerated for the offense of—” she lifted a brow—“rescuing me?”
“Ah, he told you.” He spread his hands, looking sheepish. “I was beside myself with worry over your welfare and may have overstepped my place. Forgive me?”
Isabella inclined her head. “You’re forgiven.”
“I take it that your father didn’t heed my advice after all?”
“No. Mr. O’Shea will be leaving Breeze Hill posthaste.”
Oh, Connor, if you just loved me enough to fight for me.
“I see. Well, it’s for the best, don’t you think? I know you’d never do anything to tarnish your reputation, my dear, but the sooner he’s gone, the sooner people will forget . . .” He shrugged, letting his words trail off.
Isabella’s face flamed. Was Nolan here to berate her for her foolishness in going to Natchez in the first place? Did he, along with all the other gossips of the Natchez District, assume that she and Connor had engaged in a lovers’ tryst while trying to escape from a ruthless killer?
At the sound of wagons outside, she moved to the window and peered out. Yet another group of travelers was setting up camp at the foot of the hill to avoid the risk of camping along the main thoroughfare.
Like lightning flashing across the sky, she realized why Nolan was here and why he was stumbling through his rehearsed speech. He’d come to withdraw his proposal of marriage. She’d refused him so many times because she didn’t love him; instead she’d been holding out for someone she really cared about. She’d used the excuse that her father needed her, that Leah and the babe needed her, but all the time, she’d wanted to marry for love.
But the man she did love could barely stand the sight of her. She almost laughed out loud. Her father and Nolan were right. Her reputation was in tatters, and no decent man within miles would offer for her hand now.
A bittersweet thought took root in the dark corners of her heart. She wouldn’t marry at all. There was no longer the need to. The babe would be her father’s heir. A male child to carry on the Bartholomew name would set her free. Free to grieve love lost. Free to grieve over Connor.
Lord, give Leah a son, I beg of You.
“Isabella?”
Her gaze snapped to Nolan. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought. Again. You were saying?”
“My offer of marriage still stands. I won’t pretend that I’m offering you a love match, but I think you and I respect each other. Mutual respect can go a long way toward making a successful marriage.” Nolan moved to stand beside her, facing the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned to her and smiled. “As well as a desire to protect and provide for family and to see your father’s legacy restored to its former glory.”
Isabella bit her lip. How did he know her so well? Everything he said was what she’d thought she wanted. All of it was important, but couldn’t she do the same thing and have love, too?
Chapter 29
NOLAN STOOD beside Isabella, his patience growing thin.
Acting the solicitous suitor was just one more role he had to play to get her right where he wanted her. But it seemed as if she wouldn’t be swayed.
No, he’d come too far to change course now. The next few weeks would see the rise of foot traffic along the trace, plantation owners and their families returning to Natchez for the cool winter months, pockets lined with coin ripe for the taking. His men needed better access to the trace, and he needed money to gain access to the Spanish governor’s ear.
And he needed Isabella’s cooperation.
Would he have been better served to take Pierre’s suggestion that he focus on Leah instead of Isabella? The odds of Leah’s child surviving to adulthood were unlikely. So many children died; even the governor had lost his own wife and child soon after arriving in Natchez.
But what of Isabella? With her mixed European and Spanish heritage, she’d seemed the logical choice to stand by his side and influence the governor. Still, there was more than one way to convince her to do his bidding.
He motioned to the motley group of travelers camped on Breeze Hill’s lawn. “Isabella, all this talk of highwaymen and desperate travelers is worrisome. Breeze Hill is so close to the trace, and word has gotten out that your father won’t turn anyone away. Anything could happen to you, to Leah or the babe. Braxton Hall is much safer for all of you. Marry me. Let me take you all away from Breeze Hill and the danger that the trade route presents.”
She shook her head. “Papa would never leave Breeze Hill.”
“Perhaps in time he might
reconsider.”
“Perhaps.”
Nolan took her hand in his. “Isabella—”
“Nolan, please, don’t press me. Not today. Leah’s not feeling well, and I fear for her and the child.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, curtailing his irritation behind a solicitous smile. “Of course. You’re distressed, and I’m making things worse. Forgive me.”
She gave him a distracted smile. “Thank you.”
The door flung open, and Martha rushed into the parlor.
“Miss Isabella, come quick. I think it’s time.”
Connor separated his tools from those belonging to Breeze Hill.
An unamused snort escaped him as his gaze swept over the pegs and shelving along the workshop walls. It hadn’t taken long for him to make the cabin his home, start using Bartholomew’s hammers, lathes, and saws as his own.
He’d immersed himself in life at Breeze Hill as if he expected to stay forever, just as he’d grown too close to Isabella, allowing himself to fall in love with her.
Fool that he was.
Had he learned nothing from the trouble back in Ireland? Was he destined to let a pretty face turn his head?
He knew better. Or did he?
It had been nine years since he’d let Charlotte lead him astray. When he’d come to his senses somewhere in the bowels of a ship bound for America, he realized he’d never loved her. He’d been infatuated with her. With the beautiful, articulate Englishwoman who’d cast her laughing smile on him, flirting and enticing him to do her bidding. And he’d done it all willingly.
But in the end, when she’d threatened to expose him, to lie about their time together, he’d realized the type of woman she was. She’d already turned to the man her father had chosen for her by that time—someone of her station and set to inherit a title.
Just as Isabella would marry a plantation owner.
Which was as it should be.
But knowing how highbrow society worked didn’t make the truth any easier to swallow, not when Isabella should be his.
He tossed a broken saw blade to the side.
