For Her Love (6 page)

She whirled abruptly. It was so bloody hot! She stripped off her heavy gown, shoes and stockings. In nothing but her fine lawn shift she stretched across the soft, comfortable bed. All of these regrets and dreams did her no good right now. Right now, she needed a balm for her rattled nerves. Staring up at the deep blue silk bed hangings, she conjured up the face of the writhing field hand, recalling his screams much as one might recall a passionate opera, a satisfied smile curving her lips. There was something so…so…
stirring
about it.

That was why she could forgive Jacques. He rutted with slaves, too, but that was only because he couldn’t get what he wanted from white girls, and she understood. She knew the need to make others suffer, the need to be the one in complete control. She rather imagined that rape was, to him, like that moment of satisfaction that came when the ultimate lash was struck. When all defiance, all pleading, all hope vanished from a slave’s eyes and he was hers. It was as addictive as opium, as sweet as…

She popped another almond in her mouth and savored the crystals that coated it.

Sitting across from Geoff at the double-kneehole desk in their Port Royal office, Giles couldn’t help but note that his friend’s eyes danced with mischief. He had just informed the Hamptons that he would be visiting Welbourne plantation for a couple of days, once
Reliance’s
hold was emptied and its contents sold. Now Faith’s face was the reflection of pure joy and Geoff was grinning slyly.

“Now, do not look at me so,” Giles protested. “I’m only going to give the man the monies I collected for his goods.”

“That’s only a day’s work,” Geoff replied.

“Aye. ‘Tis interesting that you would choose to spend so much time with this one customer,” Faith joined in, leaning on her husband’s shoulder.

“A customer with a fair daughter,” Geoff added.

Faith made a face of mock chagrin. “Oh, Geoff, surely you are not accusing Giles of being more interested in the woman than the business relationship with her father.”

“I? Never say it. I only mention the girl as an unimportant side note. Just as Giles did.”

“I
did
but mention her,” Giles defended.

“Aye,” Geoff said to Faith. “He did but
mention
her golden curls and green eyes.”

“
Extraordinary
green eyes,” she amended.

“Deeply
mysterious
eyes,” Geoff agreed.

“And her enigmatic smile. He did but mention that, as well.” Faith could barely suppress a giggle.

“All right!” Giles shouted. “Mayhap I have
blathered
a bit.” He said the word as though it were sour to the taste. “But damn me if she’s not something very unique. And not just for her looks. She’s a thinker and speaks what’s on her mind. Why, she came right to the point about the way I profit by slavery…”

“Aye,” Geoff cried, raising his hands to stop the tale ere it could be told for the tenth time. “And took it well when you challenged her, too.”

“Is that not what you say pleases you most about Faith, that she gives and takes a challenge well?”

Faith beamed at her husband. “Did you tell him that?”

Geoff scowled. “Do not encourage her, Giles, else I shall never get a moment’s rest.” The scowl disappeared, replaced by a wide grin. “Aye, though, you’ve the right of it there. Choose well, Giles. Merely pretty wenches can be bought a plenty, there’s no need to wed for that.”

Faith frowned, but the men ignored her.

“And no need to tell me that,” Giles said. “As Faith’s father said, it seems Edmund might favor a match. It occurs to me now that, if his daughter is of an abolitionist bent, mayhap he challenged our policy on purpose. It may be that he wanted her to know my sentiments, as well. It gives us common ground. Still, the time I am there will be spent getting to know her some, seeing if she is what I first thought of her.”

“Have a care,” Faith warned. “Try to see her for what she is and not what you want her to be.”

“You’re much like your mother, you know,” Giles said. “Aye, I may know her only a little, but there is depth to this woman.”

Geoff chuckled. “One can hardly fault a man for wanting to plumb a woman’s depths.” He was rewarded with an indignant shove from his wife.

“‘Tis a serious thing, Geoff,” Giles chided. “It might well be that I can know her for years and never fully know her. I think that I would never find her dull.”

He took a deep breath and tried to keep his thoughts clear. Faith was right indeed. He mustn’t let his obvious infatuation cloud his judgment. He would spend a bit of time at Welbourne Plantation, but he would proceed slowly, judiciously,
reliably
.

*

It was stifling hot in the kitchen, but not nearly as hot as it was in the sugar house, from which the sickening sweet scent of boiling sugar permeated everything. The smell was so overwhelming that Grace could hardly detect the spicy scent of pimento, or allspice as it was also called, which Keyah had been grinding. Keyah was the main cook, a wiry black woman with solid muscles despite her thin build. She sweated as she worked at a table on one side of the round open hearth and cook fire that dominated the center of the room.

Grace groaned in frustration when Matu ran in, tapped her on the shoulder, and began emphatically gesturing about a ship.

“Let it rest!” Grace cried. “Can you not see that I am busy?” She turned back to Keyah. “Aye, Keyah, the fish will be fine for dinner. Oh—and Mistress Welbourne is out of sugared almonds.”

Keyah threw a cautious glance over her shoulder before muttering, “As many of dem as her eat, her don’t get no sweeta.”

Predictably, Grace laughed. “Well, if they do no good for her disposition, we can always hope that she chokes on one.” Keyah laughed, too.

Again Matu tapped Grace on the shoulder, and Grace brushed her hand away. “Gwey!” she said, using the slaves’ dialect.

Matu gestured for the ship and then pointed to the back of the kitchen, in the direction of the sea. She grabbed Grace’s hand, tugging her out the door and toward the front lawn. Finally, Grace understood her maid’s urgency.
Reliance
, her sails billowing in the breeze, floated sedately into the bay.

“He’s returned,” Grace breathed.

Matu nodded and gestured to Grace to think on it.

She had been thinking on it. No matter how many times she had told herself that it was a useless fantasy, she would find herself contemplating a life with this quiet man who preferred to own no one. What about a wife, Grace wondered. Would he prefer not to own her, as well? A wife was as good as property by English law. She had never spoken of it, not even to Matu, but there were reasons beyond her birth that she shied away from marriage. Reasons more unspeakable than her mixed blood that sometimes plagued her dreams in the form of a shadowy wraith in a nightshirt, speaking with a French accent.

Still, she ran her hand over her hair and was dismayed to feel that it was its usual unruly tumble of curls. A glance at her skirts reminded her that she had donned one of her oldest gowns this morning. Unwittingly, she cast a desperate look at Matu, who grinned and tugged her back toward the house. Surely Captain Courtney would have business to discuss with her father. There would be plenty of time to set her looks to right.

Well then, mayhap she
would
think on it.

Grace sat patiently while Matu massaged in the hairdressing she had concocted of various fruit and seed extracts. It did a fair job of relaxing the curls and certainly made it easier to pull her hair up into one of the more fashionable styles of the day. Matu also chose her gown, a deep rust colored damask. Grace swallowed hard as she put it on. Well she knew the maid had chosen the dark fabric to make her skin seem paler.

As she had expected, Captain Courtney and her father were sitting in the keeping room discussing the sale of Edmund’s goods and when next he might be in need of Courtney and Hampton Shipping’s services. Grace paused at the top of the stairs, listening, before descending to meet their guest.

Below, Giles had been hard-pressed, as he sat and chatted with Welbourne, not to crane his neck and look around for the daughter. Edmund had said that Grace was upstairs “primping.” That seemed a good sign. A woman did not primp for a man she had no interest in.

When he finally heard soft footfalls on the stairs behind him and he turned to greet her, he found himself masking a vague sense of disappointment. It seemed that she had nearly “primped” all of the charming curls right out of her hair. Then he smiled. It was a small sacrifice. The color of her dress would have left most women looking sallow, but Grace’s skin fairly glowed next to it. Her full lips were parted, begging a kiss, and her nose, slightly broader than most, lent her face a soft quality.

Good God, man
, he thought to himself,
snap out of it!
He was not here to have his head turned, yet again, by her extraordinary looks. He had come so that he might get to know her better.

Grace stared back, then squelched a little smile. Why were she and Matu worried? So she was darker than some and her hair was wild. These things had yet to do anything but draw men to her all the more. For once in her life, the thought didn’t fill her with contempt for either herself or the man. Perhaps it was his boyish face. His admiration seemed more open, less insidious than other men’s had appeared. Again the word
nice
drifted through her mind and filled her with a soft, comfortable warmth.

She moved across the room and lifted her hand in greeting. “How good to see you again, Captain,” she said, and noted with pleasure that he bowed low over the offered hand, but refrained from kissing it. She detested it when they did that.

“Miss Welbourne,” he replied, “the pleasure is entirely mine.”

“Nay,” Edmund interrupted, too cheerfully, “the pleasure is ours indeed. I’m happy that you’ve decided to accept our hospitality for the week.” He looked at Grace as he said this, his gaze heavy with meaning.

“The week?” she asked.

Giles stepped back. “Your father has extended his invitation, and as I told him, I’ve no pressing business just now.”

A week? Suddenly the visit stretched ahead like an eternity. Whatever would she do with this man for a week? She furrowed her brow and silently reminded herself that if she was to consider marrying him, she had better figure that out. She spoke to Matu, who had come down the stairs behind her. The breathless quality of her own voice irritated her. “Well, we shall have to make sure that we extend the very best hospitality. Matu, will you bring us some refreshment?”

The maid nodded and slipped out the back to the kitchen.

“Matu?” Giles asked. “That’s your maid’s name?”

“Aye,” Grace answered.

“Your father mentioned her when last I was here, but I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t realize it was a name.”

“Matu was kidnapped from Africa—”

“Brought,” Edmund corrected. “She was brought here from Africa when she was young. My wife’s father owned her first. She was a field hand for him, but she had such a way with the little slave children that we made her Grace’s nursemaid. The two are inseparable.”

“I see,” Giles commented. So this was the source of Grace’s aversion to slavery. She had bonded to her nurse and come to love her. One mystery solved.

Later that afternoon, over tea, he came to understand why she had bonded with her nurse rather than her mother.

Mistress Welbourne was also an attractive woman, but in no way did her daughter favor her in looks. The mother’s face was chiseled into high cheekbones, a sharp nose, and a small mouth. Her hair was deep brown, sleek and glossy, and her eyes were the color of strong tea. Her skin was porcelain-white and flawless. It was obvious that she took great care to keep it so. But for all her beauty, there was absolutely no warmth. She might have been made of porcelain indeed.

Edmund smiled broadly at his wife, though the expression struck Giles as more of a grimace, and informed her that their guest would be staying for a week or so.

Mistress Welbourne’s lips formed a tight smile, and when she spoke, the smile was marred by the mottled teeth behind it. “How delightful. You and Edmund must be hammering out the details for a rather extensive business agreement.”

Giles smiled back with genuine warmth. “I must confess, my visit is more social than commerce.” He let his gaze fall on Grace.

There was a subtle strangeness to both their reactions, the same mysterious tension he had sensed on his last visit when he had mentioned Mistress Welbourne. Grace lifted her chin in a manner that suggested some slight defiance. Mistress Welbourne’s tight smile tightened even more, and though it hardly seemed possible, her eyes became slightly colder.

“I see,” Mistress Welbourne commented. The brief silence that followed was strained, and Giles thought of the stillness in the air just before hurricane clouds appeared on the horizon.

“Grace,” Edmund said, and his voice seemed to shatter the air like glass. “Perhaps Captain Courtney would enjoy a walk along the river.” He turned to Giles. “We’ve some lovely falls, nothing too tall and spectacular, but lovely nonetheless, and a mineral spring the most amazing shade of blue-green.”

“Of course,” Grace replied, though she wished she could stay close enough to hear her father upbraid Iolanthe. She rose and walked to the back door, gesturing for Captain Courtney to follow. Then she frowned slightly at Matu who was gathering up the tea things. “Are you coming, Matu?”

Matu straightened up and made a huffy squeak. It was a sound Grace knew well. Matu made that sound whenever Grace suggested something absurd, like doing Iolanthe some devilish mischief. The maid set her hands on her hips and shook her head, like Grace was nothing more than a naughty child, then waved the two of them off.

Grace’s hand felt like it was glued to the door latch. Walk alone with this man? If they were to see both the falls and the spring, they would be walking for three-quarters of an hour or more. Alone. Together.