“Thank you, Edward. I needed that.” Caroline faced the house and took a deep breath. She marched forward, squishing in her muddy shoes.
White columns supported the deep porch and second-floor balcony. Caroline ascended three brick steps and paused in front of a wide double door, flanked with narrow windows. She knocked. Nothing.
She knocked again. Was the place deserted?
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. A young woman peeked out the window, her face pale and frightened. Strands of lank brown hair had escaped her cap and dangled around her thin, narrow face. She turned away.
Caroline heard voices inside the house. Female voices. She glanced back. Virginia and the children had followed her and waited at the porch steps.
An older woman peered out the window. A lacy mobcap perched on her blond, gray-streaked hair. She smiled.
Caroline smiled back. So far, so good. She heard the scrape of a bolt. The young woman opened the door. Dressed in the plain clothes of a servant, she bobbed a curtsy, then stepped back so her mistress could greet them.
The older woman hesitated in the doorway. “Forgive us for taking so long, but one must be careful these days.”
The scent of rose water and freshly laundered cotton presented Caroline with a painful reminder that she was in dire need of a bath. “I apologize for my appearance. ’Twas a difficult journey.”
“I see. Still, you arrived sooner than I expected.”
Caroline blinked. “I have?”
“Of course. I only received your letter last week. But never fear. All shall go according to plan.”
Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but hardly knew what to say. “I . . . you’re very kind.”
“No, no. ’Twas kind of you to accept my proposal. I’ve waited so long for my son to marry. I’m quite convinced this is the only way to manage it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, you brought your family with you?” The woman peered around her.
“Ah, yes.” Caroline turned slightly to make the introductions. “My sister, Virginia, and her children.”
“How delightful! I adore little ones.” The woman turned to the young servant. “Betsy, prepare all the guest beds, including the ones in the nursery.”
The servant nodded and left.
The woman clasped her hands together. “This is wonderful. With a full house, we shall have a genuine wedding party.”
“Wedding?” Virginia gave Caroline a worried look.
Caroline cleared her throat. “Is the groom here?”
“Matthias?” the woman asked. “No, I’m afraid not. The last time I heard from him, he was with Gates’s army north of here. But I hope he’ll come home soon.”
Caroline’s chest tightened. This poor woman hadn’t heard about Gates’s defeat. Her son could be a prisoner or . . . he could have died in battle. Just like Father.
“You look sad.” The woman’s blue eyes clouded with worry. “Are you having second thoughts?”
Caroline blinked away tears. “I’m fine. I’m . . . greatly relieved to be here.” She didn’t know this woman, but she already felt a deep connection to her. They could both have their hearts shattered by this war.
The woman gave her a hopeful look. “Then you haven’t changed your mind about marrying Matthias?”
Caroline had no idea who this Matthias was, but she seriously doubted he would be returning home anytime soon. If ever.
She glanced back at her sister and the children. The perfect solution had fallen into her lap. All it required was a lie. A horrible lie but a possible one, for there could never be a wedding without a groom.
Virginia frowned at her and shook her head.
“I’m not mistaken, am I?” the woman asked. “You are Agatha Ludlow?”
Food and clean beds for the children. A safe place for her sister to give birth. How could she refuse? Their survival depended on her.
With a weak smile, Caroline curtsied. “Yes, I am.”
CHAPTER THREE
The woman took Caroline’s hand in both of hers. “I’m delighted you’re here. You’ll make a lovely bride.”
Caroline’s smile wobbled.
“Ca—” Virginia covered her mouth and coughed. “Excuse me, ah, Agatha, dear.” She gritted her teeth. “May I have a word with you?”
Caroline gave her sister a pointed look. “Later. After we’ve settled in.”
Charlotte tugged on her mother’s skirts. “Mama, may I change my name, too?”
With a nervous laugh, Virginia pulled her daughter close, smothering her face in her wide skirts.
“Bufflehead,” Edward growled at his sister.
“Mind your manners.” Virginia glared at her son.
With a sullen frown, Edward bowed to their hostess and muttered, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, madam.”
“Why, thank you, sir.” Smiling, the woman motioned for them to enter. “Welcome to Loblolly Plantation. I’m Jane Murray Thomas, but I hope the little ones will call me Aunt Jane.”
Caroline strode into the entrance hall, relieved to have heard the woman’s name. It would seem suspicious if she didn’t know. Her shoes clunked with a resounding echo on the polished floor. Glancing back at the muddy trail she had made, she winced and slipped out of her shoes.
Virginia stopped beside her and introduced the children to Jane Thomas. “I believe they should retire for the evening. Is it possible for them to bathe and have a bite to eat first?”
“Of course. And you and Agatha will wish to bathe, also. I’ll arrange for it at once.” Jane hurried down the hall and out the back door.
The children wandered to the base of the stairs. Wide with elegantly carved balusters, the staircase curved gracefully up to the second floor.
“Godsookers,” Edward whispered.
Virginia faced Caroline. “Have you lost your senses?”
“No. Under the circumstances, I believe I have taken the most sensible recourse available.”
“Mrs. Thomas seems like a kind woman. If you had told her the truth, I doubt she would have turned us away.”
“I didn’t want to take the chance.” Caroline lowered her voice. “I’m doing this for you, Ginny, and the children.”
“I know. That’s why I feel so guilty about it. And what if your so-called groom shows up?”
“I don’t think he will. Mrs. Thomas said he was with Gates, and I happen to know that army was defeated.”
“Oh, no.” Virginia grimaced. “Are you sure?”
“The ferryman told me about it before he stole our horse.” Caroline hoped her sister wouldn’t ask about Sumter and their father. She hated to add to Ginny’s worries.
Virginia sighed. “I’m concerned how this ruse of yours will affect the children.”
“They’ll have food and clean beds.”
“Yes.” Virginia nodded. “I’m grateful for that, but they will have to lie, too.”
Caroline winced. Once again, she’d blundered ahead without thinking everything through. “I’m sorry.”
“ ’Tis done.” Virginia walked toward the children. “Sweetings, we’re going to play a game for a few days and call Caroline Aunt Agatha. Do you understand?”
They nodded.
Jane Thomas sauntered back into the hall. “My servants are heating water in the kitchen. ’Tis the only hearth that is lit during the hot months.”
“Of course. We can bathe there if it is more convenient,” Virginia offered.
“As you like,” Jane answered. “We have a small room off the kitchen with a tub. Did you leave your trunks on the pier? I can have a servant fetch them for you.”
“I’m afraid we have none,” Caroline admitted. At least part of her story was true. “We were robbed on our way here.”
�
��Gracious! You poor souls.” Jane studied the children. “There are some old clothes in the nursery that belonged to my son. They might fit young Edward. And Matthias wore some simple gowns before his breeching that will suit Charlotte.”
“That would be wonderful.” Caroline strode toward the stairs. “I’ll bring them. Where is the nursery?”
“The third floor. Look for an old trunk.”
The third floor? Caroline had never stayed in such a grand house before. “I see.”
“Come along.” Jane motioned for Virginia and the children to follow her. “I’ll show you to the kitchen.”
Caroline ascended the stairs in her stocking feet. On the second floor she paused at the large open window that overlooked the back of the house and the garden below. Rectangular in shape, the garden was lined along its perimeter with thick hedges of Carolina jasmine and climbing roses.
She took a deep breath and let the sweet scent of roses fill her senses and calm her frayed nerves. How lovely it would be to rest on one of those stone benches, surrounded by blooming flowers. In the center of the garden, a small reflecting pool caught the rays of the setting sun and sparkled like diamonds.
So beautiful. A place untouched by war. The perfect place for her family. She’d made the right decision when she’d lied. And she’d keep telling herself that ’til she believed it.
Behind the garden, rows of trees formed an orchard. To the right, she spotted the kitchen garden. Mrs. Thomas was ushering Virginia and the children into a brick building next to it. The kitchen.
Guilt nagged at Caroline as she started up a narrow staircase to the third floor. She shouldn’t have lied to Mrs. Thomas. The woman deserved better than that. It was surely a blessing from above that they had discovered a safe haven in the midst of war. So in turn, she would try to repay Mrs. Thomas by being a blessing to her and helping her any way she could.
The nursery consisted of two rooms, one for the children and another she presumed for the nursemaid. She searched through several trunks, located some suitable clothes, then found her way to the kitchen.
After they had all bathed and supped, they took the children to the nursery to put them to bed. Virginia tucked Charlotte in and gave her a kiss. Edward had immediately fallen asleep.
“I cannot thank you enough, Mrs. Thomas,” Caroline whispered.
“Please call me Jane. And I should thank you. It has been so long since there were children here.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Now if you and your sister are ready to retire, I’ll show you to your room.”
Virginia rubbed the small of her back. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stay in the adjoining room. My children might need me during the night. After all they’ve been through . . .”
Caroline couldn’t help but admire her older sister. Even though Ginny had to be exhausted, she still worried about her children first. “Do you want me to stay here with you?”
Virginia hugged her. “No, I’ll be fine. Sleep well.”
“Good night, then.” Jane smiled, then led Caroline down the stairs to the second floor. “There are four rooms on this floor, one in each corner. My husband and I use the two bedchambers facing the front balcony.”
“Is your husband here?” Caroline asked.
“No.” Jane paused beside a door. “He was in Charles Town last spring, fighting the British. Now he’s a prisoner.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope he’ll return to you safely.” Caroline cringed inside. What if Jane lost both her husband and her son?
“I think you’ll be more comfortable in this room than the guest room. The bed is larger.” Jane opened the door. “I hope you like it.”
Caroline wandered into the bedchamber. Centered against the far wall was a large, four-poster bed. Mosquito netting cascaded from the ceiling to encircle the bed. “ ’Tis beautiful.”
Jane smiled. “I’ll fetch you a night shift.”
“Thank you.” Caroline ambled to the glass-paned doors and peered outside. A small balcony overlooked the back of the house. When she opened the doors, a breeze swept in, caressing her with floral scents from the garden below.
She breathed deeply. At last, a night of peaceful slumber.
“Boy, don’t you come in my kitchen smelling like a swamp rat.” Dottie wagged a plump finger at Matthias.
Ignoring her warning, Matthias strode inside and gave the old woman a hug.
“Shoo! You’ll get me dirty.” Although Dottie fussed, a wide grin spread across her brown-complexioned face. “Didn’t I teach you better than that?”
“You’re the best, Dottie. Do you have the medicine and bandages ready?”
“I see right through you. I always did.” She planted her hands on her wide hips. “Buttering me up you are, just to get what you want.”
He smiled. “I’m very grateful. My men wouldn’t have healed so well without those concoctions of yours.”
Her brown eyes danced with humor. “I make more than medicine, you know.”
With a grimace, he waved his hands. “No special potions for me. Just some bread and stew, if you have it.” He straddled a stool at her table.
She set a bowl of stew and loaf of bread in front of him. “I had a feeling you might come tonight.”
“Hmm.” He spooned hot stew into his mouth. “Do you have any ale?”
She placed a cup and pitcher of ale on the table. “You still haven’t been to see your mother.”
“I know.” He gulped down the ale and poured some more. “I’ve been busy.” After delivering more of Dottie’s medicine to his men, he needed to resume his search for Major Munro’s missing daughters.
Dottie sat across from him. “The Great House is only thirty yards from here. You should let your mother know you’re alive.”
“What?” Matthias ripped a piece of bread from the loaf. “You didn’t tell her I was all right?”
“And hurt her feelings? How could I tell her you came to see an old slave woman and not your own mother?”
He frowned. “You know what happened the last time I went home.”
It had been a year ago when the southern colonies had felt safe from the ravages of war. His mother had arranged a ball in his honor. Twenty-five young ladies she’d invited. And their conniving mothers. No men whatsoever. Matthias had felt like a sweetmeat on a silver platter, inspected and picked over by a pack of voracious females.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if they had hungered for him personally. He’d never been one to object to a woman’s charms. But he knew the truth. It was the grand house and the plantation he stood to inherit that whetted their appetites.
He sopped up the last of his stew with a hunk of bread. “I need to be going.”
“You’re seeing your mother tonight,” Dottie announced. “And you’re taking a bath before you do.”
He popped the bread into his mouth. “I don’t have time.”
“You’ll do it, or you won’t get any medicine from me.”
Matthias chewed his food slowly. “Since when did you become a tyrant?”
Dottie grinned and rose to her feet. “I’m already heating the water. I brought some of your clothes from the Great House and stashed them in the cupboard over there.”
He glowered at her. “How did you know I was coming tonight?”
“I have my ways. Do you want more stew?”
He blinked at his empty bowl, slowly becoming aware of an odd, light-headed sensation. “You put something in it, didn’t you?”
She cleared the table. “It was in the ale. A restorative. To bring joy back into your life.”
He snorted. “Joy in the midst of war? I’ve seen more people die, buried more bodies than I care to remember. I appreciate your concern, Dottie, but ’twill take much more than a potion to bring me joy.”
“You could be right.” She regarded
him with wise, old eyes. “And it might happen sooner than you think.”
Washed, dressed in clean clothes, and his stomach full for the first time in months, Matthias had to admit he did feel better. As he strode through the flower garden in the moonlight, there was an extra spring to his step. And the blooming flowers in the garden seemed particularly fragrant. Comforting.
That was what he needed. A little comfort. How long had it been since he’d slept in a real bed? Months? A year? His men wouldn’t begrudge him one night away from the swamp.
The back door wouldn’t budge. His mother must have bolted it from the inside, something she never did before the war. He tried the servants’ entrance, hidden behind a frame of latticework. Bolted, also.
So how was he supposed to see his mother if he couldn’t get in? She’d probably bolted the front door, too.
Matthias gazed up the lattice to his balcony. As youngsters, he and his cousin had used the lattice to sneak out at night to go fishing. Of course the doors had not been bolted back then, but climbing down the lattice had seemed more exciting.
Matthias wasn’t sure the lattice would now hold his weight, but with Dottie’s restorative coursing through him, he felt eager to give it a jolly-good try. Halfway up, a thin board cracked beneath his shoe. He shifted his weight and found another foothold. The last thing he wanted was to slip and tear Dottie’s stitches in his shoulder.
He swung his legs over the balcony railing and landed with a soft thud. How odd. His door was open. Of course, he reminded himself. Dottie had gone there to fetch his clothes. She must have opened the door to air out the room.
He slipped inside. Moonlight filtered into the room, glimmering off the white mosquito netting. He strolled over to his secretaire, then kicked off his shoes and dropped his breeches. When he draped his breeches on the back of the chair, he noticed something was already there, something thick. He ran his fingers over the folds of cotton. The scent of roses drifted up to his nose. His mother’s perfume. Why would she leave one of her gowns in his room?
Odd. He pulled off his stockings. He’d talk to his mother in the morning. For now, he simply wanted to sink into a mattress and forget about the war.
Less Than a Gentleman Page 3