Sins of Omission (16 page)

April 1686

Barbados, West Indies

Max turned over irritably in an effort to get more comfortable, but couldn’t get back to sleep.  He was tired, and his back throbbed painfully, but the stifling, stale air in the hut and the snoring of twenty sleeping men were enough to raise the dead.  He gave up on sleep for the time being, and ventured outside where he sat down on the stoop and gazed up at the star-strewn sky.  The air was balmy and warm, the tang of the sea just discernable if one breathed deeply.  What he wouldn’t give for a swim.  It hadn’t rained since that last storm, and Max felt dirty, smelly, and hot.  He’d broken out in some sort of rash all over his body, likely caused by lack of hygiene, and his beard and hair were crawling with lice.  He scratched absentmindedly as he leaned against the doorframe of the hut.

It’d been over a week since his conversation with Xeno, and with every passing day, he felt more tormented by thoughts of escape.  Before Xeno summoned him, Max had grudgingly accepted his fate, trying to keep his head down and planning for what he would do once his indenture was up, but now that there was a glimmer of hope, if being buried alive could be construed as hope, he felt restless and torn.  Xeno’s plan was absolutely mad, and any rational person would dismiss it out of hand as he had, but what if it worked? What if there actually was a chance of getting off this godforsaken island?

Xeno struck a nerve, as he knew he would, when he spoke of Max dying before his sentence was up.  The graveyard was full of people who’d never seen freedom again.  Many had died of overwork and poor nutrition, but a much greater number had been carried off by yellow fever, or Yellow Jack as the slaves called it.  Perhaps Max’s twenty-first-century immune system could fight off an attack of yellow fever, but he could just as easily contract malaria or some other kind of island disease.  And even if by some miracle he remained healthy, he still had more than six and a half years of servitude before he could regain his freedom, and then what?  How would he get back to England?  Even if he managed to hire himself out as part of a crew on a ship bound for England, he’d be coming back more than seven years after his disappearance from the twenty-first century. 

Would the passage still exist?  Would it take him back to the time he left, or would he show up in Cranleigh nearly eight years later?  Would he be able to reclaim his place?  He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought it took seven years to pronounce someone dead if there was no body.  Even if he managed to get back home, he might be seen as an impostor, a fraud.  And his mother…  Lady Everly might not even be alive by the time he got back, so he would be returning to a house inhabited by someone else.  Max had never made a Will, but the estate would go to his next of kin, which was a distant cousin from Newcastle who’d emigrated to Canada a few years back.  These thoughts drove Max crazy, making him uncomfortably aware of the urgency of getting back home. 

Max shook his head as if trying to dislodge his turbulent thoughts, but they kept coming back, refusing to leave Max in peace.  Could Xeno be trusted?  What if he just left Max to die?  Who would know?  Who would even care?  Of course, many of the slaves had heard Xeno’s promise, but who was to say that they would condemn him for breaking it, or not encourage him to leave Max to his fate?  Max was just a white man, a symbol of oppression, even if he himself was in a position of near-slavery.  In their eyes, he was a man who had something to go back to, a life of luxury to reclaim where their lives had been stolen from them.  They would never see their homeland again, or reunite with the people they’d been torn from.  This was where they would live and where they would die, unless Jessop Greene decided to sell them on or give one of them as a gift, possibly one of their children. 

And what in the world could Xeno be smuggling to France?  Did the slaves steal sugarcane and use it to pay for whatever it was they got from the French captain?  Max hadn’t seen any items of luxury in the slave barracks -– nothing at all save a few clay pots and moth-eaten blankets.  A few of the women wore colorful dresses and turbans, but everyone else wore the same linen pajamas like those issued to Max. Perhaps it was just a story Xeno made up, thinking it would give his proposal greater credibility. 

Max leaned his head on the doorjamb and looked up at the sky.  A bright light streaked across the sky, and was gone as quickly as it came, but for some reason Max suddenly felt a little more hopeful.  Perhaps not all was lost.  What if he could escape and get back to England?  He’d have a lot of explaining to do, but eventually he would get back to his life and think of this nightmare as a distant memory, a bad dream that had troubled his sleep a long time ago.  He allowed himself a moment of fantasy, thinking of all the things he would do if he ever got back, a slow smile spreading across his face at the thought of a bath.  But was Xeno’s plan worth the risk, or would he be hastening his own death?

April 1686

Paris, France

Archie was glad to escape the house to see to some errands for Lord Everly.  It was a lovely spring day, and the newly greening trees and vibrant flower beds lifted his spirits, if only momentarily.  He’d spent the past two weeks brooding, particularly because he didn’t have enough to do.  Since the birth of the baby things had been relatively quiet, except for the invitation to Versailles.  Archie had enjoyed the outing, getting to see something of the countryside, and spending a few enjoyable hours with other men-at-arms and grooms as they waited for their masters to return.  The Frenchmen had been unwelcoming at first, but as more ale was consumed, Anglo-French relations greatly improved.  Archie smiled at the memory, hoping he’d get to go back.  There were a number of very comely serving girls as well, and given enough time…

Oh, who am I kidding?
Archie thought miserably.  He hadn’t stopped thinking of Frances since she so unexpectedly showed up in his room.  He’d had many lovers over the past decade, but they had all been either married or widowed, women who gave as freely as they took and expected nothing in return.  They wanted a bit of affection and physical pleasure, as did he.  Archie had never stayed long enough to develop any feelings for his partners, although he felt a fondness for them all, especially Margaret. 

The affair with Margaret lasted close to a year, although she made it clear that Archie wasn’t the only one and never would be.  He didn’t really care.  Margaret was considerably older than him and had enough emotional upheaval to last several lifetimes.  He didn’t care to add to her troubles, and they became close friends rather than just lovers.  Truth be told, Margaret had been one of the closest friends Archie had ever had, and he missed their talks.  Margaret would have been the perfect person to talk to about Frances.  She’d tell him what to do, and she would likely be right.  Most men remembered Margaret for her beauty and her voracious sexual appetite, but they never realized how smart and intuitive she had been, how in tune with human nature.  Archie often wondered if Hugo Everly suspected that Archie had been one of Margaret’s conquests, but he never asked.  He had no claim to her, but like most men who’d known Margaret, still nursed feelings for her, only in his case they were more sympathy than lingering lust.  Archie had to admit that just like Hugo, he felt a certain responsibility toward Jem because of the bond he shared with his mother, and kept an eye on the boy at all times, teaching him whatever he could about life.

Jem had begun asking questions about romance of late, forcing Archie to confront some questions of his own.  He hadn’t been with anyone since the previous summer when he thought that Hugo Everly was gone, and found himself feeling listless and frustrated.  The months spent on his father’s farm left him itching for something to do, and the unexpected summons from Lord Everly were a blessing, as well as a balm to his soul.  Archie truly cared about the man, and to find him alive after all those months nearly made him cry. 

But then came Frances.  Archie thought he’d never see her again after leaving her at the Convent of the Sacred Heart.  He’d felt sorry for the girl, and would have laid down his life to protect her, but he firmly put her out of his mind, especially after seeing her hours after giving birth and then witnessing her bereavement after the death of Gabriel.  He never expected her to accompany them to France, nor did he bet on being the one to fetch her.  His thoughts often turned to that night they’d spent in the barn when she was so clearly terrified of him, but desperate to trust him all the same.  That night something shifted in Archie’s soul, and try as he might, he couldn’t get Frances out of his head.  She was different from anyone he’d ever cared for: so achingly young, vulnerable, and hopeful.  He’d rather cut off his own arm than cause her any more pain.  She’d suffered way too much for a girl of fifteen, and he prided himself on being her protector and friend. 

Only it seemed that his heart wasn’t completely in accord with his mind.  Kissing her had been a dreadful mistake, a mistake that opened up a flood of feelings that Archie had been keeping suppressed since he first met her in her husband’s house.  Archie would have gladly killed Lionel Finch with his bare hands had Hugo allowed him to, but he’d kept his temper in check and did his absolute best to come up with a place where Frances would be safe.  But now she wasn’t safe anymore; not safe from him.  He thought of her day and night, and woke up throbbing with desire.  In her innocence, Frances had opened a door he’d kept firmly locked for months, but what did he have to offer her when she had the opportunity to marry someone like Luke Marsden, who had wealth and a respectable place in society?  Archie had spent fruitless hours searching for some fault in the man, but Luke was handsome, charming, influential, and wealthy.  He seemed smitten with Frances, who appeared to be somewhat frightened by his ardor.  She just needed time, but Luke was willing to wait. 
Damn him
, Archie thought vengefully as he walked faster in his agitation. 
Damn him
.

Frances smiled in gratitude as Luke presented her with a box of marzipan exquisitely molded into various spring flowers and arranged like a miniature flower bed.  They were too lovely to eat, but Frances dutifully selected one and took a dainty bite, making Luke glow with pleasure as she held the box out to him in invitation. 

“Do have one,” she insisted.  Luke selected a delicate red rose sprinkled with caramelized sugar in an artful imitation of drops of dew.

“They say red roses are a symbol of love,” he said as he took a bite.  “Would you have given it to me had I asked?”

“Perhaps you should have given it to me,” she replied, avoiding the question. 

“I’d give you dozens of red roses if you would give me the slightest bit of encouragement,” Luke said, looking like a particularly forlorn puppy. 

“I don’t believe I’ve discouraged you, have I?” Frances asked coyly.

Luke grinned, taking her answer as a sign of favor.  “Would you care for a stroll in the Jardin des Tuileries?  It’s simply glorious outside.  Perhaps we can feed the ducks and then have a cup of chocolate at that brasserie you like.”

“I would like that very much,” Frances answered.  In truth, she was desperate to get out of the house.  The tension between Archie and her was so thick you could cut it with a knife; Neve and Hugo were preoccupied with their squalling offspring, and Jem was just plain annoying with his constant demands for attention.  Perhaps Sabine could chaperone.  She would be grateful for a break from her daily duties, and Luke would be less than a gentleman if he didn’t invite her for a cup of chocolate and pastries as well, a treat that Sabine likely never had, at least not in a brasserie, like a lady.  She would really enjoy that, and owe Frances a favor for the outing, something that might come in handy in the future.

Frances had to admit that she was feeling a little resentful of Sabine at the moment.  She’d finally succumbed to the advances of the groom from next door and was sneaking out to see him after everyone retired, leaving Frances feeling even lonelier than she had before.  She’d finally come to visit Frances last night and gushed about the hours her and Pierre spent together in his little garret; their limbs intertwined as they lay together naked after making love.  What would it be like to feel so comfortable with someone? Frances wondered.  Could she have that type of relationship with Luke?  Somehow she doubted it, but his buttoned-up exterior could very well be just a façade for his political career.  Would he be a passionate lover, or more importantly, a kind one?  She was sure Archie would have been, but he’d been ignoring her for weeks, his eyes sliding away from hers every time they were in the same room together.  Frances sighed at the thought of Archie.  She missed him so much.  They used to talk about nothing and everything, and laugh at Archie’s silly jokes, but now he was stone-faced and rigid, a stranger.

Frances finally shared her feelings with Sabine, feeling that it was safe to confide in her now that she had a lover of her own and was no longer interested in Archie, but Sabine just scoffed at her.  “You need to learn to think like a French woman,” she said, her chest swelling with her perceived superiority. 

“And what would a French woman do in my position?” Frances asked, annoyed, but unbearably curious.  Sabine’s view of the world was so different from her own.

“French women are practical and passionate at the same time, like me,” Sabine added with pride.  “Any woman in her right mind would marry Luke for his position and wealth and take Archie as a lover.”

“Before or after the marriage?” Frances asked, pondering this sage advice.

“Before, during, and after, you silly
petite enfant
,” she replied, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief and her curls bouncing as she laughed at France’s look of shock.  “Who says you can’t have two men at once?  Men sleep with as many women as they wish, so why should we be any different?”

“Have you ever had two lovers at once?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” Sabine replied self-importantly and put down the hairbrush.  “A woman must always have secrets; that’s what makes her mysterious and desirable.”

Oh, I have plenty of secrets
, Frances thought sadly as she thought of the tiny baby she’d buried in a graveyard in Surrey.  Gabriel would always be her secret from others, partly because Lord and Lady Everly advised her not to tell anyone she’d had a child, and partly because she just couldn’t bear to speak of him without falling to pieces.  It had taken her a long time to get a grip on her grief, and now she would take Sabine’s advice and be a practical, passionate woman who was swathed in mystique and in control of her emotions.

“I need a few moments with Lord Everly, if you don’t mind,” Luke said as Frances turned to go upstairs to get her cape and hat.  “Shall we meet in the foyer?”

“Of course; don’t rush on my account,” Frances called over her shoulder as she dashed up the stairs, suddenly feeling lighter than she had in weeks.  An outing with Luke was just what she needed, and she would make the most of it and remind him just how much he wanted her, in case he had forgotten.  But, judging by the look in his eyes, Luke was as enamored as ever, so perhaps it was time to throw him a bone. 

**

Luke found Hugo in the library, reading some correspondence which he hastily shoved into the drawer of the mother-of-pearl inlaid walnut desk.  He’d seemed distressed, but the look of pain was instantly replaced by a warm smile of welcome.

“Luke, a pleasure to see you.  Are you here to see me or Frances?”

“Both, actually,” Luke began as he took the proffered seat.  He was suddenly unsure of how to phrase what he’d come to say, but it had to be done.  Nick’s interests had to come first, as did Jemmy’s.  Luke knew that Hugo genuinely cared for the boy and was his self-appointed guardian, but Jem wasn’t his natural son, so all he could ever hope to be in Hugo’s household was a poor relation, of sorts.

“Hugo, what would you say if I told you that I know who Jem’s father is?” he asked carefully.

“I would tell you that I’m interested in what you have to say,” Hugo replied smoothly.  Luke had seen a glimmer of unease in Hugo’s eyes, but Hugo had instantly rearranged his expression into one of polite interest.  Did he know the truth? Luke wondered.  Had Margaret told him before she died?  Was that why he had taken the boy in, out of regard for both his mother and his friend?

“I know you said that his father was a groom on your estate, but I think you might be mistaken,” Luke continued.  Hugo looked mildly curious, but not upset, so Luke went on.  “I believe Jem’s father is Nicholas.”  There, it was out.

Hugo leaned back in his chair and smiled at Luke, something that the younger man hadn’t expected.  Did he wish to get rid of the boy?

“I know,” Hugo replied smugly. 

“But you said…”

“I know what I said,” Hugo replied.  “It was Margaret’s wish that Jem’s father never know about the boy, so she put about the tale about a groom since he’d left our employ shortly after she found herself with child, but I suspected he might be Nick’s from the moment I first saw him.”

“He’s the spitting image, isn’t he?” Luke agreed.  “Why didn’t she want him to know?”

“Pride, spite, fear of losing Jem,” Hugo said, shrugging his shoulders.  “Who could ever truly understand Margaret?  She was a law unto herself, full of her own ideas of how life should be lived.”

“Yes, she was that.  So, you are not surprised then?” Luke asked carefully, in preparation for the next portion of his speech.

“No.  I did believe the tale of the groom for a while, but it was when I saw you watching Jem as if you’d seen a ghost that I suddenly realized that my suspicions were not unfounded.  I was wondering if you’d write to Nicholas.  I’m assuming you did.”

“Hugo, you know Nick’s situation,” Luke said delicately, hoping that Hugo would infer the rest. 

“Yes, I do.  How is Anne?” Hugo asked.  He hadn’t seen her for many years, but they’d been friends once, and Hugo had always admired Anne’s spirit and her ability to tame Nick’s wild ways.  But the accident not only broke Anne’s bones, it broke Nick’s spirit and destroyed their marriage.  He’d never set foot in her bedchamber again, following doctor’s orders, and they became two strangers living under the same room and drinking from the same cup of bitterness.   

“Same as ever.  She spends her days painting, reading, and sitting in the garden on fine days.  Her and Nick barely see each other.  They can’t bear to be in the same room without their hurt and disappointment getting in the way of any possible affection.”

“Has Nick never taken a mistress?” Hugo asked, curious about his old friend.  The Nick he’d known would have slept with half the Court by now, but he hadn’t heard any gossip for years.  Nick was living quietly in the country, tending to his estate, and generally staying out of trouble.  Of course, there were plenty of women in the country, if one was looking for a quick fling.

“He hasn’t been celibate, if that’s what you’re asking, but he hasn’t forged any relationships out of respect for Anne.  It would kill her to know that he loves someone else.”

“Poor Nick; life hasn’t been kind to him, has it?”

“Life is hardly ever kind, especially to those who choose to live the way Nick had.  He’s paying for his sins, if you ask me.”

“We all have sins,” Hugo replied, his face closed.

“Judging by the position you find yourself in, I’d say you are paying for yours, my friend.  I do think it was kind of you to take in Jem, especially knowing what you know.  You’ve never forgiven Nick for Margaret, have you?”

“Margaret was a grown woman and made her own choice.  I warned her that Nick would tire of her,” Hugo replied, remembering the heated argument he had with Margaret when he heard that she’d be accompanying Nicholas back to London.

“He hadn’t.  Margaret left him when she found out he was getting married.  She said she wouldn’t share him with anyone,” Luke revealed, amazed by the misguided passion of the woman.

“Did she think Nick would marry her?  Had he made promises?” Hugo asked, amazed.

“Of course not.  Nick’s father would have skinned him alive if he married Margaret, and would have killed her with his bare hands if Nick refused an annulment.  Nick knew better than to promise anything.  He was a libertine, but not a liar.  He truly loved Margaret; that’s why finding out that he had a son by her might soothe his wounded soul.”

“If Nicholas wants to legitimize Jem, I would be very happy for them both.  He’s a wonderful boy who deserves a better future than being my secretary.  However, if that’s not why you brought this up, I understand.  Jem will always have a home with me, regardless.”

“I’m glad you’re not upset.  I will write to Nicholas and pass on the happy news.  I think he will be most anxious to meet Jem.”

“I do hope so,” Hugo replied, his face suddenly serious.  “I will miss him if he goes.  A man does need a son, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, which brings me to my next point.  Have you spoken any further with Frances?”

“Luke, Frances needs a little time, so you must be very patient.  Don’t push her.  She’s like a spirited filly that needs to be gentled and tamed.  If you rush it, you will get thrown from the saddle.”

“As much as I appreciate your equestrian metaphors, I do understand something of women,” Luke replied with a laugh.  “I will be the soul of patience.”

“Good, now take that girl for a nice long walk and put some color into her cheeks -– and not in the way you’re thinking right now,” Hugo added to a contrite Luke.

“Yes,
milord
,” he replied tugging his forelock like an obedient servant.