by Jamie Carie
Angelene walked over, took her arm in a tight grip, and wrenched it around to the front. “Give it to me.”
The girl’s bottom lip started to quiver as she opened her fist and dropped a short stick into Angelene’s waiting palm.
“What is this?” Angelene’s voice rose in pitch.
“Just a stick. It isn’t anything.”
“It is too something. A short stick.” Angelene sucked in her breath. “You drew the shortest stick, didn’t you! You’ve been gambling with the other servants about who is to wait upon me, haven’t you? Just you wait until Mrs. Colburn hears about this.”
“Oh, please, Miss Monteiro, I beg you! Don’t tell her! It’s j-just that we’re all so, so busy. I’m happy to do your hair, truly I am.”
Angelene narrowed her eyes and leaned in until their noses were only inches away. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we? I expect my hair to be perfect tonight.”
“Oh, yes ma’am—uh, that is, Miss Monteiro. Thank you.” Her head bobbed up and down. “Have you picked out a gown yet? You have so many beautiful gowns.”
Somewhat mollified, Angelene turned to the armoire and flung open the doors. She sighed with a happy smile as she gazed at all the colorful silks and satins. “I do, don’t I? I think the watered silk tonight; it’s turquoise, which looks perfect on my complexion.”
Millie clasped her hands together under her chin, eyes big and round as Angelene pulled out the heavy silk. “Oh, yes, I see. It’ll make your skin fairly glow.” She rushed over to help Angelene out of her day dress and into the gown.
“Don’t forget to tighten my laces first,” Angelene snapped as she stepped out of the dress and kicked it to the side. She turned and waited, her foot tapping with impatience as the maid untied the knot and hauled back on the laces. The breath whooshed out of her at the young woman’s strength but she didn’t care. Her waist lost an inch as the girl pulled and her bosom swelled over the top of the corset in a delightfully fetching manner.
Millie guided the gown over Angelene’s head, buttoned the back, and smoothed down the skirt over the petticoat. Perfect. Angelene sat down at the dressing table and glared at the young maid in the mirror to begin on her hair. If Dorian Colburn could take his eyes off her this night she would eat her hat.
Kendra walked out to the backyard and sank down on the wooden step next to a bowl of potatoes. She spread her apron wide across her simple day dress of sprigged muslin, reached for the peeling knife, and picked up a dusty potato. The scents of flowers wafted with the soft breeze as she turned the small potato round and round in her hands, wondering if she was peeling the last of their winter’s store. She knew from the worried, whispered conversations her aunt and uncle tried to hide from her that their food stores were almost gone and harvesting anything edible was weeks away. Kendra wasn’t sure, but she thought it possible that there was no money to tide them over.
Guilt washed over her and weighed upon her heart like a heavy stone. Her relatives could not afford to care for her. She was only adding to their burden even though she ate as little as possible and helped out as much as she could in the house with Aunt Amelia. She had all but taken over the caring of the vegetable garden, something she had some experience with from the flower gardens back home. But it wasn’t enough. There must be something else she could do. But what?
Kendra turned her head at the sound of the back door opening. Her aunt walked over to a short stool carrying a milking churn. She sat down with a sigh, pushed some straggling gray hair back from her face, and began to churn.
“It’s a beautiful day, is it not, Aunt?”
The woman looked up at the scene around her as if just noticing they were outdoors. “I suppose so.” She looked like she was about to say something else and then she clamped her lips down into a straight line.
Kendra looked back down at the potato she was peeling, the feeling of sorrow for her aunt welling up into her eyes and filling her chest with an aching weight. “Why did you and Uncle Franklin leave England?”
“Humph. No one ever told you?”
Kendra shook her head and waited for the explanation.
The sound of the churning stopped. “Franklin has a hand for gambling. It didn’t take long to run through my dowry, which is why he married me in the first place. After we lost Greenbrier Manor, we tried living in London for a time, but it was . . . too costly. One night Franklin came home bragging about a tract of land he’d won in a card game. I was a mite hopeful until he told me it was here.” The churning noise started back up as Kendra picked up another potato. “And there you have it. We spent our last coin on coming to this godforsaken place and trying to make a living off the dirt.”
Kendra looked into her aunt’s tired eyes. Lines of bitterness stood out on either side of her mouth as she pressed her lips down together. “My uncle Andrew also acquired huge gambling debts. My father had to pay them off to keep him out of prison. That is why we lost everything and I was sent here.” She took a long breath and hoped the feeling of shared sorrow, the feeling of love she had for her aunt, showed in her eyes. “We share similar pasts, don’t we? I promise you . . . I’m going to do everything I can to help—”
She didn’t know how to finish the thought but her aunt turned her head and looked off into the distance, blinking rapidly, her face softened for the first time. In that brief moment, Kendra saw the vulnerability of her disappointments. She had finally cracked the wall of her aunt’s defenses and had seen a peek into her heart.
Chapter Twelve
Franklin tied his horse to the hitching post at The Swan in Yorktown and made his way into the taproom. His gaze scanned the throng until it lit upon the man he was looking for. Excellent. He was here.
Making his way through the crowded room, he sat down at the table next to his longtime friend, Martin Saunderson. Martin looked up from his cards and gave Franklin a nod, but he didn’t focus on Franklin for long. Leaning back in his chair, his long legs extended in front of him, he kept his gaze on the cards in his hand. A plump barmaid came by and Franklin ordered an ale, waiting for Martin to finish his game. He was in high spirits, thinking of the plan that had come to him shortly after reading the letter. It had been a stroke of luck, that letter, and once he’d explained it to Amelia she had come around and seen it too.
Martin glanced over at Franklin and frowned. His friend’s eyes were alight with excitement and he was tapping the table in an impatient way that was distracting. The game was going well and he didn’t need the interruption tonight. Confound the man, playing havoc with his concentration. After two more hands, he finally gave up and quit the game. “I must join you another time, gentlemen.” He rose and scraped his winnings into his hat.
“You’ll give us a chance to win back our blunt, won’t you Saunderson?” a rough-looking man from Williamsburg asked.
“Of course. I’m staying here for at least a fortnight.” He smoothed down his mustache and gave them a vacant smile. “Plenty of opportunities to best me, I assure you.”
The men seemed placated so he turned toward Franklin, who had arisen and was standing close behind him. Martin motioned his friend toward the back of the room. As soon as they were seated, Franklin whispered, “You’ll never believe the good fortune that walked through my door a few days ago.”
Martin lifted a dark brow in mild interest. He’d met Franklin years ago at gaming tables in various towns and they’d struck up a strange sort of friendship. Luck was something Franklin had little of, and good sense even less. This should be entertaining.
Franklin leaned in, his eyes overly bright, his hand slapping the table as if trying to get Martin’s undivided attention. “My wife’s niece arrived from England, intending to make her home with us. Her father was the Earl of Arundel, you know.”
“I remember But why is that your good fortune? As I remember it, the earl wouldn’t give you a shilling.”
Franklin nodded. “Yes, well, he lost his fortune before he died, whic
h is why the new earl, Andrew Townsend, washed his hands of his niece and shipped her here to live. But his letter mentions a dowry, property rich with rents that was left for the chit from her mother’s side. Kendra’s uncle is unable to touch any of it, which is chafing him real good. He hinted that if I could get rid of the problem he would pay me most handsomely.”
“He wants you to kill your niece?” Martin’s eyes widened. He knew Franklin to sometimes cheat, more often lie, but murder? The man didn’t have it in him.
“I know. Crazy fool. I’ve had a better idea and it will be much more profitable than a few hundred pounds.”
“And what, pray tell, is that?” Martin leaned forward, interested despite himself.
“If she dies, her uncle Andrew gets the property, but if she marries, all of that lovely money will go directly into her husband’s pockets.”
Martin shook his head at Franklin as if he had lost his wits. ”What has that got to do with you, or me for that matter?”
Franklin gave Martin a slow smile. “She can only marry a man I approve of . . . the man I give permission to wed her . . . the man I will split the inheritance with.”
Franklin’s plan was suddenly clear. “Wed her? You want me to wed your niece? Don’t even consider it.” His tone was as dry as dust. “I am not a fan of the honored state of matrimony, as you well know.”
Franklin smirked at him. “Ah, but you have yet to see her, my friend. She is enough to make a man’s blood boil.”
Martin knew of Franklin’s taste in women and flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his coat sleeve, his voice thick with sarcasm, “Undoubtedly.”
“Come to dinner and see for yourself.”
Martin shook his head. His parents’ marriage had been a brutal affair and he wanted no part of being shackled down by a woman. No fortune was worth that and besides, he enjoyed his roaming freedom and the ability to make a living off games of chance. “You will have to find someone else for your groom, Franklin. I’m content with my lot in life.”
Franklin’s mouth flattened and his face fell. “You may think that way now, but I’d wager a goodly sum that you’ll change your mind once you meet the wench.”
Martin smiled his slow smile at his friend. He always made it so easy to fleece him of what little money he had. “How goodly an amount? I believe I will take you up on that bet.”
Franklin stood, eyes alight again. “One hundred pounds.”
“You don’t have that kind of money and you know it.”
“I won’t need it.”
Martin laughed and held out his hand to shake. He might not get the hundred pounds but he would find something of value that he could take from Franklin when he won. “Very well. I’ll meet the girl and we’ll see.”
They shook on it. Martin chuckled as Franklin rushed from the taproom, probably in haste to tell his wife the news. Martin leaned back in his chair and downed the ale, almost feeling sorry for his friend. No woman was worth marriage, not even one with a rich dowry across the pond. It was too bad he would have to take Franklin’s paltry profits from his little farming endeavor again this year. Too bad, indeed.
When Franklin arrived home he found both Kendra and his wife surrounded by gowns. He had expected Kendra to be in bed, as she always retired early, and was more than a little disgruntled that she and his wife were both up and jabbering about some nonsense.
“What is the meaning of all this?” he asked as he took off his hat.
Amelia rushed over. He looked down at her face with a start. She hadn’t looked so animated in a very long while. She looked almost . . . pretty.
“We received an invitation to a ball! Mr. Colburn’s birthday ball. Can you believe it? It’s been so long since anyone invited us to a party. Kendra and I have pulled out all our dresses to decide what to wear. She’s helping me make over one of her dresses so that I will be more fashionable. Isn’t that kind?”
Franklin looked askance at his niece. She was a slender thing with curves in all the right places and he couldn’t imagine his plump wife fitting into anything Kendra could wear.
“A ball.” He barked out the words. He needed to keep Kendra out of society until he had her safely betrothed to Martin. The last thing he wanted was a horde of suitors at his door. And Colburn. Wasn’t that the captain fellow who had delivered her? The Colburns were wealthy and powerful. “Let me see that invitation.”
His wife picked up a card from the desk and brought it over to him. “We must inspect your clothing too, dear. I do believe we can come up with something suitable from your wardrobe.”
The look in her eyes made him feel a bit off center. This was the woman he’d married. This was the woman he used to love.
With a shake of his head he read the invitation. It was the captain’s family. He remembered the possessive way Dorian had been with his niece, the intimacy they seemed to have. It hadn’t meant anything to him at the time but now it was a threat indeed. He was her uncle and the one who would give permission for Kendra to wed. She would not be prey to the likes of Dorian Colburn.
“Yes, well it’s late and time for bed. Get this mess cleaned up, Amelia. You’ll have time enough to plan your wardrobe tomorrow.”
Amelia’s eyes turned disappointed. “I suppose so. Come along, Kendra. Let’s lay them in a neat pile on the sofa here.”
Kendra agreed and didn’t seem to mind the order. She gave Franklin a kiss on the cheek and then hugged her aunt. “Good-night, Uncle, Aunt. Pleasant dreams.” She smiled and waved at them as she turned toward her room.
Franklin fought against the melting feeling around his heart. He’d never really desired children, but in that moment he wondered if it would have made a difference, if he and Amelia might have loved each other more and grown closer with a child as a bond between them. Shaking his head, he huffed aloud. A child would have only been another mouth to feed, and they were barely feeding themselves as it was.
With a jerk of his head, he motioned toward the door. Amelia nodded, went to get her shawl from the hook, and followed him outside.
“Well, did Martin agree?”
They were mere steps away from the house, walking toward a big oak tree.
“Hush,” Franklin cautioned until they were standing beneath the tree under the moonlight. “Not exactly.” Franklin frowned down at his wife. “He says he won’t ever get married but I convinced him to at least meet her. Once he sees her, he’ll be smitten. I doubt there’s a man alive that can resist her.”
Amelia squinted up at him. “Martin’s a handsome devil with a smooth tongue, but I am starting to feel uneasy about this plan of yours.”
“Don’t tell me the chit has dug her claws into you, Amelia.”
“She is my sister’s daughter! My only niece.”
“We need this money and the only way we can get our hands on it is to come to some agreement with Martin. Once he sees her, gets to know her, I wager he’ll agree to split the dowry to have my permission to wed her. I’m sure of it.”
Amelia looked down at her clasped hands. “I suppose you’re right. I just hope he tries to make her happy.”
“Happy? Since when do you care about such things? Stop feeling sorry for her and remember what she really means to us.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him. With one thumb Franklin touched his wife’s cheek for the first time in ages. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing you all dressed up for the ball.”
His wife sputtered in embarrassed protest but she took a tiny step closer. “Kendra will look beautiful. Perhaps we should wrangle an invitation for Martin. He should see how desired she is sure to be.”
Franklin took another step closer and pulled his wife into his arms. He was somewhat appalled by her shape but he suppressed the revulsion. He needed her firmly on his side and one night of reminding her why she fell in love with him might just do the trick. He leaned down and kissed her. “An excellent idea. See what you can do.”
The eve of the ba
ll was a clear summer’s night with the scent of lilacs drifting through the air. Kendra peeked around the corner at her waiting relatives, excitement beating in her breast. Amelia, squeezed into the makeshift gown they had managed for her, was standing beside her husband. Franklin looked grave and out of place in his best, though faded, waistcoat with its ostentatious golden trim. They looked as nervous as she felt.
Stepping around the corner, her aunt gasped as Kendra came into view. She had donned an emerald satin gown that had a tight-fitting bodice with an ivory-boned corset underneath. The skirt was made full by two petticoats, the top petticoat made of white Brussels lace. The overskirt was brocaded in silver with a small ribbon at the waist. It was raised a little at the hem in the front, showing off the lace which matched the end of the gown’s sleeves, falling in a graceful tumble to mid-forearm, and also just peeping over her heart-shaped neckline. Her golden hair was caught up in a delicate coiffure with ringlets framing her face and several thick curls arranged to hang down her back. She had threaded emerald ribbon throughout her hair, but her hat! Her hat was the pièce de résistance. Black felt on the outside trimmed in black satin ribbon and emerald green silk on the inside. It was bi-cornered, with both sides turned up to reveal a great deal of the green lining. Around the crown was a wide green and cream-colored striped ribbon which tied in the front in a large bow. Just behind the bow were dyed green feathers and then mounds of wispy black feathers all around the crown. It made her look a full foot taller and was among her most prized possessions. She couldn’t believe she finally had an opportunity to wear it.
Kendra smiled at the awe on her relatives’ faces and took her aunt’s hands into hers. “Aunt, you look very lovely indeed. Why I believe we’ve outdone ourselves on the remaking of that gown.” Her aunt flushed and looked down at the floor. Kendra looked at her uncle, raised her brows, and then nodded her head toward her aunt. Surely the man was not so dense as to realize his wife could use an occasional compliment, and if he was, Kendra thought to remedy the situation.
