by Robyn Carr
"I want you never to do that again!" she insisted loudly.
"I’m sorry, Alicia. You made me forget myself."
"I will not fight you for long, Alicia. And I will win!"
She looked at the young man, his head down and his apology sincere; and he was completely unattractive in his submission. "You take a great deal for granted, sir, and I’ll thank you to mind your manners better!" And with that she picked up her skirts and huffed into the house.
The inside was as busy as the outside, and she passed through the hall as swiftly and silently as she could, making for the stairs to find the solace she needed in her room. She locked the door and sat heavily on the bed.
"Go where you will!" The words would not stop. She could hear his voice and feel his presence. It had worsened tenfold with Bryson’s kiss. She feared she would never again feel what Geoffrey made her feel. Her stubbornness, his strength, the way he played her body against her will...she thought she would surely die if those feelings never came to her again.
I am shameless, she thought. He cast me aside and I long for him still. How can I be such a fool?
She felt a tear wetting her cheek and brushed it away impatiently. She could not fathom the reason for her surly mood. In all the excitement of her reunion she should be wild with joy, but instead she felt a sullen tugging at her heart.
There was a tapping at her door and she asked who was there.
"It’s Etta, honey," she replied. "You all right, honey?"
Alicia felt herself nearly smile. Etta had come to Virginia as a bondslave and had worked out her indenture long ago. She had managed the Tilden home—indeed, she had managed the Tildens—for the past many years. And now she was doing what the entire family had predicted she would: she was making Alicia’s settling in, her own personal affair.
Alicia opened the door for her. The huge woman’s appearance had at first been almost frightening, she was so imposing and her face so stem. But it had taken only a couple of days to become aware of Etta’s gentleness. "Did that Bryson hurt you, girl?"
"No, Etta, he was really very polite."
"I saw him lookin’ you over, lass. He’ll mind his good breedin’ here or…"
"He wasn’t out of line, honestly. I don’t know why I’m so moody. I’m sorry."
Etta patted her head. "Does something ail you, lass?"
Alicia nodded and felt another tear in her eye. "I should be happy, but I seem to feel like crying."
"Ah, missy, you just let it come," Etta said, holding her and patting her back. "There’s ever so much goin’ on in this house and maybe it’s yer time..."
"Yes, maybe," she sniveled.
"You lay down, missy. Lay down and rest yerself a mite."
Alicia nodded and moved slowly to her bed. She flopped down on it and heard Etta softly close the door behind her. And then she wondered; her breasts were tender and her moods were up and down: maybe it was time for her menses.
But she couldn’t remember the last time—it was long ago—before she left England. She sat up with a start and her hand went instinctively to her flat, firm tummy. It was before Geoffrey.
It was certainly before they spent the night at Bellerose. And that was more than two months ago, nearly three. "It couldn’t be," she told herself. "It’s only the traveling, the excitement..."
She had an hour or so to lie in the peacefulness of her room before her mother came to see about her. She entered quietly and sat gently on the edge of the bed.
"Is all this too much for you, Alicia?" Marguerite asked.
"No, madam. I just needed a—a moment. That’s all."
"Is there any need for your father to take a young man to task?"
"No, madam," she replied listlessly. "Bryson was very well mannered. He’s just more—more interested than I am, that’s all."
"Alicia, you’ve told me about the families, about the inn: is there anything else you want to confide to me?"
Alicia thought for a moment. She knew her mother loved her and would do nearly anything to protect and keep her now, after all these years. But she wasn’t sure she would still be accepted here if they knew everything about her.
"There’s nothing, madam. Truly. I’m just a little tired."
"Well, if you need me, Alicia, I am here."
Marguerite left her daughter and returned to the guests. At the bottom of the stairs, she nearly collided with Preston because her thoughts preoccupied her and she had not been watching.
"There, madam, you’re in some dreamland."
"Excuse me, dear," she said in a distant voice, and then changed her mind about passing him in the hall. "Preston, does something we don’t know of trouble your sister?"
"Beg pardon, madam?"
"Won’t you tell me what you learned of her before you found her? Something that can help me understand her now?"
"Don’t worry about her, madam. She’ll make the adjustment in time. This is all very new."
"Preston, dear, did your sister leave a man she loved to come here?"
"Mother," he said with seriousness, "Alicia will confide in you what she wants you to know."
"You will not help me?"
"I cannot, madam. Alicia’s life has been her own for many years. She must be the one to tell you about it."
"I find myself badly confused about my own daughter’s life."
"I think you are no more confused than she," Preston laughed. "But fear not, madam, Alicia is beautiful and bright, and a handsome man of good breeding will come for her and she will be powerless to refuse him." He shrugged and smiled. "Now what else could happen?"
"You speak more as a prophet than her brother." She frowned.
"Do I, now?" he asked playfully. His mother sighed and went back toward the lawns and her guests. Preston laughed to himself again. "Do I, indeed."
Sixteen
While Alicia may have fantasized a quiet new start to a quiet new life on a country manor in Virginia, she couldn’t have been more inaccurate. It was anything but. There was more of a demand on her time than ever before in her life. The Tildens were an active, involved clan whose doors were always open to guests and whose family members were constantly on the run.
Wesley handled farming and shipping and financial management with his sons. The men were either riding out to the fields; or taking trips to Hampton, sometimes staying for days to complete loading, warehousing, and other duties, and always bringing some business acquaintance to the house for dinner. There would be a merchant from the north, a sea captain from another port, or a banker from out of town. At least once a week there was a party, social, or dance at one of the plantations. Locals sought out Wesley Tilden to ask for loans, jobs, or advice. Wealthier friends were constantly interested in joint investment ventures. The dinner table was almost always the scene of some hefty discussion and plenty of gossip.
On one such evening, Bryson had wangled an invitation to join them. Marguerite passed him in her carriage on the way to visit one of her neighbors, and he bemoaned his lack of good company and expressed his desire to call on her daughter again. She was quick to decipher his ploy. "Then you’ll join us for dinner tonight, Bryson, and I won’t be refused."
Alicia was not very surprised to see him there, and even less surprised to find he was seated next to her. There were more gentlemen asking to call and requesting a dance and offering their services, but Bryson was the only one to make clear to her parents his desire to be in her company.
Among other guests were Captain Horatio Pelt, a merchant from England; Reverend Jody from the church, and his wife, Beatrice; and Carlisle Brandon, a merchant banker.
Several conversations seemed to be going at once, and Alicia listened with half an ear to all of them.
"A baptism will be your next order of business with me, I imagine," Reverend Jody said to Marguerite.
"We should have a yearly date selected for such an event," Marguerite suggested.
"I would guess an investment of a thousa
nd pounds would cover the cost of rebuilding the ships..." came from the other side of the table.
"And the cost of transporting them to Virginia?" was Wesley’s question.
"That would be additional, I’m sure…"
"Would the bank be willing to invest in a partnership in a mill?" Bryson was asking.
"Better that you find an investor the likes of Tilden," the banker replied. "He wouldn’t scoff at another mill in the family."
"Just such a proposal was on my mind…"
"A letter of marque from the king is what this family is needing most," Preston said. And Alicia’s head came up as she listened to her brother.
"Aye, it wouldn’t hurt," Wesley replied. "Our ships are often attacked for their goods, and taking their remains is illegal without royal permission. But I doubt heartily that the Tildens have enough influence at court to get privy attention."
"Pirating goes against the Good Book," the Reverend added.
"Getting attacked without preparation goes against good sense," Wesley argued. "Aye, a letter of marque would at least turn the fight into profit."
The visiting captain laughed loudly. "I swear I can’t believe the Tildens suffered unduly from attacks by Spanish and Dutch vessels. Tell me, Tilden, that you don’t counterattack and strip the ships and keep the booty."
"I won’t tell you a damn thing, Pelt, except that pirating without the consent of the king and a letter of marque is against the law. We defend ourselves against pirates— and some of them have been English."
"I have friends at court," said Preston. "A couple of close friends with just such papers from Charles. I care not to return to London, with plague and war in her town and waters, but I could send letters."
Alicia gulped at the thought of letters being sent to Geoffrey. Preston would not hesitate to summon his help in getting royal permission for better shipping conditions.
"Shouldn’t amount to much trouble once we get around to it. The Tilden ships have been lent to war before and will be again. The booty would have to be shared with the crown."
"London’s our port as it is."
"If you could persuade your daughter to marry a decent pirate it would make things easier," Captain Pelt laughed.
"And after the baptism..." Reverend Jody was saying, "..perhaps there will be a wedding to perform."
"We haven’t discussed weddings of late, Reverend."
Alicia felt her head begin to swim and took a small sip of her wine. Her stomach was jumping and queasy. She didn’t know if it was the discussion of privateering; the notion that perhaps Geoffrey would come to be involved in this family, just when she thought she was through with him; or this idea that, now that there was an unmarried Tilden woman available, a wedding was the next topic of concern.
She rubbed her abdomen under her napkin and hoped she wouldn’t be sick.
"You can joke about weddings to pirates all evening," Bryson said in good humor. "But I insist on being consulted before any such plans are made. I’ve a right to my bid."
Several people chuckled. Alicia took another sip of her wine and tried to laugh with the rest, but her smile was strained and nervous.
"You’ll have to bring more to the bargaining table than a farm and half a mill," Carlisle suggested. "These Tildens are damned hard to please when it comes to business."
"Will you be at the church on Sunday afternoon?" Reverend Jody was asking Marguerite, in a separate conversation.
"Of course, I’ll be there. Harlan Townsend has been a friend of the family for years. His son’s wedding is of personal interest to us."
"Pitiful affair. Lacks decorum, if you understand what I mean."
"I don’t think I do," Marguerite responded coolly.
Beatrice Jody snorted. "There’s a lot going around about the bride. No one knows her family and she’s got that brat hanging on her skirts. Claims she’s been married, but who’s to know? And young Townsend says he’ll adopt the child. But a sailor from up north says the girl supported that child serving in a common tavern."
"I think the fact that Jim Townsend loves the young woman is as far as our concern should go," Marguerite exclaimed.
"Decent marriages don’t seem important to our young people anymore," Beatrice went on. "The lad’s embarrassed his father and his friends by bringing home a common tramp with a bastard child and trying to pass her off as—"
"I met the young woman at church," Marguerite interrupted emphatically, "and the only thing she can be passed off as is a very kind and lovely young woman."
Beatrice huffed, and picked at the food on her plate. Reverend Jody recognized the disapproval of his largest tithing member. "I’m pleased you’ll be there on Sunday."
Those at the other end of the table still talked ships and mills, oblivious to the gossip about the upcoming wedding. "We’ll break out some of my private blend and come to a better price on those ships," Wesley was saying.
"If it’s your stock, I think the terms will be more pleasing," the captain replied.
Alicia thought the room would close in on her. She was grateful to notice the men standing and excusing themselves. The women would follow shortly.
"Bryson?" Wesley invited.
"Thank you, sir. Yes." And he, too, moved in the direction of the study. Reverend Jody stayed abstemiously with the women, but from the look on his face even Alicia could see the liquor beckoned, and if he could find a good excuse, he would join the men.
"Madam, may I be excused?" Alicia asked.
Marguerite nodded and frowned slightly at her daughter’s pallor.
Alicia sat on the veranda and let the cool night air relieve the heat on her cheeks. Her stomach settled and the sound of the men laughing in the study relaxed her somewhat. She had damned those lonely dinners in London when Geoffrey was too busy for her, but she had to admit that the loud and confusing conversations at the Tilden dinner table were almost more difficult to bear.
She was quickly learning the order of things here and it did not differ greatly from in England. Marriage was the topic of concern for any maid over fifteen years of age, virginity was still the second most sought after commodity, closely following the size of the dowry and the best financial arrangement. And women who had not been closely guarded by their parents were assumed to be of a low and suspect class of people. She wondered how Beatrice Jody would feel if she knew that as she criticized the young bride of Jim Townsend for serving in a tavern, she might as well have applied all those unkind words to Alicia.
And if there had ever been any temptation to bare all the truth to her family, it had been removed. Whether or not her parents could sustain the burden, it was certain the community could not. The Tildens would have to accept shame if they accepted her true accounts.
She stood to say proper farewells to Reverend and Mrs. Jody, feeling a little sorry for the preacher. The tightness of his jaw indicated he had not found a way to get to the study to sample the liquors.
As she stood with her mother on the porch, Bryson was the next to appear.
"I have to say my farewells, ladies. My work won’t let me lie abed in the morning."
"I’m glad you could join us, Bryson," Marguerite said.
"And thank you, madam, for your superb hospitality." He turned to Alicia and reached for her hand. "I have a great deal to accomplish before Sunday, Alicia, but I think I can leave my work for at least that afternoon. With your permission, I’d like to call on you then."
Alicia quickly took a sidelong glance toward her mother for some answer, but found that she had tactfully moved to the door to leave Alicia and Bryson alone.
"I heard my mother say we are committed to the wedding on Sunday, Bryson," she said, trying to stall.
"It’s a small affair. I doubt you would be missed."
"I think I should join my family."
"I could meet you at the church, then. And drive you home. I only like to talk to you."
She pitied him somewhat. He was clearly afraid t
o make his moves too dramatically because of the vast Tilden protection surrounding her. But she knew her parents approved of Bryson. And the thought had crossed her mind that he would not be too quick to judge her, given the family ties he would acquire if she were to find him to be a favorable groom sometime in the future.
"Very well. I think you may."
His face broke into a grateful grin; a boyish and toothy smile that told her he was ecstatic with her permission. He squeezed her hands tightly.
"Most country girls and especially tavern maids can find ways to better their lot," Geoffrey’s voice intruded.
"I’ll live for Sunday," Bryson told her.
She laughed lightly. "Bryson, you’re a dear, but just a Sunday drive can’t possibly mean so much to you."
"I think, Alicia, that it is only the beginning of something more permanent between us. I haven’t asked you about your past, you know, but in your eyes I see your need for a man to love and take care of you."
"I think I see the bruise of your last beating," Geoffrey had said with affection. "Your broken heart."
Alicia felt herself stiffen at Bryson’s words. "Be careful that you don’t mistake what you want for what you think you see in my eyes, Bryson. I feel no such need."
"I’m not worried, Alicia. I think in time we’ll become closer."
"Perhaps. Until Sunday, Bryson."
"Alicia," he began haltingly. "Alicia—may I—I wouldn’t want to offend you again, darling—may I kiss you?"
"Bryson, I—"
"Alicia, if you let yourself, you may come to feel as strongly for me as I feel for you."
"Don’t deny me, Alicia. Don’t deny yourself. Love me."
She sighed and tried to relax her tense shoulders. She let her head drop back slightly to look up at him, and her eyes gently closed. Bryson’s arms went around her waist and, taking great care, he pulled her nearer and gently kissed her lips, moving over her mouth with delicacy and caution. And then, ever so gently, he withdrew his lips and kept his face close to hers.