"This place is a wreck," Nathan insisted. "It wasn't much before I left, and now it's worse." He watched her. "Your part of the bargain is losing its luster."
"Don't talk nonsense." She had wandered over to study the set of English Coalport china displayed behind glass in the dining room. "You have made far too much of the expressions on my face. Goodness, these dishes are exquisite! It's the Imari pattern, isn't it?"
"The china, crystal, and silver were gifts from my parents when I purchased Tempest Hall. My mother thought that the Imari pattern was a good match for Barbados. 'Savage, elegant, and lush' was her description, I believe." He smiled suddenly, openly, at the thought of his vivacious mother.
"It sounds as if she and I would get along."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Raveneau glanced away. "The Sheraton sideboard used to be in my family's Connecticut home. Most of the rest of the furniture was already in place. The Barbadian mahogany seems fitting."
Adrienne moved to the sideboard to touch the tall, curving glass shades that surrounded every candle in sight. "What are these for?"
"The windows are open all the time, and there is, one hopes, a constant breeze. Those globes keep the candles lit. Some people call them hurricane lamps."
She smiled, looking to the fireplace in the sitting room corner that had never been used. "Your mother is right. I can already tell that life here is a fascinating mixture of the familiar and exotic."
"That's precisely the reason I love Barbados." Nathan tossed back his rum. "This was a grand estate in its day, and I mean to restore it." It killed him to acknowledge that he cared about Adrienne's opinion. "I hope that you'll... be patient. Don't judge my home too harshly on the basis of this first look."
"I love a challenge, and I want to help, at least indoors."
"You'll have a staff, Adrienne, but of course you must tell them your wishes. Unless they've all been bribed by Xavier Crowe, they should obey you." Conversations about their marriage made him nervous. "Once we're rid of that blackguard, Barbados will be paradise."
Another voice spoke from the doorway leading to the back of the house. "Don' you talk dat way sir. Sound suspicious like murder you dream 'pon."
He turned to see Orchid Smythe taking a step into the sitting room, and went immediately to greet her. "Damn, but it's good to see you, Orchid!" His eyes ran over her, making a worried assessment. Small and thin, with great expressive eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a full mouth, she wore the lovely garb favored by free women of the West Indies. Her head was covered by a high, intricately tied blue-and-white-striped turban and a shawl of Madras plaid cotton crossed over the front of her low-necked, laced bodice. The full apron that covered most of Orchid's blue skirt was immaculately white, as if she had just tied it on for the first time.
"I happy seein' you home, Mas—" She caught herself before the word "master" was out. "Captain. Sir. You belong here."
"Tell me the truth. How are you feeling?"
A peaceful smile warmed Orchid's face, which was nearly the color of rich mahogany. "I t'ink I go to God pretty soon, sir. I know dat seem sad, but I rejoice when I go. I jus' wearin' out, plain and simple." She was still smiling when Philip came up behind her and wrapped a supportive arm around her waist. "De tragedy is I not much good to work, Captain Raveneau."
"Sit down, Orchid." He motioned to Philip to help her into a nearby rocking chair. "My only concern is your comfort. And if you think a physician could do you any good, we'll send for one immediately."
The old woman waved a hand at him as her husband gently lowered her into the chair. "No, sir. An' no more talk 'bout me. I wan to meet dis pretty lady."
"I am Adrienne Beauvisage, and it is an honor to meet you, Mrs. Smythe." Adrienne drew a chair up close to Orchid's and took her frail hand.
"You actin' too nice, Mistress," the older woman scolded. "Bad 'nuff I can' work much, but makes me feel worse if you carry me 'round like I already dead." Orchid looked up at Nathan, smiling again. "I like she. When you have wedding?"
He cleared his throat. "I—ah—"
"Soon, yes? Here in de garden, so I can watch. Make me happy 'fore I die." She was beaming now.
"All right then, Orchid. If that's your wish, consider it granted," Nathan said.
Adrienne smiled along with the rest of them, but inside she felt odd. It was bad enough that he'd proposed to get her father's land, but now it seemed that only Orchid's deathbed request was causing the wedding to take place in a timely fashion.
"So much work need doing in dis house!" Orchid was saying. "Make it ready for guests."
"I don't think we need to bother with guests," Nathan replied. "I mean, wouldn't it be simpler, and more dignified, to have a quiet ceremony?"
Orchid looked stricken. "Oh, sir, I sorry de house look so bad. You walk inside, look 'round, an' I t'ink you are angry wit me."
"Nonsense. Philip had already explained to me that you hadn't been well." Nathan paused. "But, Orchid, why didn't you organize some of the other workers to do the tasks we discussed before I left? The painting, and reupholstering, and—"
"Mr. Horner not give me de money, sir! He say dere not enough for household spendin', an' I say, one bellyful don' fatten a hog!" As her voice rose, her breathing quickened. "An' Mr. Horner take mos' of de house girl and make dem work in he field! Only Retta help me cook."
A muscle jumped in Nathan's cheek. "Damn him. I begin to wonder if he was in Crowe's employ from the first—perhaps even before I hired him in England...."
Philip spoke up. "I glad he gone. Time for new start."
"Yes. Clearly our situation can only improve." What Raveneau left unsaid was the question of how the plantation would function from now on.
* * *
"I'll show you the rest of the house," Nathan said in a tone that indicated he had countless other matters on his mind but would do his duty.
"Show me my room, and I'll freshen up." Adrienne gave him a crisp smile but inside felt lost, lonely, and disappointed. How long would it be before she had her bearings in this strange world?
Nathan conducted a cursory tour of an impressive library that was located behind the sitting room, then pointed out the narrow gallery that traveled all the way around one side of the house. It had plenty of windows and places to sit and dream and stay cool. Nathan explained that early settlers had learned that galleries not only made good breezeways, but they kept the inner walls of the house cooler and gave an added layer of protection against hurricanes.
"The only reason Tempest Hall has survived for nearly two centuries is that there is coral stone under the plaster facade. The outer galleries and the verandah across the front were added later, I've been told."
Adrienne learned that there was a serving room behind the dining room and that the actual kitchen was detached, to prevent fires. They went upstairs via a magnificent white Chinese Chippendale staircase. On the second floor, Nathan walked Adrienne through various open bedrooms. There was his own, which was largest. It was painted pale lemon and furnished with splendid mahogany pieces, including a massive testered bed. He took her right into his spacious dressing room, pushed open a door on the far wall between an armoire and a chest of drawers, and pointed.
"That will be your bedchamber. I'll... uh, make room for your clothing in here. And I suppose we ought to find you a maid. Perhaps there will be someone among the house slaves whom you'll like well enough."
"I can fend for myself for the time being. The house is in enough disarray right now without giving anyone added duties." Adrienne went into the room slowly, taking in the details one at a time. It seemed likely that this had originally been the bedchamber of the lady of the house, but since Nathan's ownership, it had languished unused. The walls were light coral, peeling near the ceiling, and the Kuba rug was worn nearly to the floor in places. The furnishings were lesser versions of those in Nathan's room: liberally carved pieces in dark Barbadian mahogany.
"God," he said flatly. "Everything in th
e house looks worse than I remember."
There were dead cockroaches here and there on the floor, and the room smelled of mildew and sultry air. Adrienne ran a finger through the thick layer of dirt that coated a dressing table. "I begin to think that you need a wife more than you care to admit!"
Nathan stared at her. In spite of the rigors of the day, she looked so appealing that he felt alarmed. Long ago he'd decided not to try to measure up to the standard of his parents' blissful marriage. He'd chosen a different sort of life and had carried it off with dashing ease—with the exception of one situation. That incident, and the residual memories, had only hardened Nathan's heart further against illusions of romance.
Now he was about to marry for reasons that had nothing to do with love or devotion. Surely that was better, wasn't it?
"I'll leave you to do whatever it is women do at times like this," he said, his voice slightly choked.
The dressing room door closed behind him and Adrienne was alone. Thick, confusing feelings rose up until she thought she must sob. She sat down on the bed, afraid to bury her face in the old woven spread. Covering her mouth with her hands, she let the sounds come, and felt burning tears spill from her eyes.
After a few minutes of such despair, Adrienne shook herself. Enough of that. She'd chosen to come and would get used to this place. It wasn't a prison. She could go back to France if she chose to, since there were no legal ties between her and Nathan. If she stayed, it would be of her own free will. She wasn't gooseish enough to have come so far and plunged into such deep water simply for adventure's sake.
No, it was for the sake of love. She loved Nathan Raveneau.
There it was, the real truth. It was unnerving to face up to it because it would also mean facing her hurt if he never returned that love, but Adrienne was too honest to shade her eyes from the bright light.
Love. Adrienne wrote the word on her heart, then whispered, "I love him. I want to be his wife."
It was as if a weight had been released. The dead cockroaches were meaningless, as was the dust. This was the home they would share as a family, and transforming it would be just one aspect of Adrienne's grander project.
Might Nathan love her too? Could he ever make peace with such an emotion and all that it implied? Joy and determination joined to give her hope.
A knock sounded at her door and she slipped down from the high feather tick to answer it. A young black woman stood in the hallway, head bowed deferentially. She held a basin filled with water and a cake of soap, and there were linen towels over her left arm.
"How kind you are! Let me help you." Adrienne tried to take the basin from the girl, but she held tight. "I'm Miss Beauvisage. What is your name?"
"Retta," she replied softly, and carried the basin and towels to a washstand near the tile-lined corner fireplace. Retta had thick, curly lashes and great full-moon eyes. Her hair was hidden under a green-striped kerchief that wasn't as tall as Orchid's, and Retta's loose white dress hid a body that appeared to Adrienne to be too thin for good health.
"It's nice to meet you, Retta. I admired Orchid's headdress, and now yours. What is it called here?"
The servant put a hand up to touch the starched cotton. "We call dis 'headtie.' Women tie it certain ways to show if dey married or not. Orchid wearing a turban, 'cause she a free colored lady. De free Creole ladies, born in West Indies, have fanciest turbans."
Adrienne thought that the fashions here weren't so different from those in Regency England. Women would always find ways to enhance their beauty—and indicate their social standing!
"I think your headtie is lovely, Retta!" She gave her a warm smile. "And thank you for the water. It reminds me of how much I'd really like a proper bath!"
"Bat'house in back," Retta whispered. Seeing Adrienne's quizzical look, the girl led her across the hall to a window overlooking the gravel yard behind the house. There were various stucco, tile-roofed outbuildings there, but Retta pointed to a pair at one end. "You take de bath in dere."
"What's the other one for?"
The girl dropped her eyes again and muttered what sounded like "Earth closet."
Adrienne didn't press the matter. Retta headed toward the servants' stairs at one end of the hallway and turned back before descending. "I bring somet'ing to eat an' drink. Supper at eight o'clock."
"Don't bring anything upstairs. I'll come down. I'd like to look at Captain Raveneau's library."
Retta looked surprised by this announcement, but made no protest before she hurried soundlessly down the narrow staircase.
* * *
Alone, Adrienne set to work in her new bedchamber. After bathing as best she could, she brushed her hair until it shone again and pinned it back up, loosely, with tortoise-shell combs. Already the tropical air was making her hair curlier, and the effect was charming. Finally she donned clean undergarments and another gown from the trunk on board the Golden Eagle. This one was fashioned of light jaconet muslin, and the bodice was just a bit too snug, displaying rather more of her breasts than Adrienne would have preferred. However, since she had no wardrobe of her own, it would have to do.
She was feeling much fresher when she went downstairs to the library. Retta was coming in the back door from the kitchen just then, carrying a tray with a plate of cakes and sliced fruit and a pitcher of something that looked like fruit juice.
"You ready now?" the girl inquired. "De Captain do know you going in dere?"
Realizing that this must be her title for Nathan, Adrienne drew herself up. "He doesn't need to know. This is my home now too."
Retta shrugged. She gestured for her new mistress to precede her into the big library, then busied herself laying out the dishes from the tray, pretending not to notice that Raveneau was sitting at the desk.
"Ah, Retta, is that my planter's punch?" he asked without turning. Ledgers and account books were spread before him, and he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "I can taste it already."
"Yessir." Retta poured a tall glass from the pitcher and hurried over to the desk. "I bring you pawpaw an' piece of lime, an' cake."
The moment he glanced up, he saw Retta's nervous backward glance and swiveled in his chair. There was Adrienne, fresh and lovely, pouring her own glass of planter's punch. With an effort, Nathan kept his voice even. "Adrienne, what brings you into my library?"
"I try to tell her, Captain—" Retta blurted out, then bit her tongue.
"Tell me what?" asked Adrienne.
"Retta, you may leave us." When she had gone, Nathan watched through the window until the girl entered the detached kitchen outdoors. Then he put down his quill and stood up. "Perhaps I failed to explain that this is not only my library but my study as well." He waited, brows raised.
"You stress the word 'my' in a way that makes me wonder if that arrangement will continue even after our wedding. Will all of the house be yours except my bedchamber?" Adrienne's cheeks were turning pinker as she sipped the fruit-flavored drink. "Am I to ask permission before entering one of your rooms?"
"You're talking nonsense."
"Am I?" Boldly she slipped one of his treasured volumes of Shakespeare from its place on the shelf and sat down in a strange-looking chair that forced her to recline. "Then you won't mind if I stay?"
"I am trying to go over the books to see how much damage Owen Horner has done."
"I won't bother you. I'll be quiet as a mouse." Adrienne squirmed. "What sort of chair is this?"
Nathan couldn't help laughing. "It's called a planter's chair; designed for the master of the house to enjoy on a hot afternoon, while sipping a bit of grog." He drank from his glass of punch and walked closer. "You see, there are these extensions under the chair's arms...." He demonstrated, folding out what looked like long, flat wooden paddles. "Some men rest their legs up on these to cool off in the heat. Others use them when they want their boots removed."
"Planter's punch and the planter's chair," Adrienne mused with a note of irony. " 'Twould seem that
the planter imagines himself a man of leisure!"
"Keep that in mind when you're sipping the punch," he parried. "There's more rum in it than you'd guess. Too much and you'll be reclining unconscious in that chair, just like one of the planters it's named for." With that, Nathan returned to his desk. He ate slices of papaya drizzled with lime juice, shuffled papers, wrote notations in the ledgers, and made a special point of ignoring Adrienne.
"You haven't told me how you will take possession of my father's land," she said after a few minutes of silence. "How will he know the outcome of your agreement?"
"We dropped two crew members on the northwest coast of France, near Brest, the same night you and I... reached this arrangement." Nathan couldn't bring himself to say the word "marry," it seemed. Slowly he turned again in his chair to look at her. "I thought I told you, but perhaps I forgot—"
"Quite possibly," Adrienne agreed sweetly. "Following your romantic proposal of marriage, you barely spoke to me for the rest of the voyage."
He gave her a chilly smile. "I sent Duffy and Keane to your parents' chateau, carrying a letter from me that explained our... plans. I requested, if they approve, that your father send me the deed to his land and that they also allow my men to transport any possessions of yours that you might want."
"Wasn't it rather coldblooded to just write to them, without sending a word of reassurance from me? They've always expected to be with me on my wedding day, to know my husband and to share in our joy."
"Then, given our situation, isn't it just as well that they won't be here?"
Adrienne told herself he was purposely being difficult and tried to shake it off. After all, she had free will and could write to her mother and father without consulting Nathan. "How will your men get from France back to Barbados, when we have sailed on without them?"
"There are plenty of ships sailing to and from French ports, and I gave Duffy and Keane ample funds to buy passage. One of my own family's ships might be taking on cargo at Nantes, if I have the schedule right." He turned back to his ledgers. "We should have word soon."
Silver Sea Page 24
