Counterfeit Courtship (7 page)

“I was coming to help you,” Graham said, halfway to her side.

“Things have changed. I don't have the luxury of a groom out here. I get off and on this horse by myself, and I take care of her when I'm here.” She led Buttercup to her stall and measured grain into the feed box. “You can bring some water from one of the cistern houses if you like.”

He guided Dixie into the stall next to Buttercup and started out the door.

By the time he returned minutes later, carrying two buckets of water, Ellie had both horses fed and comfortable. She looked so embarrassed at the condition of the stable—and the plantation in general, no doubt—that he went ahead and said what he knew she was thinking. “When I was last here, this stable was full of horses, and you had three grooms to take care of them.”

She looked over his shoulder, out the stable door and to the backyard, her eyes suddenly sharp as if she was searching for something just outside her grasp. “I drive up that lane every day, and it hurts as much today as ever. I feel bad for bringing you here to see how I've had to neglect this place. It's hard for you too, I know.”

Graham sloshed water into the troughs. Then he straightened and looked around. “I'm sorry that I allowed my emotions to show. I'm sure Ashland Place looks far worse than this, so I'm not seeing Magnolia Grove with a critical eye. If anything, I'm envious that you have a plantation at all.”

“Don't be jealous yet. If we owe Leonard thirty thousand dollars, we're in trouble. Not to mention paying the workers and property taxes and having something to live on until the fall harvest.”

With the horses cared for, they made for the house. “It's still a beautiful home,” Graham said, “and you have every chance of keeping it and living in it again someday.”

“As soon as Uncle Amos recovers enough to travel. It's a pity we were in town when he took ill.” Now that her initial embarrassment seemed to have passed, Ellie hurried him toward the house. “Let's open the windows and then have dinner under the live oak out front, where we might catch a breeze. I want to search the library as fast as we can. The thought of that loan is choking me more than the heat.”

They left the basket under the tree and headed inside to the darkened library. When they pulled the blinds and opened the windows, a nice breeze wafted in.

“I should probably bring all of Uncle Amos's records to town,” she said, “but for now, I come out here to do much of his bookwork.”

“By yourself?”

“There's no one else. I told you, things have changed. We do what we have to.” Ellie skirted past him into the great hall, where she opened the back door to let the breeze blow through the whole house.

There was clearly no point in arguing with her about that. He merely followed her to the parlor, where they opened more windows to create a crosswind.

Minutes later, under the oak's low-hanging branches again, Ellie spread her blanket on the ground. She set out the food and table service, poured glasses of lemonade from the crock and lifted the towel from the bowl of fried chicken. Then she bowed her head as if to pray silently.

Graham began a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving instead, and Ellie glanced at him with eyes widened in surprise.

After his “amen,” she sat still for a moment as he filled his plate. “I've eaten alone since Uncle Amos took sick, because he eats at odd hours, whenever he's hungry. Until now, I didn't realize how much I miss praying with someone else.”

The wistfulness in her voice brought a lump to his throat as he realized he felt the same way. Words slipped from his mouth before he could sort them out in his mind. “Ellie, you need a husband.”

* * *

“You're a fine one to think so.”

Graham's downcast gaze cut into Ellie like a cotton hoe. “I've always thought so,” he said, his voice quiet.

So he had.

When would she learn to think before speaking? “I meant you have no room to speak, since you refuse to marry too.”

“With good reason.”

“My reason is good too.”

“Then let's hear it.”

She knew she shouldn't have told him how good her reason was, knew he'd take it as a challenge. And one thing she'd never seen Graham Talbot do was back down from a challenge. “I don't want to, that's all.”

He laughed, but it sounded short, sarcastic. “All unmarried women are looking for a husband. Look at that pack of wolves following Susanna around.”

She couldn't explain to him the horror of being orphaned, of being taken in by strangers until Uncle Amos could get there to collect her. And little Betsy brought it all back again, stronger than before. Relying on her father to provide for her—and being disappointed—had been one thing. Depending on neighbors for daily food was another.

Sitting there with Graham, under her favorite live oak, Ellie renewed her childhood vow. Never again would she depend on anyone else to provide for her. Her uncle had taken the past thirteen years to teach her to be a planter. Not a planter's wife.

And a planter she would be.

Graham tapped her forehead. “Ellie, I can see there's a lot going on in there. Want to tell me about it?”

“Not if you plan to solve my problems by telling me to get married.” She reached for a drumstick from the bowl. She'd let him help her look for information about the loan, and she'd even ask his advice about the crops, since he used to help his father. But that was all.

“Then what if I help you get rid of Leonard Fitzwald?”

He said it in a way that made it sound like an adventure. “How can we do that?”

“By first finding out if your uncle took out another loan from him. Then we'll go from there.”

“I can agree to that.”

They ate the chicken, biscuits and watermelon—and the pecan pie Lilah May must have sneaked into the basket. Then they headed to the house to begin their search for proof of a second loan.

At three o'clock, Ellie pushed back the hair that had fallen from her pins and over her eyes. “We've taken these files apart. There's nothing here.”

Graham picked up the stack of documents he'd been reading and stuffed them back into their folder. “There's nothing in here either. I don't think anyone other than your uncle's attorney can help us. Let's call on Joseph Duncan on Monday and find out what he knows.”

“You want to go along?”

“I want to make sure that weasel Fitzwald doesn't take advantage of you—or anybody else in this town.”

Ah, so Graham's purpose was preventing Leonard from doing more harm in Natchez, not just to protect Ellie. That was fine with her. Graham—always the soldier, ever the protector, even before West Point. The thought deepened her years-long admiration of him. “How about taking a tour of the fields now?”

He followed her to the stable, where they quickly mounted their horses. Within minutes, they headed to the nearest field—two hundred acres of cotton and close to the house.

“The plants look healthy to me.” Ellie turned in the saddle to glance back at him. “No blossoms yet, but they could start anytime. The squares look good.”

They crossed toward the field in the bottom land. “This is the best soil but the hardest field to get to because of the swampy ground south of it.”

When they reached the bottom land, true Delta soil, Graham let out a low whistle.

“I know.” Ellie took in the sight, over four hundred acres of cotton with thick weeds almost as tall as the crop. “We probably should have weeded this first, since it gives the highest yield of any field. But it's also the biggest field. Since we have a lot of new workers, I thought I should let them start with the smaller, more easily accessible ones.”

Graham studied the area and then nudged Dixie to move ahead of her. “I'm not sure that was such a bad idea. The other fields are clean. What are you going to do with this one?”

She couldn't help the smile she felt blooming on her face. “Do you realize you just asked me to make a plan?”

“No, I didn't.” Graham held up both hands, one of them still with the reins in it. “I merely acknowledged that you would have one, and I wanted to prepare myself.”

“You're right. I do. I've been corresponding with Miss Eugenia Middleton in South Carolina. The Middletons are in rice, you know.” She pulled the reins, bringing Buttercup to a stop. “They use a different method there. We require our workers to keep set hours, so many hours a day and so many days a week. But the Middletons use the task system. They give each worker a task for the day, and when the job is done, they go home.”

“How will that work with the few field hands you have now?”

“Starting next week, I'm going to pay by the task. When the task gets done, the worker gets paid.”

“I don't see how that will get this field weeded any faster.”

“Easy. The harvest around here is going to be plentiful, but the workers are few. Most of the freedmen left the plantations as soon as they could. But now they're trickling back, having discovered that jobs are hard to find in the city.” She smiled at the beauty of the plan and the pleasure of having to explain it to him. Maybe now he would see that she could think things through. “Every planter in Natchez is trying to get the same few field hands. I'm going to entice them to work for me by dividing the labor into tasks they can complete in one day. And I'm going to pay for each completed task every day.”

His smoky-green eyes turned gray. “Ellie, that's not going to work. Do you realize how expensive that will be? Do you have enough money?”

Did they know anyone in the South who had enough money?

“As long as we don't have to make a thirty-thousand-dollar loan payment to Leonard.” As long as her property tax bill wasn't much more than last year's. As long as the bottom didn't fall out of the cotton price. And as long as she could get her stash of last year's cotton from its hiding places and ship it to New Orleans on just the right day, when the price would be the highest of the season...

Her idea of just days ago now hung limp in the air.

Chapter Seven

“N
ow that I think of it, we shouldn't have checked the fields this afternoon. When we didn't find anything in Uncle Amos's study, we should have gone straight to Joseph Duncan's office. I need my attorney here for this meeting.” Ellie paced the front gallery of her home at ten to eight that evening, Sugar pacing right along with her. She'd turned up all the gaslights as far as they would go, wanting all of Pearl Street to see Graham here on the porch, supposedly courting her.

Which might have been fine if Leonard Fitzwald wasn't coming over. What would that look like? At any rate, it was too late to worry.

“Here comes Leonard in his father's surrey, racing the wind as usual.” Graham looked every inch an officer, standing next to her rocker as if ready to cuff anyone who bothered her.

And if that person was Leonard, he just might do it.

The surrey came to a bone-rattling stop in front of the house. Leonard got out, accompanied by Joseph, his familiar brown leather satchel in his hand.

“I'm not riding home with you in that buggy of death.” Joseph's face looked nearly as white as his famed moustache. “You're going to kill that horse if you don't slow down. And he was your father's favorite.”

Leonard strode up the brick walk ahead of the elderly man. “I pay you for legal advice, Duncan, not for a lecture on driving,” he said in that annoyingly raspy voice.

As they drew closer, Sugar rumbled out a growl from deep in her throat and bared her teeth at them.

“What's the matter with the dog?” Graham asked, his brows raised.

“I don't know. I've never heard her growl at anyone before. And what's Joseph doing here?” Something was wrong, she could see it on her attorney's face. “Do you think he heard what was going on and came to help?”

Graham didn't answer but laid his hand on her shoulder in a strangely comforting manner.

Taking the gallery steps two at a time, Leonard scanned the area, especially the tray Lilah May had brought out minutes before. “I'm not meeting with you out here. Stand away from the door, Colonel, while we go into the house like civilized people.”

“If that was the case, you'd need to stay out anyway.” Graham's eyes blazed, igniting gratitude in Ellie's heart. After what Graham had said about this man, she wouldn't have wanted to meet with him alone, not even with Joseph here.

She stopped the thought cold. What was she thinking? Of course she would have met with him alone. That's what she'd vowed to do—be alone.

“Leonard, sit down. My uncle has had a bad day, and I don't want to disturb him. Joseph, would you please sit here by my side?” She tried to imagine what her poised, confident mother would have done in this situation. From what Ellie could remember of her, she would have taken charge of the men without letting on that she was doing so.
Dear Jesus, please help me to know what to do, what to say.

“I'm here to discuss—”

“Mister Fitzwald, kindly remember that I am your counselor.” Joseph impaled him with his gaze. “It would behoove you to keep your peace and allow me to speak.”

Leonard's counselor? How could that be? Wasn't he here to represent Ellie?

She realized then that she hadn't served refreshments, so she poured a glass of lemonade for Joseph. As she lifted it to hand it to him, Leonard reached out and took it instead.

Sugar growled louder, then barked and began to circle him.

“Get this dog away from me!” Leonard kicked in Sugar's direction but missed.

“What is the matter with you, Sugar?” Ellie had no idea what Mother would have done about all this. “She's never acted like this before. Graham, please put her in the library, where she won't hear us, and shut the door.”

When Graham left to carry out her request, she offered a glass to Joseph.

“None for me, Ellie,” he said, rubbing his abdomen as if it wouldn't agree with him.

That was a bad sign. Her attorney, who was apparently also Leonard's attorney, was known up and down the Mississippi River as having the stomach of a billy goat.

Graham came back outside then, and Ellie poured a glass for him, but he waved it away and laid his warm hand on her shoulder again. She sipped the drink herself.

“Before we start, I want Colonel Talbot to vacate the premises,” Leonard said. “This doesn't involve him.”

“He will stay. Word has it that he and Miss Anderson have an agreement, and with her father deceased and her uncle incapacitated, she is wise to have the support of her intended for this meeting.”

“We'll see how long that lasts.” Leonard gulped down his drink and poured himself another.

Even Joseph had heard of their supposed courtship? And believed it? Her respect for her uncle's friend caught in her throat. This felt wrong, so wrong. Maybe she should confess the whole scheme.

But in front of Leonard, and without Graham's approval? Then again, she'd started this without his consent, so perhaps it would be better to end without it too. But would it embarrass him in front of Leonard? She looked to Graham for some signal, some message that would relay his wishes.

He stood silent as the tomb.

Before she could decide what to do, Joseph opened his satchel and took out some papers. “We're here to discuss the estate of the late Mister Robert Fitzwald.” Joseph's tone had turned businesslike, his eyes like flint as he watched Leonard. “Upon his demise, he left behind, among other things, a lien against your property for the borrowed sum of thirty thousand dollars.”

The air grew thin, and Ellie's chest ached with the skipped beats of her heart. “Thirty thousand?”

“Joseph, are you sure?” Graham asked, his grip tightening on her shoulder.

“I was Robert's attorney and, I regret to say, I'm also Leonard's. For now. This is the last action I will take as his counsel.”

No, this couldn't be happening.
Thirty thousand...
She clenched the glass in her hand. “I know only of a fifteen-thousand-dollar note.”

“The first fifteen was for taxes and personal expenses,” Joseph said, “and the second fifteen for labor and the new cotton gin.”

“But I thought we paid our own taxes last year.”

“The taxes were paid with this loan. This is the agreement. You'll see your uncle's signature, and mine, since I filed the note at the courthouse.” Her attorney handed her the stack of papers he'd pulled from the satchel. “You'll see, dear, that the note is due in two weeks.”

“I can't pay it.” The fluttering in her chest intensified, and she leaned back in her chair and fanned herself with a rose-colored napkin until it abated. Even if she picked every boll on every stalk of cotton, she couldn't pay it. Not without a competent broker. Since the elder Mister Fitzwald passed on, Leonard was the only broker between here and New Orleans. And he had no experience.

She'd let the cotton rot in the fields and in her hiding places before she'd let this man sell it.

“Talbot, what are your circumstances?” Joseph interrupted her thoughts, his voice laced with anxiety. “I know you lost Ashland Place and Ammadelle. Do you have other property or money that I don't know about—that a hasty marriage would allow you to use to remedy this?”

She looked up at Graham. He hesitated, his shame palpable and acute. “I have nothing, Joseph.”

“I feared so.” Joseph slumped in his chair in a posture of defeat.

Leonard, on the other hand, sat on the edge of his seat, his one good eye wide as if he was watching a riveting play unfold. “And the rest, Joseph?”

“There's more?” Graham clasped both her shoulders now. She could feel the tension in his grip, and it both comforted and frightened her. If he was that concerned...

“Magnolia Grove, this home on Pearl Street and your father's Louisiana–Texas Railroad are all tied into this loan. If you default, you will lose them all.”

Her heart raced with the shock. Lose both properties? How could that be?

An instant later, she heard the tinkling of shattered glass and then realized she'd dropped her mother's crystal tumbler.

The light yellow of the lemonade made a puddle on the white painted wooden floor, and the glass formed a sharp design. Watching the puddle spread, she tightened her abdomen against the lacerating pain forming there—as if cut by glass...

“Ellie!” Graham's voice brought her out of her daze.

“I—I dropped the glass—”

Suddenly light-headed, she felt like a little girl again, a girl with no parents, no home—only an uncle she had never met. No comforting arms surrounding her, no kind words to soothe her heart—only loneliness.

Only the ache.

The ache gripped her now as it hadn't in years. Always hiding at the edge of her consciousness, it nipped at her occasionally, tripped her less often, but always let her know it was still there, had never left her.

But now it had control of her.

She began to shake, her breath coming hard and fast. Tears clogged her throat, wouldn't well up, wouldn't fall and release her from their grasp—

“Ellie, sweetheart...”

A strong voice from the past—or was it the present?—pierced the heaviness, brought her back to reality. She forced herself to breathe slowly. “This house—it's in danger too.”

She'd never considered that possibility.

The ache began to lift, and her light-headedness subsided too. She couldn't give in to these emotions. Not if she hoped to keep their plantation and town house. She sat up straight on the edge of her chair again, as a proper lady would. “I'm fine. I was just startled for a moment.”

It was more than that, and they all surely knew it. She needed time to think, to pray.

“There is one final point.” Joseph cleared his throat and glared at Leonard. “This man—” he waved at Leonard as if brushing away a fly “—agrees to settle the terms of the loan on one condition.”

Then she had a way out? “You'll give me more time, Leonard?” Had Graham been wrong about him after all?

“He will forgive the loan if, on the date it comes due, you marry him.”

* * *

“Marry whom?”

Graham knew the moment Ellie realized the truth he'd absorbed instantly. The confusion in her eyes morphed into disgust, and her attorney's face mirrored that emotion.

As did Graham's heart.

Could Fitzwald be serious? The leer in his one good eye confirmed it.

“Marry Leonard?” Ellie said, her repulsion thick in her voice. “I'm to be the commodity that pays this debt?”

“It's your choice, Ellie.” The would-be bridegroom's smug lips and sarcastic tone alone would probably have made her turn him down, even if she liked him. What was Fitzwald thinking? Ellie had never shown an interest in him.

Graham thought back to that fateful summer eight years ago. Despite Graham's warnings, Ellie had always thought nothing of the weasel's frequent visits. They'd been nothing more than two chums whiling away the evening together, she'd said.

But Graham had known better. Fitzwald had tried to court her, even back then. And when that hadn't worked...

The memory of a years-ago conversation, overheard in the shadowy alley Graham had cut through on his way to Ellie's, came crashing back to him. That fool Fitzwald had the nerve to boast about his plan of enticing her to go with him to a remote spot along the river. Then he would spread the word through town that they'd been out alone after dark—and would embellish the truth, as well. Her reputation would be spoiled, and she'd have no choice but to marry him.

He'd been as much of a weasel back then as he was tonight.

“Ellie, I'm sure we can come to an agreement.” His lone eye wide with the power he obviously thought he had over her, Fitzwald leaned close. He reached out his hand as if intending to caress the blond curl that had escaped her hairpins and lay softly on her cheek.

By no means would Graham tolerate that. In an instant, he crossed the gallery and stood between them, his fists clenched. “If you so much as think about touching her—”

Ellie had shrunk back from the weasel's hand and now locked a firm gaze on Fitzwald as if she'd tolerate no nonsense from him. “Graham, it's all right—”

“No, it's not. Nothing is right about this. I told you back then, Fitzwald, and I'll tell you again. Stay away from Ellie.” Graham yelled in a voice loud enough that the neighbors could surely hear, even the ones who'd retired from their porches early. “Remember what I told you last time, and remember how you felt after our conversation.”

The rage heating up Graham's chest seemed to rush upward until it lodged itself in his eyes. If flames blazed from them, as it felt they did, Fitzwald had better take notice and back away from Ellie. Graham had protected her from this man once, and he'd not hesitate to do it again.

“Don't forget that you left Natchez the same day I did,” Fitzwald rasped at him. “And don't forget why.”

“I told you before—this is a bad idea, Leonard.” Joseph pointed that long finger at Leonard like a gun. “I don't like it, and your father wouldn't either. He wasn't the most honest man in Natchez, but at least he never coerced a woman into marriage just so he could get his hands on her property.”

On her property...

Joseph seemed to think Fitzwald's only motivation was Ellie's plantation, but Graham had always believed he'd been after her beauty. He thought back to the night in the alley. What exactly had Fitzwald said? Had he confessed love for her? Not that Graham could remember. Maybe Joseph was right and the weasel had merely wanted Ellie's ground all along. Seeing his greedy, beady little eye now, Graham could believe it.

“My father has nothing to do with this.”

“Are we finished here?” Graham asked, glaring at Joseph.