Petals on the River

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “So you’ve judged me guilty to placate any qualms you might suffer when you attempt to kill me—”

  “Attempt?” The Marquess laughed caustically at Gage’s choice of words. “My good man, if I make up my mind to kill you, then be assured I shall do just that. I will not merely make an attempt!”

  Somewhat incredulously, Gage inquired, “Are you so sure you can kill me?”

  “Unquestionably.”

  Gage paused a thoughtful moment as he assessed the Marquess’s confidence. His statement had not been conveyed with despicable arrogance but with an unwavering conviction. “Shemaine warned me about your talents with dueling pistols and a sword, but she also said that thus far you’ve only wounded your opponents.”

  “I shall take special pains to serve you a death sentence, sir.”

  Gage cocked his head at a contemplative angle. “If you’re so skilled at dueling, my lord, would it not be the same as committing murder to fight with another who has never dueled in his life?”

  Maurice’s mouth twitched with sardonic terseness. “Hopefully, I shall be serving justice her due and saving Shemaine from the fate of an early death.”

  “And will nothing deter you from the path you’ve chosen?”

  Maurice paused a moment to ponder Gage’s question and finally responded with a brief, affirmative nod. “If you were to be completely exonerated of killing your first wife, then I must allow that you might be a fit husband to Shemaine. At least, with that assurance, I would be confident about leaving her in your care.”

  Gage returned the Marquess’s steadfast stare, understanding the man completely. He would do nothing less himself. “Then I shall endeavor to hope for my family’s sake, my lord, that your hand is stayed by such a miracle.”

  Maurice grew reflective as he appraised the other man. “I perceive you are no coward, Mr. Thornton.”

  Gage inclined his head imperceptibly as he returned the tribute. “Nay, nor are you, your lordship.”

  William Thornton made a valiant attempt to rise to his feet as Camille and Shemus O’Hearn entered the parlor, but Shemaine laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder, urging him back into his chair.

  “Do not stress yourself, my lord,” she begged softly. “My mother understands that you are recovering from a serious wound and cannot grace us with your sterling manners.”

  “I told his lordship as much meself, but he wouldn’t listen ta me advice,” Mary Margaret volunteered from the settee, setting aside the playing cards she had been holding in her hand.

  Andrew scooted off the settee and ran to Shemaine. When Bess and Nola had entered the kitchen, he had sought solace in the familiarity of Mrs. McGee as a close friend, but now that Shemaine had returned, he felt at ease again. Shemaine introduced the elders to each other and then presented the boy to her parents.

  “And this is my son, Andrew,” she proudly declared, hugging him affectionately. “He’s two years old, can count to ten and can even spell his first name.”

  “Oh, what a fine, handsome boy you are,” Camille praised admiringly. “And so smart!”

  “Mommee Sheeaim taught me,” he said with a rather shy but captivating grin.

  “Andrew, this is my mother and father. . . .”

  He looked up at Shemaine wonderingly. “Your mommee and daddee?”

  She answered with an effervescent smile. “Aye, they’ve come all the way from England to see us.”

  “My daddee, too?”

  She responded with an affirmative nod. “They’ve only known about your daddy since yesterday, but they came out today to see him.”

  “That’s my gran’pa!” Andrew proudly announced, motioning with a curled finger toward William.

  The Earl of Thornhedge grinned back at the O’Hearns. “I say, we do need a foursome to play whisk. Might the two of you be interested?”

  “My father is a wicked cardplayer,” Shemaine warned with a twinkling smile.

  Shemus snorted in amusement. “Yer mother may look like an angel, me girl, but she’s done me in, in more ways than I’d care to count.”

  Camille patted her husband’s arm dotingly. “ ‘Tis only because you let me win, dear.”

  “Ha!” Shemus scoffed at the absurdity of such a notion. Facing William, he swept a hand toward his wife. “The truth is, me lord, she lets me win.”

  William chortled and then winced slightly as he was reminded of his healing wound. A bit more soberly he asked, “Does that mean we’ll have a foursome?”

  “I would visit with my daughter in her bedroom first, then I’ll be delighted to join you and your lovely companion in a game,” Camille replied graciously.

  Bess came from the kitchen into the parlor bearing a small platter of crumpets. She had cut the bread into small, bite-sized pieces and now offered them to her mistress. “Ye’ll be wantin’ ta try a wee taste of this first, mum.”

  Sweeping her eyes over the contents of the plate, Camille grew puzzled. “Whatever for, Bess? I’ve tasted your crumpets before. Are these any different?”

  “Aye, mum. They’re what your pretty darlin’ made.”

  “Oh.” Camille wasn’t at all sure she wanted to subject herself to such a questionable task just yet. Through years of arduous disasters in the kitchen, she had been well educated to the faults of her daughter’s cooking. She did not necessarily want another sampling now, something that she would indubitably taste the whole day long and come to regret upon retiring to bed later that evening.

  “It’s all right, mum. Taste ’em,” Bess encouraged.

  Gingerly Camille picked up a tiny piece and sampled it. By slow degrees the expression on her face was transformed from careful reserve to glowing radiance. She conveyed her approval with an exuberant smile. “Why, they’re delicious!”

  Bess nodded eagerly. “We did it, mum. We taught our li’l darlin’ ta cook!”

  William sought to squelch his amusement before he was again tormented by the consequences, but the more he tried, the more he was inclined to chuckle. Clasping a pillow to his chest to subdue the pain, he peered at Shemaine. “ ‘Twould seem, my dear, they’ve been entertaining doubts about your cooking skills for some time.”

  “Believe me, my lord, their distrust was well earned,” Shemaine rejoined with amusement.

  “Not anymore, though, I’ll warrant,” Mary Margaret chimed in. “His lordship and I’ve been wonderin’ if’n yer Bess can now cook as well as yer pretty self, Shemaine Thornton.”

  “Maybe not,” Bess pondered aloud, then she heaved her plump shoulders upward in a good-natured shrug. “An’ if not, then I’d be a-thinkin’ I’ve outdone meself teachin’ her.”

  “The acclaim belongs entirely to you, Bess,” William responded jovially. “You’ve made all of our lives more enjoyable by your efforts.”

  “Thank ye, yer lordship.” Bess bobbed a curtsy and bustled into the kitchen, tossing back a pleased grin.

  Shemaine followed the cook into the kitchen, where she spoke to her privately for a few moments, informing her that there would be more guests arriving soon. Bess promptly reassured her there would be no difficulty in laying out a feast for everyone to enjoy. It would not be the most elaborate, the cook warned, but there would be plenty for all. It was what Shemaine had expected, and she gave the woman an affectionate hug. “I thought you could do it, Bess, but my husband didn’t want me to upset you with more work than you could handle.”

  Bess grinned back at her. “Tell yer mister I’m appreciative o’ his kindly concern, darlin’.” Then she leaned forward to whisper. “He’s a right fine gent, if’n ye ask me.”

  “He is, truly,” Shemaine agreed in an equally quiet tone.

  Shemaine quickly directed Erich and Tom where they were to erect the table, and when she returned to the parlor, Camille swept her hand toward the master bedroom, drawing her daughter’s attention to the two O’Hearn trunks that stood near the end of the bed. “Shall we go in and have a look at what Nola packed inside the chests?”<
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  “I can hardly wait!” Shemaine caught her mother’s hand and pulled her along behind her as she ran into the room.

  Shortly after being closeted with her parent in the master bedroom, Shemaine shook out a pale aqua gown of silk floral brocade fashioned with a square neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves. After Nola gave the gown a careful pressing, Shemaine swept it over her head. The garment seemed to settle in place with the eagerness of an old friend yearning to revive a close acquaintance. Camille stepped behind her daughter to tighten the laces at the back of the bodice, tied a narrow ribbon with a jeweled pendant about Shemaine’s neck, and then called upon Nola’s talents to create a suitable coiffure. The maid was teary-eyed with joy at the opportunity to brush and comb Shemaine’s hair once again. Not so long ago, she had grieved for her young mistress, believing her dead, and was deeply thankful the O’Hearns’ search had not ended with a morbid discovery. She considered it a celebration of sorts to be able to sweep the tresses into a charming coiffure on top of her charge’s head and arrange a trio of ringlets that hung down coyly from behind a dainty ear.

  A hand mirror was brought out from one of the trunks, and Nola held it while her young mistress admired the results. Camille looked on in approval and smiled as she counted their good fortune in finding their daughter again.

  “Oh, Nola, I feel much like my old self again!” Shemaine exclaimed. “Thank you!”

  “Ye’re prettier than ever, mum,” Nola replied, squeezing her mistress close to her in a fond embrace. Then, with a smile, the maid took her leave.

  “You do look just as beautiful as ever, my dear,” Camille said, blinking back the wetness that threatened to blur her vision as she gazed at her daughter. “Just wait until Maurice sees you.”

  Shemaine stiffened slightly, and when she turned to face her mother, she probed the teary blue eyes that seemed to plead with her. “Mother, I’m not married to Maurice. Gage is my husband. I would encourage you to remember that.”

  Camille’s brows came together in a distressed frown. “Will he ever be able to give you what Maurice is capable of?”

  Shemaine detected the slight quaver in the other’s voice and recognized the hurt and anguish in the delicate visage. As much as she loved her mother, she would never allow herself to be coaxed away from Gage with beautiful clothes or promises of unending wealth. “Mama, I love my husband, and I will have no other. . . .”

  “But there are many who say he killed his first wife—”

  “Aye, and I have met several of those people who’ve dared say such things. If you were to meet them yourself, Mama, you would see through their ploys and their eagerness to spread tales that they’ve enlivened for their own purposes. Roxanne Corbin is a spinster who has wanted Gage for her own since he first came here to Virginia more than nine years ago, but he married Victoria instead. Roxanne could not tolerate that fact. Who knows? Roxanne may have even been the one who killed Victoria. She was certainly the one who discovered Victoria’s body. After Gage and I were married, she came out here, intruded upon us while we were celebrating our love for each other, and vowed to tell everyone that he had killed Victoria. She’s a spiteful woman, Mama, bent on having her way, and if not, then at the very least seeing Gage destroyed. Is this someone to whom you would listen? Would you entertain doubts about Papa if some envious fellow were to come to you and say that he was a thief?”

  “No, of course not, Shemaine, but—”

  “No buts!” Shemaine threw up a hand to halt her mother’s arguments. “I will hear no more slander against my husband! And if you’ve brought these clothes to me today with the hope that you could somehow persuade me to leave Gage, then take them back. I can do without them. But know this, Mama, I will have no other husband but Gage until one of us is laid in a grave!”

  Camille pressed a trembling hand to her brow, trying not to yield to the anguish that was tearing her apart inside. “How can I leave you here with him, knowing there’s a chance you might not be safe . . . that he might kill you, too?”

  “Mama, please,” Shemaine murmured cajolingly. “Don’t worry about Gage. . . .”

  “I can’t help it, Shemaine,” Camille moaned in abject misery. “You’re our only child . . . our darling little girl. We could not bear it if you were slain! And you are so very young! You’ve not had much experience with men! Gage is so much older. . . .”

  “He’s no more than two years older than Maurice,” Shemaine argued desperately. “Do those two years make such a difference in your mind?”

  Camille’s brows flicked upward briefly as she tried to find a suitable justification for her prejudice. “Gage seems much older.”

  “Perhaps because he’s not had the world delivered to him on a silver tray, Mama. He’s had to work hard for what he has achieved. Just like Papa had to do once.”

  “Your father was much younger when he and I married.”

  “Let this discussion be at an end,” Shemaine urged. Her mother tried once more to speak, but her daughter shook her head passionately. “I’m going outside to show Gage my gown. When I return, I hope you will have settled it in your mind that I’m married to him and I will not let that fact be undone. You have a grandchild on the way, Mama, and I’d like to think that you are looking forward to that event as much as I am. Please, don’t waste your time telling me how you abhor and distrust my husband, because it will only drive me away from you.”

  Camille shook her head sadly and sniffed as she wiped her nose on a dainty handkerchief. “I do not abhor Gage, Shemaine. Truly, if I could be assured the accusations against him are only lies, I’d be content and pleased that you love him so.”

  “Then I shall pray that something may come to light to ease your fears,” Shemaine said softly. “Because I cannot bear to see you cry.”

  Shemaine gently kissed her mother and then left, closing the bedroom door behind her. William was the first to notice her change of attire and artfully arranged coiffure, and offered praises equal to those of a courtly swain.

  “I’d have sworn by the glow filling the room that the sun had risen for a second time today, but I can see for myself that it’s only your beautiful radiance.”

  “You’re most gallant, my lord,” Shemaine responded with a gracious smile, dipping into a curtsy.

  Stepping to the front door, she paused there to look back at Andrew, who had charmed his way onto his grandfather’s lap. “I’m going outside to see your father, Andy. Want to come along?”

  “Goin’ ta see Daddee!” he informed William happily, and wriggled quickly to the floor.

  Taking the child’s small hand in hers, Shemaine met her father’s worried stare and managed a fleeting smile before she took her leave.

  Her return to the ship caused both Gage and Maurice to stop and stare in deep appreciation of her beauty, but as her husband slipped his arms about her and drew her close for a kiss, Maurice felt a torturous pang of envy wrench his vitals. The need to escape the couple’s presence became needful and paramount. He had endured their marital courtship too much for one day. With hands clenched, spine rigid, he stalked across the deck and never looked back as he descended the building slip.

  In the absence of his daughter, Shemus hurried into the bedroom to find his wife weeping silently in her handkerchief.

  “Did ye have a chance ta talk with her?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes, but no good came of it, Shemus. Shemaine is determined to stay with Gage. She says she loves him and will have no other.”

  “Damn the Irish pigheadedness!”

  “Shemus! For shame! She is our daughter.”

  “Aye, but ‘tis me own stubborn self I see in her.”

  “Perhaps she’s right, Shemus,” Camille offered dolefully. “What right do we have to condemn the man when we know so little of the truth? Shemaine swears ‘tis envy behind part of the gossip. A spinster who wanted Gage to marry her—”

  “We’ll see what Maurice can do,” Shemus mumbled, hardly
hearing his wife. “Perhaps he’ll be able to talk her into coming back with us. She said she loved him once, and I know he loves her.”

  “I don’t think Shemaine will come home with us, Shemus, not without her husband. And if we force her, she’ll hate both of us forever.”

  “Have we lost her?”

  “Aye, Shemus, ‘tis what I now fear. We’ve lost our little darling. She’s grown up into a woman, and she has a mind of her own.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “They’re comin’ now,” Flannery announced shortly after Gillian had taken Andrew out to scout the woods for small animals. Gage and Shemaine joined the shipwright at the rail as he pointed a gnarled finger toward a large dinghy nearing the loading dock. A tall man wearing a tricorn jumped out and secured the painter to a post while his male companion drew the oars into the craft.

  The first gentleman escorted two of the young ladies up the building slip while the man who had been at the oars lent assistance to the third. Upon espying Shemaine, the two men swept off their tricorns in courteous manner. They were as tall as Gage, but the older one had a thick crop of dark auburn hair tied in a queue behind the high, stiff collar of his frock coat. His face was rather squarish and angular, his eyes brown. An unquenchable humor was evident in the tiny lines around his mouth, behind which gleamed a fine collection of white teeth.

  Flannery introduced him as his former captain. “Cap’n Thornton,” he said, turning to Gage. “This here be Cap’n Beauchamp. . . .”

  “Nathanial Beauchamp,” the stranger announced, extending a hand of greeting toward Gage. “Or Nathan, if you’d prefer. . . .”

  The usual response came as promptly as expected by those who knew the man. “Everyone calls me Gage.”

  After Shemaine was introduced, Nathanial identified the women who were with him. “These are my twin sisters, Gabrielle and Garland,” he said, indicating the younger two. Then he laid an arm about the brown-haired woman who stood beside him. “And this is my wife, Charlotte.”