A Bride Most Begrudging (5 page)

She stilled. She’d hoped for something a bit more expedient than the time it would take for a missive to reach her father. If a message was sent back with the ship, however, her father, even displeased, would send someone as soon as he received word. “You want not to marry me?”

He snorted. “I assuredly do not.”

“Will you send a message on the
Randolph
before it sails?”

He gave her a long pointed look before acquiescing. “I will.”

He will?
He will
. She smiled. Really smiled. It was the first time she’d done so since this whole ordeal began. Lifting her hands above her head, she leaned her face toward the heavens and twirled in a circle. The kerchief around her head slipped off.

Closing her eyes, she stopped spinning and offered up a word of prayer and thanksgiving. She opened her eyes to find O’Connor frozen in the pathway.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I am truly grateful.” He gave no indication of having heard her.

She searched the ground for her kerchief. She would have a devil of a time cramming all her intractable hair back into it. Scooping up the limp piece of fabric, she hugged it to her chest. Her throat filled. Lord willing, she’d be home for Christmas.

With her arms hiked up to replace the kerchief upon her head, she moved toward O’Connor. When he eyed the uncovered expanse of her neck, her steps slowed.

He remained still, his focus riveted on her person. She surreptitiously tried to adjust her bodice, peeked through her lashes at the man, then winced. The boor’s stare held a most unsettling mixture of mortification and fascination.

She stopped.

Studying her intently, he took two hesitant steps toward her, closing the distance between them.

Heavy, moist air pressed against her, smothering her with its warmth. She took a deep breath. “Are you all right, sir?”

“How many years are you?”

“Why, ten and nine.”

“You have red hair.”

Blinking in confusion, she lifted a hand to the wisps of hair escaping the kerchief ’s confines. “It’s auburn.”

“It’s red. And you have freckles as well.”

She gasped and covered her cheeks with her hands. A pox on those wretched freckles. Even in the shade, she had simply to be touched by a warm breeze and out they’d pop like fireworks exploding in a starless sky. Still, even the sailors hadn’t been so uncouth as to mention it.

His brows drew together in a frown. “They’re even on your hands.” Jerking her hands down, she straightened. That he could see them by the light of the moon alone made her humiliation all the worse.

He looked from her face to her shoulders to the bare expanse above her bodice. After an almost imperceptible pause, he shook his head and turned back to the path.

She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Of all the ill-bred, audacious, uncivilized individuals,
she thought.

She watched him disappear around a bend in the path. He wasn’t as filthy and openly crude as Emmett had been, nor did he fill her with disgust and trepidation the way Emmett had. But the truth was, she knew absolutely nothing about this O’Connor person. Was he trustworthy? Would he really send Father a missive or was he simply humoring her?

Maybe she should go back. Back to the captain and Arman. Back to pease and loblolly. Back to the damp, dank hold that was now deserted.

She shuddered. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. And for what? For the off chance the governor would come on board and hear her pleas? The pleas of a runaway bride and possible felon?

What if the captain did indeed simply take her to the next port and sell her once again for a hogshead of tobacco leafage?

She scrutinized the path from whence she had come. Maybe she should try to slip away. The bower-covered alley would be easy enough to follow, but beyond that, she wasn’t sure. Where would she go? What kind of wild creatures lurked in these forests? What of the savages she’d heard so much about?

She stood for several more moments in indecision.
What do I do, Lord? What do I do?
No answer was forthcoming.

The croaking, hooting, and howling of the night increased tenfold. A twig snapped a few yards away. There was nothing for it. Raising her chin, she lifted her gown and followed the path Mr. Drew O’Connor had tread.

chapter
T
HREE
   

DREW EMERGED FROM the natural bower into the sudden burst of moonlight. Flooded with a sense of gratification for what his father had accomplished before him, Drew looked upon the one-room cottage where he’d grown up. He took a deep breath, relishing the rush of love and well-being the home induced. Built in the old wattle-and-daub style, it nestled in a clearing amidst a handful of tall girdled trees.

A hint of smoke swirled out of the clay chimney on one end, while a large pile of firewood lay neatly stacked against the other. A hairless rabbit skin stretching across the square window provided a screen, of sorts, for those sleeping inside.

His brother sat on the oak chopping block in the yard, resting his elbows on his knees. Drew smiled to himself. An incurable optimist, that was Josh. If a thunderstorm came, Drew would anticipate a flood, Josh a rainbow.

Drew thought back to how inseparable they’d been as boys, one the perfect complement of the other. As men, their bond made a natural progression to partnership in the tobacco trade. Drew farmed with passion and voracity, while Josh exploded on the factoring market with a natural ability others merely dreamed of. It was good to have his brother back home after this last bout in England.

Josh removed the toothpick from his mouth. Beneath his hat, dark blond hair curled down beyond his shoulders. “Where is she?”

Drew shrugged. “A few lengths back.”

Josh frowned. “Did you tell her to stay on the path? Even though it’s dark, snakes still frequent the area.”

“What’s the point? Her chances for survival are next to nothing.”

“Not that bad, surely.”

Drew dropped Constance’s clothing and diary on the bench by the cottage door. “You’ve forgotten. Not many women make it once they’re sold. Only one out of every three. Only the heartiest. Only the strong. More often than not, only the orneriest of the lot.”

Returning the toothpick to his mouth, Josh clamped down on the slender piece of wood. “Just because Leah didn’t survive here doesn’t mean every woman will meet the same fate.”

Drew stiffened. “Leah has nothing to do with it.”

“That’s an out-and-out lie, and well you know it. It’s been nigh on three years since her death, well past time you got over it.”

Drew picked up Constance’s diary and thumbed through it. It was too dark to read, of course, but no matter, for visions of Leah infiltrated his thoughts. Her quiet beauty transformed into a stark lifeless form, pale against the corn-silk color of her hair as they sealed her in a pine box and lowered her six feet into the ground.

A great knot formed in his stomach. He hated to see the spark and vitality snuffed from the redhead as well. With staunch resolve, he closed Constance’s diary. All he need do was keep his distance, and perhaps the cessation of yet another life wouldn’t affect him. He’d made that mistake once. He wouldn’t make it again. “The wench will be dead before one season’s passed.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Care to place a wager on it?”

“All right,” Josh agreed. “If she’s still alive after her seasoning, I win and you have to marry her. If she’s dead, you win and I’ll have to marry her.”

Drew tossed the diary back on the bench. “Very amusing and very safe, considering your betrothed is breathlessly awaiting your return to England.”

“So she is.” Josh rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. “Well, are you going to marry her or not?”

Drew scowled. “Not. She’ll just have to be our servant.”

“But she’s not a servant, not according to the terms for this shipload of women. The women on the
Randolph
were sold as tobacco brides, not as indentured servants, and well you know it. But you didn’t want a bride, did you, Drew?” Josh’s eyes snapped with annoyance. “No, you’ve sworn off women forever, so you say, and because of it you sent
me
on some hair brained mission to scour the prisons until I found a woman who wasn’t a hardened felon, was being deported, but would be unable to wed.” He spit the toothpick out, watching its arched flight to the ground. “Well, I did that, big brother. I found one Mary Robins, just for you. Wasted weeks upon weeks doing so, in fact.”

Drew refused to look away from the anger in Josh’s expression. He deserved it and more. His brother had followed his directives with no questions asked, but now all would be voiced and, in fairness, Josh had every right to do so. Therefore, he’d stand here and take whatever his brother dished out—at least for a while.

Josh tightened his jaw. “Then what do you do the first blasted day I get back?” A silence frothed with tension encompassed the glade. “You play recklessly at cards and end up winning a bride. A
marriageable
bride. Now you have two women while others have none.” He shook his head, all the bluster and anger seeming to leave him with a whoosh of his breath. “The council won’t stand for it, Drew. You’re going to have to marry this new one.”

Drew stared at his brother with passionless eyes. “No.”

Resting one elbow on his knee, Josh searched the wood shavings for a fresh toothpick. “Why not?” Fingering one sliver, then another, he decided on a third. “Aren’t you tired of being a virgin? Don’t you think a man of twenty-eight years ought to have long since—”

“Enough!” Drew whipped off his hat. “My convictions run a different course from yours. Playing the town bull when you reach England may seem like the ultimate freedom to you, but not to me.”

Josh averted his eyes. “I’m not judging you. I’m merely vexed with your pining for Leah. She wasn’t your wife—she was your betrothed.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s dead, Drew. Dead. Why can’t you get over it?”

Drew slowed his breathing. “Have you forgotten that we used to be a family of nine? Have you forgotten the death rate in this settlement? Have you forgotten we’re parentless, with only Sally and Grandma left?”

“Don’t forget Nellie. She’s still alive,” Josh said softly.

“True. But she’s married now and no longer under my care.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Drew tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Would I like a woman to call my own? Of course. But from what I’ve seen, they aren’t worth the trouble.”

Unwanted images of Constance bombarded him. He hated red hair, and she was a walking beacon. Yet, heaven help him, when he’d seen her on deck and again when her kerchief slipped off, he’d felt the impact clear to his toes.

And those unsightly freckles. They were everywhere. Still, he’d stood staring at her like a woodcock. By trow, when she’d adjusted her bodice he’d not been able to move, much less breathe.

He glanced at Josh. “I don’t want a woman if I have to helplessly watch her, and then our offspring, die.”

“Then if not for the benefit of an heir, why are you so set on building a grand plantation home?”

“What would you have me do with all that timber Father had us split last year? It’s seasoned now and ready to be used.”

“There are plenty who would purchase it from you.”

Setting his hat back upon his head, Drew stared at the forest of trees just beyond the clearing. “Father made me promise him I’d build it. Not just any home, mind you. He made me promise to build the one he had drawn up. The one he’d purchased all those nails for. The one with three levels plus a brick cellar.”

After a moment of speechlessness, Josh snapped his mouth shut.

“When did he extract that promise from you?”

Drew heaved a long sigh. “While you were away. He was on his deathbed, writhing in pain. I couldn’t deny him.”

A soft breeze grazed his face while stirring the fuzzy leaves of the mulberry tree on his left. He plucked a cluster of dark purple fruit from amongst the sheltering heart-shaped leaves.

A tiny stream of sweet juicy nectar trickled from his lips. Wiping his sleeve across his chin, he popped another berry into his mouth. The vibrato of a nearby frog suddenly ceased, leaving the clearing strangely quiet.

Josh slapped his hands on his knees and indicated the bower with his head. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Drew shrugged.

Focusing on the worn pathway, Josh squinted his eyes. “What did you think of her red hair?”

Drew’s jaw tightened.

Josh’s eyes lit with amusement. “Would you like to know what she’s like?”

He offered no response.

“Spirited. She’s very spirited.”

Drew flipped the stem of the berry cluster away.

“Of course, throughout the voyage the men and women were kept on separate decks so I didn’t spend as much time with them as I did the men. And the men—well, you’ll be right pleased with the men I recommended. With them, your house will be constructed before a year’s passed.”