The Light in the Darkness (10 page)

Melissa’s smile took on a decidedly unfriendly cast. “Such a charmingly quaint accent you have, Mistress Greyson,” she said with savage sarcasm, uttering a trilling and patently artificial laugh. “Is it foreign, perhaps?”

“Now, now,” her husband broke in before Jennifer could formulate an answer, “plainly the lady is not from this area.” Jennifer exhaled a deep sigh of relief, grateful for his intercession, but her gratitude fled abruptly at his next words. “Tell me, Mistress Greyson, how did you meet your husband?”

Jennifer sent a pleading look in Catherine’s direction, but it was evident from the expression on Catherine’s features that she had no more idea how to deal with the situation than Jennifer did. She had hoped that this situation would not come up so quickly. Due to Grey’s reclusive behavior, they rarely had visitors these days. And Jennifer had not yet had to attend church or any other sort of social function where she might have met their neighbors.

But of course, Catherine reflected sourly, news traveled quickly in Virginia. And their neighbors were bound to visit, to stare at Jennifer and to mock her accent and manners, under the guise of welcoming her to the area. She was struggling to teach Jennifer how to speak and act like a lady, but it was a long and torturous process. In the meantime the neighbors would gawk. She bit her lip, unable to determine the best way to satiate the Lightfoots’ curiosity without revealing too much.

Before she could open her mouth, however, a deep voice rumbled behind her. “She swept me off my feet,” Grey said.

Catherine turned and saw her brother leaning negligently on the doorjamb. A wave of relief swept through her, followed promptly by a sensation of fear. Who knew what Grey might take it into his head to say? He might have come into the parlor to save Jennifer from the wolves, or to throw her to them. She prayed he would not humiliate them all.

Turning, Jennifer saw him lounging in the doorway, positively radiating raw power. He was clad for riding, wearing only a linen shirt with ruffles at the throat, the clean white stock contrasting oddly with his tanned skin, and buff knee breeches that clung to his muscled thighs. His calves were encased in riding boots of soft leather turned down at the top below the knee. Under his arm he carried a beaverskin tricorne trimmed with the metal braid known as point d’Espagne. His ebony hair was not confined, falling in loose waves to his shoulders.

Clearly he had just returned from his daily ride. Protocol, of course, demanded that he change before seeing his guests. It was unthinkable that a man entertain visitors without a coat and waistcoat, and without his unruly hair confined beneath a wig, or at least tied neatly in a queue. Jennifer did not care how scandalous his appearance was. She stared at him, noticing only the way the linen of his shirt, wet with sweat, clung to his broad chest and shoulders. Realizing the direction her thoughts were taking, she looked away hastily, shocked at her wanton reaction to her husband. Never before had she been so drawn to a man. Then again, she had never before known a man who was so blatantly, powerfully masculine.

Grey grinned and stepped into the room. Completely disregarding his appearance, and the fact that he reeked of stables and perspiration, he seated himself on the ivory damask-covered seat of one of Catherine’s prized chairs. Catherine sent him an indignant look but said nothing.

Resting a booted foot on one knee, Grey faced his guests. “She swept me off my feet,” he repeated, nodding toward his wife. “I knew that no matter how long I looked I would never find a woman more perfect for me in anyway. Isn’t that so, darling?” He smiled lazily at his wife.

Jennifer stood frozen. Despite the careless use of the endearment, she realized wretchedly that he was making fun of her again—and worse, that their guests realized it. She noticed the amused looks that passed between Melissa and Grey. And too, she noticed that the lovely dark-haired Melissa was eyeing Grey in much the same fashion she herself had been a few moments ago, with an almost predatory gaze, as though the woman was far more affected by the aura of virile strength he radiated than she had any right to be.

She wanted to flee the chamber, to run from her husband’s mocking smile. She wished, desperately, that she had never asked Grey to take her with him that night weeks ago. There was a saying, “Better the devil you know.” She had married a devil, and her life was no better now than it had ever been. She was as alone as ever.

She barely noticed the rest of the conversation, for it was not directed at her. She might as well have been a piece of furniture. Grey sat and answered the Lightfoots’ constant stream of questions, casting apparent looks of devotion at Jennifer until she wanted to burst into tears. It was all too obvious that their guests knew the truth, that Grey had only married her to embarrass his sister and scorn society.

When at last the Lightfoots had left, and Grey had gone upstairs to change without another word to his wife, Catherine smiled grimly at Jennifer.

“What a vulture that woman is. And her husband is little better.”

Jennifer sighed, partly in relief and partly to relieve the choking feeling in her throat. She had never been so close to tears in the past nine years as she was now. Getting her
voice under control, she decided to finally speak. “They did not seem t’take ter me.”

At that astonishing understatement, Catherine turned and glared at her. “And you have no idea why, do you?”

“ ’Tis obvious,” Jennifer objected, somewhat offended that Catherine thought her to be such a ninny. “I’m not of th’ same class. I don’t belong, and I never will.”

“That isn’t all.” When Jennifer only stared at her blankly, Catherine clarified, “Melissa is Grey’s mistress.”

The room seemed to whirl around Jennifer. Tears threatened again. No wonder Grey regarded her with such contempt, she thought miserably. She could not hope to compete with such a lovely and sophisticated woman. She remembered the topaz silk gown the other woman had worn, her beautiful brown eyes and shining mahogany hair, and she felt hopelessly, completely inadequate.

“That’s how she knew all about you,” Catherine was explaining. “No doubt he told her everything. To Grey, your marriage is only a joke, nothing more.”

Jennifer felt as though she were crumbling inside, but her face remained as still and calm as always. Studying the girl’s features for traces of emotion, Catherine could find none. If Jennifer was affected by the news that her husband thought of her in the light of a joke and laughed about her with his mistress, she gave no sign of it.

Catherine could not know that when Jennifer went upstairs, she locked the door to her chamber and wept into her pillow for a quarter of an hour. They were the first tears she had shed in nearly nine years.

And while Jennifer cried upstairs, Catherine sat in the parlor and stared thoughtfully into the fire. Damn Grey, she thought savagely. Damn him to hell.

Her plan was not going well at all.

“I
n … the … be-beginning … was the Word.…” I Catherine nodded approvingly. “Very good,” she said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. She had been delighted with her pupil’s progress. Jennifer had learned the sounds of the alphabet and had progressed into reading, however poorly, within three months. The girl was considerably more intelligent than Catherine had expected.

Even more surprising than her intelligence was her vigilant desire to learn. Perhaps it sprang from her desire to transform herself from a common tavern wench into a suitable planter’s wife, or perhaps it was an innate quality, but Jennifer seemed determined to memorize and analyze every bit of knowledge that came her way. Usually it was Catherine who grew tired of the lessons and called a halt to the learning for the day. Jennifer seemed tireless, almost relentless, in her search for more knowledge.

After the lessons were over for the day, the two young women talked. Though neither would have admitted it, they were fast becoming close friends. In the evenings, while Grey sulked in his study, Catherine and Jennifer played backgammon, draughts, and whist. Jennifer had never before had a woman friend, and the experience was slowly encouraging her to emerge from her shell. Catherine was too stiff to admit even to herself how she enjoyed talking with the other woman, but the truth was that their
friendship filled a void in her life. Since Grey was considered mad by most of the planters along the James, they all too rarely had visitors. Catherine had been denied the chance to make friends for many years now.

“And the light shineth in darkness, and … and the darkness comprehended it not.…”

Recalled to the present, Catherine reached out and took the Bible from the other girl’s hands. Grey’s library, like the library of any well-educated gentleman in the colony, included a vast quantity of classic works, by authors as diverse as Homer, Shakespeare, and Chaucer, as well as more practical works, such as
Tull’s Horse-Hoeing Husbandry
, but Catherine had wisely decided to teach Jennifer to read using a book she was somewhat familiar with. “I think that’s enough for now.” To forestall the inevitable look of disappointment on Jennifer’s face, she said thoughtfully, “You know, Jen, I still don’t feel as though I know you very well. What was your life like before you came to Greyhaven?”

Jennifer shrugged. “It was not much of a life,” she said, reticent as ever.

“Were you happy?”

Jennifer shook her head.

“Why not?”

At last Jennifer was coaxed to speak. “I did not care for my uncle,” she said honestly. “You know that he beat me, for any reason or for no reason. And my aunt was a timid woman who did not dare to stop him. I scarcely knew her at all, even though I lived with her for nine years. She never spoke.”

“So your uncle punished you for no reason whatsoever?” Catherine said. Her parents had never punished her; in fact, they had rarely paid any attention to her at all. She wondered now if perhaps she had not been lucky in that regard. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

Jennifer remained silent, and Catherine frowned. “You don’t expect life to be fair, do you?”

“My life ’as never been fair,” Jennifer said with a complete
lack of bitterness. Despite her words, there was no self-pity in her tone. She seemed to be merely stating a fact.

Poor girl, Catherine thought. These days Jennifer only saw Grey at meals, where he maintained an icy silence. The rest of the time he seemed to go out of his way to avoid her. The entire situation was intolerable, yet Jennifer bore it without complaining.

To cover the sympathy she was certain showed on her face, Catherine said irritably, “For heaven’s sake, pronounce your aitches, Jennifer.” Jennifer’s lower-class accent, while fading noticeably, always annoyed her, perhaps because it seemed so at odds with the young woman’s upper-class appearance. Today she wore a rose-colored open robe gown, with the bodice and overskirt joined together, but with the skirt open in front to reveal an ivory petticoat. Masking the extremely low, round neckline was a filmy kerchief. Her waist appeared impossibly tiny, owing to the tight stays, and Catherine thought with satisfaction that no one could have guessed by looking at her that three months before she had been little better than a slave. Unfortunately, most of the changes were superficial. But considering the girl’s startling level of intelligence, Catherine was confident that she would very shortly be a lady in every way.

“There was another thing,” Jennifer remarked idly, surprising Catherine, who had never known her to speak without prodding. “My uncle believed that I was mad. He used to beat me for that reason, every now and then.”

“I can’t imagine why he would think that,” Catherine said honestly. Despite the unpleasantness of her childhood, Jennifer seemed relatively normal, if reserved. Certainly she was the sanest member of this household!

Wide green eyes, the color of pine needles in the summer sun, glanced gravely at her as if deciding whether to disclose a momentous secret. At last Jennifer said, “Because I hear music.” At Catherine’s puzzled expression, she clarified, “In my head. Every now and then a traveler
would take out a fiddle and play a tune in the tavern. I can hear those tunes whenever I want to. But I also hear other tunes, tunes I’ve never heard before.”

“Melodies you made up yourself?”

Jennifer considered this with her customary solemnity. “I suppose so,” she agreed at last, “though I never thought about them. They just came into my head.” There was a slight, embarrassed pause, and then she burst out, “You said I could learn to play the harpsichord. When?”

Startled by the girl’s enthusiasm, Catherine said, “Well, I thought learning to read was most important.” At the girl’s crestfallen expression, she added, “However … I suppose other accomplishments are important, too. If it means that much to you we can start on the harpsichord today, if you like.”

Jennifer smiled, actually smiled, and the radiance of it spread across her face like the rays of a sunrise spreading across the sky. Leaping to her feet, she lifted her skirts and ran down the stairs with childlike glee. Catherine followed more slowly, leaning on her walking stick.

“I know I can learn to play,” Jennifer was saying excitedly from the bottom of the staircase as Catherine limped down the steps. “I know I can! I’ve dreamed about playing the tunes in my head. And new tunes, ones I’ve never heard of or imagined. I never thought I’d have the opportunity—” She broke off, suddenly aware of Catherine’s surprised stare at her uncharacteristic burst of words. Once again her quiet self, she followed the other woman meekly into the parlor.

As Catherine had expected, Jennifer was full of questions about music, her enthusiasm for the subject overcoming her reticence. At first, puzzled, she inquired why the scale only went up to G rather than to Z. When her curiosity regarding that enigma was satisfied, she demanded an explanation as to why there was no black key between B and C. Her questions might have gone on forever had not Catherine demonstrated the scale. Jennifer ran through
the C-major scale, clearly delighted to actually be touching the instrument, then, to Catherine’s utter astonishment, she picked out a melody, with surprisingly few mistakes.