The Ruffian and the Rose

by Colleen French

  "Might I come in?"

  "Please do."

  Gwenevere entered the bedchamber in a flourish of flowing silks. She was wearing lavender Turkish pants, a peach-colored man's shirt, and a multihued silk turban around her head. "I ran into Lucy on the steps." She set down the tray she carried. "Aren't you feeling well?"

  Keely forced a brief smile. "I think I'm going to have a baby . . ."

  Gwenevere gave a hoot of pleasure, grabbing Keely's hands. "A baby? Have you told Brock?"

  She grimaced. "He probably realized it before I did."

  "I know he's pleased." She released her niece's hands and poured two cups of chamomile tea.

  Keely accepted the teacup offered. "Of course he is."

  Gwenevere looked up with concern. "And you're not, Keely?"

  She sighed, blowing on her tea to cool it. "I don't know," she said miserably. "On one hand, the thought of holding a baby in my arms . . ." Her gaze grew distant and she smiled. "I want that." She sipped the tea. "But I can't help feeling I've fallen into some sort of trap. I've done everything everyone else wanted me to do. I came back to the Colonies because Uncle Lloyd told me to, I married Brock because you told me to, and now I'm carrying his baby. Do you know what I mean?"

  "Don't worry, it will pass."

  Keely took her aunt's hand impulsively. "Will you take me to England with you? Back home?"

  Gwenevere frowned. "Take you back? Certainly not. Where in heaven's earth did you get that idea? This is your home now. With your husband."

  Keely pulled back her hand as if it had been stung. "I hate it here." She looked away. "Brock and I . . . he doesn't like me."

  "He loves you," Gwenevere stated flatly.

  "He does not," she challenged, her teary eyes meeting her aunt's.

  "And how would you know?" Gwenevere set her teacup on the tray and went to look out the window.

  "If he loved me, he'd have told me so. He barely tolerates my presence."

  Gwenevere laughed. "If he'd told you, it would be more likely that he didn't. Men have a difficult time expressing their feelings, but that doesn't mean they don't feel as deeply as we do."

  Keely nibbled at her biscuit. "Brock married me because he needed the money, we all know that."

  "True. But that wasn't the only reason; it wouldn't have been enough for a man like my son." She turned away from the window. "I have a feeling my son was hurt very badly by a woman, Keely. Give him time to trust you."

  "Why should I? He has no trust in me." She toyed with her cup. "He's afraid to speak in front of me for fear I'll go racing to the front lines to spill all of his silly secrets." She took a sip of her tea, then lifted her head to meet her aunt's gaze. "I'd never betray him. He's my husband."

  "You know that and I know that, but Brock doesn't." Gwenevere sat down on the edge of Keely's bed. "It's going to take time, dear."

  "Time? How much time? I can't live like this, Aunt Gwen. Can't I please go home with you?"

  "And risk the life of your firstborn?"

  Keely's face fell. Aunt Owen was right. It would be many months before she would be fit to travel by sea again. "Then at least say you'll stay until the babe is born . . ."

  "I couldn't possibly. All of the Morrow Estates need my overseeing; the arrangements have been made. I'll be traveling with Joshua Kane."

  Keely bit down on her lower lip. "You're going to leave me here with Brock? This is an awful time to be making a crossing."

  "Keely, I never told you I could stay," Gwenevere said gently. "I've my own interests to look after in London; I have my life and now you have yours."

  Keely ran a hand through her thick hair. "Couldn't you have a life here?"

  Gwenevere came to the bed and sat down, studying Keely's pale face. "Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't be fair to you and Brock."

  "He wouldn't mind," she protested. "I know he wouldn't."

  "Keely, if I remain here,. you'll always have me to turn to, and that's not the way it should be. By my leaving you'll be forced to depend on your husband and he'll have to depend on you."

  "Hah!" Keely laughed. "Brock never depends on anyone but himself."

  Gwenevere took Keely's hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from her niece's cheek. "Then make him depend on you," she entreated. "Don't make the mistakes Lloyd and I made."

  Keely studied her aunt's unlined face, her dark brown eyes, her bare smile. "I love you," Keely cried, hugging Gwenevere. "I love you so much."

  Chapter Thirteen

  May 1778

  Summer came to the war-ravaged American Colonies in a rush of lush green foliage and brilliant, flowering blooms. With the winter of Valley Forge behind them, the patriot army moved with a new strength, a strength born of hardship and determination.

  Joyous news had arrived from across the ocean; France had declared itself an ally of the United States. Abundant supplies were en route and the French army and navy were to cooperate wholeheartedly. Suddenly the odds were turning, and the American Colonies were becoming a true threat to the Crown.

  Keely knocked lightly on the door of Jenna's parents' home, rubbing the small of her back. She was well into her eighth month of pregnancy and eager for the child to be born. When the door swung open, Keely smiled. "Good morning, Madge. Is Jenna in?" She lifted a basket of succulent red berries. "I've brought her those strawberries I promised from our garden."

  The elderly dark-skinned woman grinned, baring large, square white teeth. "Good lord, chil', where's your carriage? Don't tell me you walked here?" She stepped back, letting Keely into the front hall of the brick town house on the city's green.

  "It's not that far! Besides, I'm tired of sitting; I'm no invalid." Keely set the basket on a cherry side table in the hall and reached up to remove her straw bonnet.

  Madge chuckled, staring openly at Keely's round stomach. "Carryin' that low it's a boy for sure. Such a big son for Master Brock."

  "I know, everyone says it's a boy." She rubbed her swollen stomach, smoothing her sprigged dimity gown. "It doesn't matter to me; all I want is a healthy babe and to be able to see my feet again!"

  Madge took her bonnet. "Miss Jenna's out in the garden with Max and Mistress Whitman," she said as she started down the hallway.

  Keely retrieved her basket of fresh strawberries and followed her. "That's all right, Madge, I know my way by now. You go back to whatever you're doing."

  "You certain, Miss Keely?"

  Keely patted the old servant's arm as she passed her. "Go on with you."

  Walking slowly down the center hall, Keely waved as she passed the parlor. "Morning to you, Mistress Lewes."

  Jenna's mother looked up from her sewing, breaking into a smile. "Morning. Are you still carrying that child? You look big enough to bust!"

  Keely laughed, continuing down the hallway. "I feel big enough to bust!" Pushing through the door that led to the garden in the rear, Keely stepped down onto the brick paved walk. "Jenna? Are you there?" She looked out over the fastidiously kept boxwood garden, smiling at the sight of the patches of Queen Anne's lace and lavender running along the walk.

  "Back here!" called Jenna from within the maze of boxwood. "Near the fountain."

  Following the path Keely now knew well, she found Jenna seated across from Christina Whitman on a stone bench. Christina was the wife of George Whitman, a judge in town who also belonged to Brock's patriot group. Max was playing in the grass with a kitten just beyond them.

  Keely wished suddenly she hadn't come. In all the months that had passed since she and Brock had wed, there had been few people in the town who had been kind to her. Brock's friends' wives called her the English woman, and when she walked into the room, they immediately grew silent as if they were putting themselves at risk just being in the same room with her. Only Jenna and Micah had refused to feel any prejudice against her and she treasured their friendship greatly.

  Keely forced a friendly smile. "Morning to you, Mistress Whitman."

  Chris
tina Whitman lifted her chin arrogantly. "A good morning to you," she said coldly.

  Ignoring the woman's ungracious behavior, Keely took a seat beside Jenna, pushing the basket of strawberries into her friend's lap. "I brought these for you, just picked this morning."

  "Thank you, Keely." Jenna leaned to brush her lips against her cheek, trying to make up for Christina's rudeness. "How are you doing?"

  Keely sighed, shifting her weight in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. "Well enough, considering. Brock's been gone nearly two weeks and I'm beginning to worry. He didn't say where he'd be going or how long he'd be."

  Christina Whitman came up out of her seat. "Well, I should think not! Our husbands are out there risking their lives! You certainly don't think they would let you know of their movement!" She pointed angrily at Keely. "You're probably the one who informed the British soldiers about that shipment two weeks ago."

  "What shipment?" Keely asked, startled.

  "That's unfair, Christina," Jenna accused. "Keely would never put any of our men at risk. Brock is her husband."

  The fact that Keely probably knew more of what went on in Dover's patriot circles than Christina made Keely feel no better. It was not her husband but Micah and occasionally Jenna who informed her of what occurred at those secret meetings. Though Brock regularly declared his dislike for Keely's seeing Micah, so far he had not forbidden her to do so. To keep matters civil in the house, she saw Micah only when Brock was out to sea or on one of his missions. Micah was her friend and she refused to give him up over her husband's unwarranted jealousies. Still, life was not easy for Keely. The patriots and their families in Dover shunned her and the known loyalists of the city accused her of being a traitor for marrying a patriot. "I don't know what she's talking about, but it's all right, Jenna," Keely said quietly. "It doesn't matter."

  Jenna's nut-brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "It's not all right. Christina's accusations are unfounded. I know what's happening within the committee."

  Keely turned to her friend. "And was there a leak? No one told me."

  Jenna got to her feet in anger. "Brock just didn't want you to worry, being so close to your confining. The leak of information could have come from several directions. There was no evidence that it came from within us. No one was injured or caught; we just lost the shipment and it was a small one." She turned to Christina. "You shouldn't have said anything, now please apologize."

  Christina laughed, her wide-brimmed straw hat tilting to and fro. "Apologize to that English bitch? I think not." She whipped a lace handkerchief from the bodice of her gown. "George says she ought to have been sent home to her precious England. Why did Brock need her here once he had her money?"

  "Leave! Now!" Jenna ordered. "And you're not welcome here until you apologize."

  Christina hurried down the winding brick path that led to an outside gate. "I warn you, Jenna Williams!" she called over her shoulder. "You'll rue the day you ever befriended that woman."

  Christina slipped out the gate and onto the street, leaving the gate swinging open. "Max," Jenna said to her son. "Run over and hook the gate for Mama, will you?"

  The towheaded little boy ran across the grass and through a flowerbed to do his mother's bidding.

  "Thank you," Jenna said, smiling. "Look what Keely brought, strawberries."

  Little Max broke into a grin. "Strawberries!" With a dirty fist he reached into the basket his mother offered and pulled out a handful.

  "Maxwell! Don't be greedy," Jenna chided.

  Keely laughed. "Oh, it's all right. That's what I brought them for." She watched as the child wandered out of earshot and then she turned to Jenna. "Why didn't anyone tell me? What shipment? What happened?"

  Jenna crossed her arms over her chest, nibbling at her lower lip. She was dressed in a gown of apple-green dimity, beribboned with a darker silk that made her appear a good ten years younger than her thirty years. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way from the old hen."

  "Is that why Brock's been gone? Is he looking for the informant?"

  "Keely, please don't ask me such questions. No one should know what goes on outside the circle. Micah's been wrong to tell you so much." Jenna motioned toward her son. "Max knows more of the goings-on in the King's Head than Christina."

  "Not you too?" Keely asked, her face creased with disbelief. "You don't trust me?"

  Jenna lowered her voice. "There's nothing really to tell. A shipment of our ammunition was seized by the British and not by accident."

  "Is this the first time?"

  Jenna glanced over at her son, then returned her gaze to Keely's hazel eyes. "The fourth time we've lost a shipment in three months. It's always been food before."

  Keely pushed up off the bench. "Brock never said a word of misfortune," she said angrily. "I thought everything was going well for you. With the French into this he said the war would only go on another year!"

  "Shhh," Jenna warned. "With France joining us as allies, the King and his Parliament are just beginning to realize that we're a true threat. Things may get worse before they get better. In the future we've got to be more careful where we speak and to whom."

  Keely stroked her swollen belly. "Meaning me?" she asked fiercely, locking gazes with her friend.

  Jenna caught Keely's hand. "Certainly not. I know you're to be trusted and Brock will learn it in time." She squeezed her friend's hand. "I even know you're beginning to think what we say makes sense. You feel the need for that freedom in your heart just as we do."

  Keely pulled her hand away. "I don't know what I feel. I thought you were my friend. You should have told me where Brock was going, even if he didn't."

  "Where Brock went had nothing to do with the lost shipment."

  Keely faced Jenna. "It didn't?"

  Jenna lifted a hand in oath. "I swear it. Now sit down and let's have some of these strawberries. I'm tired of talking about this damned war!"

  Keely eased down onto the bench and took the berry Jenna offered. "I wish the baby would hurry. Nothing seems to make sense these days."

  Jenna plucked a cap from a berry and bit into it. "Mmm. It's not supposed to make sense when you're in love." She smiled then, waved at Max, who was floating leaves in the fountain.

  Keely's eyes narrowed. "And who says I'm in love?" she asked indignantly.

  Jenna kept smiling. "If only the two of you would spend less time denying your true feelings for each other and more time smoothing your relationship."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Keely looked away, watching a hummingbird hover over a long-trumpeted lily. "Our marriage was a business arrangement."

  Jenna chuckled. "Yes, yes, that's what you keep telling yourselves. But I see the way you watch him when he's not looking."

  "Jenna, you're being absurd."

  She waved a hand, dismissing Keely's comment. "And I see the way he watches you. He's very jealous of Micah, you know. They're barely on speaking terms."

  "I know and it's stupid." Keely shifted her weight to find a more comfortable position. "I'm tired of his black moods and distrust of me. One minute he's kind and caring, but then he catches himself and he becomes cold and withdrawn." She put up her hands in desperation. "I can't live like this much longer."

  "Things will be better once this matter is settled with the informant. It's got us all concerned. And once the baby is born, Brock will settle down. My Garrison certainly did."

  Keely sighed heavily. "Well, it had better, because I'll pack my baggage and I'll return to England."

  Jenna's brow furrowed. "You wouldn't leave him? Not your husband, the father of your child? Not Brock?"

  "You don't live with him. You don't understand."

  "Keely!" Jenna got to her feet, pacing in front of her friend. "What I see is a man who cares for you deeply. He's attentive, considerate."

  Keely gave a snort. "It's all for show. He's not like that at home." She looked off into the distance. "At least not often."

/>   "Take heed, Keely, you're lucky to have such a fine man." Jenna looked to her son, smiling sadly. "After all of this time I still miss Garrison so much. My arms still ache for him at night."

  "You have your son," Keely offered quietly.

  "Yes, I have my Max. He looks so much like his father that my grandmother swears she's seeing Garrison's ghost every time she lays eyes on him." Jenna smiled, calling out to Max at the fountain. "What are you doing?" she shouted, watching him dip his arm into the pool of water again and again.

  "Trying to catch fish!" the little boy returned, splashing water into his lap.

  Jenna ran down the path to kneel beside her son. Pushing up the three-quarter sleeves of her apple-green morning gown, Jenna plunged her arm into the icy water, laughing as she came up empty-handed.

  Keely plucked another strawberry from the basket, laughing as Jenna tried again and again unsuccessfully to catch one of the small shimmering fish that swam in the stone pool beneath the fountain. Max hung on his mother's arm, giggling until she splashed water on him and he rolled in the grass.

  Keely couldn't help wishing this was the kind of mother she would be to her son. She envied Jenna for taking motherhood so easily, so sensibly. She only hoped she would be able to do the same.

  The following day Keely knelt in her garden and tugged furiously at the weeds that threatened to overrun her bed of sage. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the house, robbing her of the light necessary to distinguish the weeds from the herbs. "Guess I'm about done here," she told Micah, who had come for tea.

  "About time." Micah stretched his long legs out in front of him, lifting his chin to soak up the last sun's rays of the day. "I'm quite certain Brock wouldn't want you out here doing this so late in your delicate condition."

  Keely rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "So don't tell him." She put out her hand. "Could you help me up? I seem to be so clumsy these last few weeks."

  Micah leaped to his feet, taking Keely's gloved hand and lifting her gently.

  She smiled. "Thanks," she said, taking off her garden gloves.

  Micah removed a silk handkerchief from his waistcoat to dab at Keely's nose. "Stand still, Tory, you look like you've been rooting in the garden."