Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (34 page)

"I should see him. It's not like John to give up and go to bed. He must be truly ill."

"I reckon you should see him. I'll just go along with you. It may be that you can calm him. But, first, you eat."

Royal drew in a resigned breath, knowing Alba would have her way. "Yes, I will have something light. Perhaps one of your crepes with blueberry sauce."

"And a glass of milk," Alba cajoled.

"And a glass of milk," Royal agreed.

34

John Bartholomew attempted to rise up on his elbows when the young mistress entered his quarters. "You shouldn't be here, madam."

Royal saw how pale he was and how his eyes were fever bright. "Nonsense. You are ill, and I want to help you. Perhaps I should send for a doctor."

"No," he protested. "It is just a recurrence of fever. It will pass in a day or two."

"Alba has told me you are concerned about your bookkeeping. Would it ease your mind if I made the daily entries for you?" She smiled at him, knowing how meticulous he was about his work. "If you will recall, I made high marks in mathematics."

He began to tremble, and his forehead broke out in perspiration. Royal could see it was an effort for him to talk. "I know, madam. Your marks were a great source of pride for me." His eyes took on a hopeful glow. "Perhaps you could just enter the financial reports. It has been my habit to make entries daily. Several transactions have been of great concern to me."

She patted his hand. "You just concentrate on getting well. I promise I will keep your entries up to date. I'll get started first thing in the morning."

He was flooded with gratitude. "Thank you, madam. That is a great relief to me."

***

Bright and early the next morning, Royal was bent over John's account books. It was easy to follow his method, and she painstakingly added figures to the column of neat numbers.

She soon became so engrossed in John's method of bookkeeping, which included narratives of the transactions, that she found herself thumbing back through the pages, which read like a diary. He had made notations of daily events on the plantation, recorded births, deaths, and marriages.

At one particular entry, she smiled with delight. John wrote of the dilemma that occurred on the marriage of two slaves, Joe and Mary. It seemed the two had been gifted with a sow. The animal got loose and was running through the manor house, despoiling valuable rugs. Royal laughed aloud, trying to imagine the meticulous little man chasing across the polished floors in pursuit of a fugitive pig.

She thumbed back through the log, fascinated by the daily events that occurred at Swanhouse. When she came to a page with her name, she began to read:

Miss Royal is so far away and friendless. It grieves me to receive her letters begging to come home. Although I have never met her, I feel she is an exceptional young lady. I hope one day to meet her for myself.

She was touched by his concern for her all those years she had been away at school. He was such a stoic little man, she had not known that he had taken such a personal interest in her well' being. Feeling somewhat like an eavesdropper, she turned back the pages, looking for any mention of her name. She found many.

I talked to Mr. Routhland today about Royal Bradford's financial situation. It was my belief that she was spending far too much on frivolity. But when I pointed this out to Mr. Routhland, he instructed me to let her have whatever she wanted. He wants her never to know that her father left her penniless. Mr. Routhland was adamant that she never know that it is he who pays for her education and expenses. I gained a great insight to his personality only yesterday. When he discovered how lonely his ward was in England, he instructed me to ship to her his finest mare, Enchantress.

Royal stared at the yellowed pages, reading about her life with a new insight. Tears fell, smudging the ink.

"Oh, Damon," she cried, burying her head in her hands. "I never knew. Why... why didn't you tell me?"

For over an hour Royal sat at the desk, trying to compose her feelings. All those years she thought that no one cared about her. John Bartholomew had cared... Damon had cared.

She remembered the day in her garden when she had questioned Damon about her money. Even then he had not admitted that he had been supporting her since her father's death. She thumbed back still farther through the pages and read her whole story through John's eyes. Another passage caught her interest.

Today Mr. Routhland had me pay off all Douglas Bradford's debts, and they were considerable. When I questioned why he would pay such an amount to settle another man's debts, he informed me he had looked into a little girl's eyes and seen pain. I am not certain I know what he meant.

Damon had looked into her eyes and seen pain. He had done all in his power to make it go away. He was truly a noble man. At every turn in her life, he had been the strength behind her without her being aware. Even though John Bartholomew had written her the letters, the words had come from Damon.

"Oh, Damon, if you could look into my eyes now and see the pain, would you make everything all right? I am not a little girl anymore, but a woman who loves you desperately and is going to have your baby."

She dried her tears and closed the log. Today she had looked into Damon's soul and found him the most worthy of men. He had helped her out of kindness. But she wanted more from him—she wanted his heart.

Dare she hope that he would one day love her as his wife? She had no notion where he was. He could even be hurt, and she would not know.

Royal's hand went to her rounded abdomen where Damon's child lay. This precious life she carried within her body was the greatest gift of all, given by a man who had looked into her eyes and seen pain.

May 1781

It was on the day that Royal learned General Cornwallis had moved his troops northward into Virginia that she gave birth to Damon's son.

The morning started out normally enough. Royal was helping Alba arrange dried fruit in the dugout when the first pain ripped through her body. She clutched at the side of the dirt wall, trying to catch her breath.

"I knew you shouldn't have come down here, Miss Royal," Alba chastised.

"Just help me to the house, Alba. Then send for the midwife."

As they walked slowly up the steps with Royal leaning heavily on Alba, the housekeeper looked at her with some concern. "You should have a doctor."

"No, I will not have that Loyalist Dr. Habersham deliver Damon's baby."

Royal drew in a deep breath and continued on toward the house. "I don't even want that man at Swanhouse."

"You have certainly changed since you first returned home," Alba said. "There was a time when I thought you were loyal to the British."

Up the steps to the house they went slowly. "It's a curious thing, Alba, but it seemed that the more battles we lost, and the stronger the enemy grew, the more loyal I became."

They were in the house now, and Alba glanced at John Bartholomew, who had come into the hallway. "It's time," Alba told him. "I'll get Miss Royal upstairs. You know what to do."

For the first time since Royal had known John, she saw his calm mask slip.

"Are you all right, madam?" he inquired, reaching out to her. "Perhaps I should carry you upstairs?"

"I'm all right, John, truly I am," Royal assured him.

***

Royal labored all afternoon and long into the night. She was attended by Alba and the midwife, Josey Evens.

Downstairs, John, Tobias, and Ezekiel waited for some news of what was happening with Royal. The room was silent but for the ticking of the clock and an occasional nervous cough from one of the men.

It was almost dawn when a small cry was at last heard. At first John stood up and walked out of the library, listening at the bottom of the stairs. "Was that a baby's cry?" Then he heard the sound again, only this time louder.

Three men watched the top of the stairs expectantly. After what seemed like hours, Alba appeared, carrying a tiny bundle as if it were the most precious thing in the world. When she reached the bottom step, she pulled the blanket aside to reveal a tiny little face with black hair. "Mr. Routhland has a son," she announced proudly.

"How's Royal?" Ezekiel inquired.

"She's doing just fine," Alba assured him. "She had a long, hard time, but she's sleeping now."

***

Ezekial, John, and Tobias stood awkwardly at the foot of Royal's bed, admiring the young master of Swanhouse.

Royal held him out so they could have a better view. "Is he not wonderful?" she asked proudly.

"He has the look of his father," Tobias observed.

"No," Ezekiel insisted, peering at the little face. "I see Royal in him."

"Nonsense," John said. "All babies look alike. You can't tell whom they look like until they are older." A rare smile touched his lips. "He is handsome, though."

Royal looked at the people in the room and assessed how dear they were to her. John, always so formal and precise, had a nurturing heart—she had many times been the beneficiary of his caring. Tobias, strong and sturdy as an old oak tree, silently lent his strength. Ezekiel, dear and loving, eager to help, was a friend on whom one could always depend. Then there was Alba, the staying force, loyal and dependable. Royal smiled to herself, thinking how peremptory Alba could be, but only with those she cared about and only when she was sure it was for their own good.

Yes, she thought, looking down at her son, who slept contentedly in her arms, her world was here—it had always been here.

Ezekiel ambled closer, his eyes filled with awe. "I still say he looks like you, Royal," he maintained. "What's his name?"

"I don't intend to name him until his father comes home."

Ezekiel nodded in approval. "Seems right to me."

"Would you like to hold him, Ezekiel?"

Now his eyes danced. "Could I?"

She nodded and handed him the baby. He clutched the infant to him as if he were the most precious person in the world. "Soon as he's old enough, Royal, I'm gonna take him out and teach him to shoot, just like I did his pa."

"I will expect you to."

The baby let out a loud cry, and Royal laughed when Ezekiel quickly handed him back to her.

Alba appeared at the door. Looking disapproving, she shooed the men out so Royal could rest.

Royal curled up with her baby, touching his cheek, his tiny nose, and counting his tiny fingers. "He's perfect, Alba," she said, placing a kiss on the soft lips.

"Of course he is," Alba agreed. "You get to sleep so you can regain your health." She scooped the baby into her arms, carried him to the other room, and placed him in the cradle.

Royal stretched her arms over her head and closed her eyes, falling asleep.

Alba returned to the room and smiled down at her sleeping charge. Then, pulling the coverlet over Royal, she tiptoed out.

August 1781

A sweltering dome of heat hung over Georgia. There was not a breeze stirring, and the sky showed no sign of rain to cool the land.

The master of Swanhouse was still absent, and no one had received word from him.

Sketchy news of the war reached the residents of Swanhouse Plantation, and none of it favored the American forces. The South was still in the clutches of the enemy, and there seemed no end to the war.

Cornwallis swept across Virginia. If he were to retain his hold, the whole South would fall to the British and the war would reach a sad conclusion for the Americans.

Royal was riding across the pastureland, noting that the cattle and sheep seemed to thrive on the abundant grassland. She removed her hat and blotted her forehead with the sleeve of her riding habit. It was too hot to ride, she decided, looking at the sun and gauging it to be mid-afternoon. She turned Enchantress toward the house, thinking a cool bath would feel wonderful.

When she reached the stable, she found Tobias waiting for her. "The duke is here to see you," he informed her, helping her dismount from the prancing Enchantress.

"Preston!"

"Alba put him on the veranda with a glass of lemonade—said it would be cooler there."

Royal smiled happily. "It will be good to see him again. I want to hear all about his family."

She walked in the direction of the house, and when she rounded the corner she saw Preston waiting for her. She raised her hand to him, and he came bounding down the steps to enfold her in his arms.

"I have been in agony wanting to see you and not knowing where to find you. No one could tell me where you were. At last I decided to ride out to Swanhouse this morning, and here you are. It was wise of you to move out of Savannah."

She smiled up at him and linked her arm through his. "You look good, Preston. The air in America seems to agree with you."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's unhealthy for most Englishmen."

"I had thought you would have returned to England by now."

"I had. But the prime minister wanted me to return. All is not as well as it might be. I am to join Cornwallis in Virginia."

They had reached the shade of the veranda, and Royal leaned against the railing. "I would rather your Cornwallis returned to England."

There was a look of irritation on Preston's face. "So would I. I am weary of generals. Take General Clinton. He is always issuing orders about one fool thing or another," he said sardonically. "I believe he thinks he can win this war by proclamation."