by Jamie Carie
Kendra tried to say something but found herself tongue-tied. Dorian spoke for her. “Madam, we are trying to locate the residence of a Lord and Lady Rutherford, Amelia and Franklin. Is this their home?”
“You’re looking at her,” she said in an unpleasant whine, eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”
Kendra’s knees started to shake as she surveyed her aunt. The woman was of medium height, with a rounded figure, faded blonde hair with streaks of gray, and a wan and wrinkled face. The one reminder of her youthful beauty were eyes of clover green, which now only made her look like a frantic cat.
“Aunt Amelia?” Kendra took a step toward the woman. “I am Kendra Townsend, your sister’s daughter.” She saw a look of startled disbelief change her aunt’s face. “My uncle, Lord Andrew Townsend, wrote a letter of introduction, explaining my need to come and stay with you awhile.” Kendra pulled the sealed letter from her pocket and held it out to her aunt. Her heart pounded as the woman wrinkled her brow, staring at it.
“A letter, you say. Stay with us?” She sounded as appalled by the idea as she looked.
Kendra felt she might faint, although the urge had never occurred to her before. Oh heavenly Father, what will I do? “Please. Won’t you just read it?”
“Well, come in,” she backed away, giving them room to enter, “and maybe we can straighten this out. I’ll call my husband. He will have something to say about this.” She turned from them then, leaving them just inside the door as she wandered off to find her husband.
Kendra glanced around the large room filled with mismatched furniture, some English styles mixed with rough-hewn, homemade pieces. A faded, shabby rug covered part of the rough boards of the floor. The walls were bare except for the fireplace. It boasted a spindly mantel with a few knick-knacks—a glass vase, two candlesticks covered in old drippings of wax, and a few small portraits hanging above it. One of the paintings looked to be her aunt, she recognized the green eyes. The painting hanging beside it was of another young blonde woman with piercing blue eyes. Kendra walked closer and sucked in her breath as she realized this smiling woman was her mother. She’d only seen one painting of her mother. It had hung in the blue and gold drawing room back home. Her father told her it was commissioned shortly after their marriage. As a child, Kendra had studied the painting, wondering what kind of woman her mother had been. This aunt, Aunt Amelia, could help answer some of those questions, she realized with a wave of peace coming over her. Aunt Amelia could tell her stories of her mother that her father hadn’t known. Stories of their childhood. Coming here, no matter how dismal it looked, must be the right decision. A sudden excitement and determination filled her chest.
Dorian walked up to join her. “Do you recognize any of these people?”
“Yes”—she nodded toward the painting she was studying—“that was my mother. I’ve only seen one other portrait of her, but I’m sure it is her.”
“She was a beautiful woman. You have her nose and her exact shade of hair.”
Before she could answer that, her aunt entered the room with a tall, slim man. He was still handsome by English standards with fair skin and the aristocratic features of dark brown hair and amber eyes, eyes that were chilling as he looked from Kendra to Dorian and back again. His chin was held at a haughty angle that was familiar to Kendra and, for some strange reason, he actually made her feel more at home.
“Your niece? A letter, you say?” His voice boomed with the familiar English accent. He took the letter from Kendra and broke the seal. He took out a pair of round spectacles from a desk drawer, adjusted them to his eyes, and peered at the letter.
Aunt Amelia edged closer, craning her neck to read over his arm and pulling on his sleeve for a better look. He finally looked down at her long enough to bark, “Cease woman,” upon which she momentarily stopped. At long last he looked up. “Seems she’s told the truth,” he muttered to his wife. “Lord Townsend has shipped his troubles to us.”
“I’ll not be any trouble, Uncle,” Kendra rushed to assure him. She took a step closer. “May I read the letter?” She wanted to know what Andrew had said about her and her reasons for coming to America.
“No need for that.” Her uncle refolded the paper and pushed the wax seal back down. Kendra dropped her arm, determined to keep her face blank, but sank on the inside. She would just have to hope Uncle Andrew had not painted her in a bad light.
Her aunt’s eyes were glittering with resentment as she looked Kendra up and down, studying her face. “You don’t look like your mother. How do we know you are truly our niece?”
“Oh, but I am. I—”
“What was my sister’s name?” Her aunt interrupted in a stern tone.
Kendra embarked on the family history as she knew it. “Eileen Bentford. She married my father, Lord Edward Alexander Townsend, the Earl of Arundel, when she was twenty. She was married six years before she died, giving birth to me. I never knew her, but I did have a painting and it resembles the one above your mantle.”
Amelia cocked her head to one side, her mouth a flat, grim line. “Why have you come here?”
Andrew must have been vague indeed in his letter. The desire to slip through one of the wide cracks in the floor surged through her but she had to tell them the truth. “My uncle attempted to wed me to an unsuitable man. When I protested the match, he decided I would fare better in America with you than with him in England.”
“So you were difficult, were you, and he thought to pack his trouble off on us?” Her aunt’s voice was little more than a sneer.
Her uncle intervened, shooting his wife a quelling look which seemed to momentarily silence her. “My dear”—he held out his hand to Kendra—“I must apologize for our behavior. The shock, you know.”
Kendra smiled back at him, trying to keep up with their changing behavior. Was there ever a more strange set of relatives? Lord, give me courage to know what to do.
“Let us begin again, shall we?” Her uncle looked at Dorian and gave him a small nod.
Dorian held out a hand as he introduced himself. “I’m Captain Dorian Colburn, sir. I gave Lady Townsend passage here from England.”
At her uncle’s nudging, Aunt Amelia gave Dorian a stiff nod as if she was too lofty to acknowledge a mere captain.
Dorian gave her a bow in return and shot an encouraging smile to Kendra. “I must be getting home, would you walk me back to the carriage while I retrieve your trunks?”
Fear lanced through her at the thought of being alone with her relatives. “Certainly”—she glanced at her aunt— “that is, if I am to stay. Might I stay, Aunt? I won’t be any trouble.”
“Oh, I doubt that, but there seems to be no help for it. Franklin, help the captain there with her trunks.”
The silence was heavy on the way back to the carriage. Dorian and Franklin carried the trunks into the parlor while Kendra stood by the carriage. She wanted more than anything to jump back inside and ride away, but she could not. She must make the best of the cards she had been dealt.
Dorian came back alone. He walked up to her and took her hands into his, giving them a firm squeeze. “If you need me . . . I live a few miles to the north. Go back the way we came and take the other road. Someone would give you directions from there.”
“Thank you.” She slipped her hands from his grasp, thinking that her aunt might be watching them from the window, and took a step backward toward the house. With her best attempt at a confident smile she whispered, “I shall win them over.”
Dorian took a deep breath and looked down at his boots for a moment and then, in a sudden way, with his blue eyes alive and blazing, with his lips pressed together, he nodded agreement. He stared into Kendra’s eyes for a long moment and she felt his faith in her, his belief that she could make something of this situation when everything said there was no hope. A gentle smile lit his eyes and curved his lips. “That, my lady, is a surety.” He placed his hat back on his dark hair and climbed up into the carriage seat.
He nodded to her again and said in a steady voice, “Remember the ball. I will see that an invitation is delivered for you in the next few days.”
Kendra waved, fighting the tears in her throat. “Good-bye.” Would she really see him again? His rugged face and tender voice. His teasing and cajoling, his playful banter that made her heart flutter. On the ship—so many emotions she’d seen cross the handsome planes of his cheeks, his forehead, in his eyes. She would miss him so much, she realized as an aching loneliness filled her. Giant-sized tears squeezed from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she watched the carriage roll away.
What now?
Shaking herself, she wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve, lifted her chin, and turned toward the house.
Be strong and full of faith, for I am with you. The words made her heart lift as if stones had been plucked from it. Thank You, Father. But the tears were still close to overfilling her eyes.
Kendra entered the sitting room to find her aunt and uncle abruptly ending their conversation. They turned and smiled at her as if they’d had a change of heart and were happy she was there. “My dear, you must be tired after your long journey. We have a spare room that we’ve never had much need of as we are childless. Let’s tidy it up for you, shall we?”
Kendra followed her aunt to a small room that held a bed, a broken-down table, and some other odds and ends, while her uncle followed behind with her trunks. Aunt Amelia busied herself fetching blankets for the bed and dusting the furniture while Kendra put away her belongings on the hooks on the wall. “We’ll put a curtain up to make a closet,” Amelia assured her, busy propping up the table leg. With so few belongings, it didn’t take long to have her installed in her new room.
“Why don’t you lie down for a rest, dear. We can get better acquainted at dinner.”
Kendra nodded, already feeling her eyelids grow heavy at the invitation. But as she lay across the crinkling straw ticking and closed her eyes, a feeling of foreboding crept through her tired limbs.
They were being so nice now. Too nice.
Something was not quite right about her relatives.
Chapter Eleven
It was good to be home.
Dorian drove up the lush tree-lined drive toward the three-storied, white plantation house with the sun warm on his face and the familiar contentment of home settling over him. The house looked quiet, a fact that his mother despaired over. The few times he had mentioned the idea of getting a house of his own she’d vacillated between stony silences and spoiling him with favorite meals and anything she could think of to make him never want to leave home. He chuckled, thinking of how excited she would be when he walked through the door. The plight of being the baby of the family.
As if thinking of her had conjured her up, his mother flew out the door as Dorian stopped the carriage. She must have heard from Angelene that he was soon to come and had probably been watching for him through the window. She was always so relieved to find him still in one piece.
Dorian sprang down from the carriage while a servant rushed forward to take the horse to the stable.
“You’re finally home!” His mother threw her arms around him, her head coming just to his shoulder.
Dorian laughed and gave her a tight squeeze, kissing the top of her head. “How are you, Mother? You are looking well!”
“Happiness takes years off, you know!” she said back to him, turning him toward the house with her arm around his waist. She had always been an affectionate mother, and Dorian had not realized how rare that was compared to the staid mannerisms of most of his friends’ parents. It was something he had taken for granted as a child but was now thankful for.
As they walked through the door, his sister Faith, the only other sibling still unmarried and living at home, and his father came toward them. Faith laughed with a joyous sparkle in her eyes and gave him a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re home!” His father clapped him several times on the shoulder. “Son, it’s so good to see you. Seems like years instead of months.”
“And it seems longer each time,” his mother added. “Do come into the parlor and let’s get you something to eat. We must hear all about your travels. Angelene tells us you had a passenger and had to escort her home! Whatever is that all about?”
At the reminder of Angelene, Dorian looked up at the wide, curving staircase and saw her standing at the railing that overlooked the entrance hall. She hesitated, which made Dorian feel a little sorry for her in the awkward moment, but he didn’t know what to say so he only bowed his head in a miniscule nod and said nothing. She wasn’t his guest and he did not want to encourage her attention.
Faith followed his gaze up and motioned for Angelene to come down, which she did, with a haughty tilt to her chin and an exaggerated sway to her hips.
The five of them settled into the formal drawing room that was decorated in tones of greens and creams. His mother directed the housekeeper to bring in a tea tray and saw that they were all comfortably settled before seating herself.
“So tell us, dear brother, how were you persuaded to take on a passenger? You’ve always said you never would,” his sister asked, picking up the teapot to pour.
“That would be John’s doing. He was distracted by the grandeur of an English aristocrat, and his money. He made the deal without consulting me.” Dorian made a groaning sound and looked toward the ceiling. “I wanted to throttle him to be sure, but aside from abandoning the woman on the docks, there was little I could do.”
Faith laughed. “I doubt that. Is she very beautiful? Angelene says she is an earl’s daughter.”
Dorian sat down his teacup a little too hard. “Her father was the Earl of Arundel, but he died and her uncle, the new earl, wanted to wash his hands of her. She’s come to America to live with her mother’s sister and her husband.”
“What became of her mother?” Hannah asked.
“She died giving birth to Kendra, er, Lady Townsend. She has no siblings and is rather alone in the world.”
“That is so sad.” His mother then belied the words by shooting a speculative but happy glance at his father.
Dorian cleared his throat. “As to her beauty, I will withhold judgment and allow you all to make up your own minds. I’ve promised her an introduction.”
Dorian looked over toward Angelene for the first time and noted that her gaze was dagger drawn. He looked quickly away.
“You should invite her to your father’s birthday party,” his mother interjected with a satisfied smile. “We must introduce her to local society so that she can make some new friends.”
“Oh, yes. I would love to meet her,” Faith agreed.
“She’s nothing special, just because she is English and has a title,” Angelene muttered.
“No, she is special in that she knows no one, dear, and we must be charitable and kind. We must help her find friends in what must seem a new world for her,” his mother corrected in a soft voice.
Dorian’s gaze flew to his mother’s. It was rare that she would correct a guest. Angelene must have overstepped her bounds on more than this occasion to have made an adversary of her.
“I keep telling them to forget this business of a birthday party,” his father turned their attention back to neutral ground. “A man my age doesn’t want a big fuss over it.”
His mother and Faith laughed. “But you’ll be sixty-five, Father! That is such a grand old age. We must celebrate,” Faith teased as their father mock-frowned at her.
“My point exactly, Faith. How’s a man supposed to forget he’s getting old when everyone keeps reminding him of it.”
Dorian chuckled. “You’ll not win against the women united. Might as well decide to enjoy all the attention.”
The conversation turned to other things and it was over an hour later when Dorian excused himself to freshen up before dinner.
Angelene closed the guest bedchamber door with a soft click and surveyed the room with a frown. Lady Townsend this and Lady Townsend that! He
r brows snapped together so hard she was beginning to feel a headache coming on. “Oh!” She stomped her foot and placed her hands on her hips. Why did that woman have to show up now, just when she had Dorian almost up to scratch? It wasn’t fair!
She walked over to the chair and threw herself into it, staring at the wall. The vision of Lady Kendra crystallized on the white plaster. Her laughing face, those enormous violet eyes that were shocking in such a pale face, and worst of all, the fact that she was so genuine and kind. Why, she might have even liked her had Dorian not obviously liked her so much. It just wasn’t fair at all.
A scratching sound at the door had her standing up and flipping a long, black curl over her shoulder. She rose, hope beating in her heart that it might be Dorian. Taking a breath, she held it in and opened the door. “Yes?”
One of the Colburn maids stood there with a timid trembling on her lips. She clutched something in her hand. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” Angelene’s shoulders slumped as she turned away.
“I’ve come to dress your hair, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am,” Angelene snapped. “I’m Miss Monteiro to you.”
“Yes, ma—um . . . Miss Monteiro.”
“Well, don’t just stand there like a ninny. Get in here and help me dress.” Angelene took a step toward her as the maid scurried into the room. Why did the girl have to be so timid? It grated on Angelene’s nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Her own nanny had been of the fire-breathing sort and it had taken someone like that to keep a handle on her rambunctiousness. With her mother gone and her father rarely home, Angelene had developed a fierce love and respect for her nanny but she had run roughshod over every other servant in her path. “What’s that in your hand?” Angelene eyed the girl’s clenched fist.
The girl looked down at it and gasped. “Oh, I forgot I had that. It’s nothin’, Miss Monteiro.” She swung her hand around to her back and looked up with wide eyes.
