The Prize

by Brenda Joyce

  Now, clad in a lavender robe, she stared at her pale, listless expression in the mirror of her dressing room. She had hardly slept last night, as had become the norm, but she had somehow roused herself from her bed, knowing that Devlin would soon set sail. She knew the tides would be high in another hour or so, for she had asked Hannah to check for her yesterday. But Devlin had slept yet again on the Defiance. She assumed he was going to set sail for his war without coming to say goodbye. He had broken her heart before, but never like this.

  I simply cannot go on this way, she thought as she stared at her impossibly pale reflection.

  A knock sounded on her door. She turned, making no reply, wondering what her maid wanted at this unholy hour.

  The door opened and from her boudoir she saw Devlin in full dress, his black felt hat in hand, standing on the threshold of the bedroom. She felt her eyes widen and she trembled with surprise.

  His expression was hard, but his nostrils were flared and tinged with red—from the cold, she thought. “I see I did not wake you.” His gaze quickly took in her untidy appearance. “I set sail within the hour and I have come to take my leave.”

  She wanted to beg him to love her again, the way he had before. She wanted to tell him that she could live with his need for revenge, if it meant so much to him. But she did not speak because she could not. She did not move; she did not breathe.

  His jaw hardened; his eyes darkened. “How are you, madam?”

  She wanted to scream, I am dying inside, moment by moment and minute by minute. But she simply stared. Then, finally, she managed, “As well as can be expected.”

  “How is the child?” he demanded sharply.

  She inhaled and fought for some composure now. “Fine, I believe.”

  He nodded, grinding down his jaw, and it was a long moment before he spoke, as if he had something to say that he was struggling with.

  And she prayed.

  But she was wrong. He merely said, “I will return in six months, I think. God keep you, Virginia.” And he bowed and turned and left.

  She wanted to run after him and tell him to stay safe. But her damnable body simply would not move.

  Oh, God. He would go away like this? And what if she never saw him again? What if this was the war that took his life?

  Virginia ran to the window. Outside, she saw him striding toward his coach. She struggled to unlatch the panes of heavy glass and heave them open. He was already inside the carriage. Panting from the exertion, she stuck her head outside. The coach began to roll away. “Devlin! God speed,” she cried.

  But she had no idea if he heard her.

  LATER THAT DAY, VIRGINIA stood in a salon in Harmon House, wringing her hands nervously. Devlin’s departure had been a stunning blow—and she knew what she must do now.

  Cliff entered the room, his stride long but unhurried, his manner as indolent. “Virginia? You wish to see me?” he asked with mild surprise.

  She nodded, then wet her lips and said, “Could you close the doors?”

  More surprise flickered in his sky-blue eyes. Cliff turned and closed the double doors. “This is very odd,” he said, moving toward her. He held out a chair. “Please.”

  “I would rather stand,” she whispered, filled with desperation now.

  “What is wrong?” he asked, his gaze intent and searching.

  She did not avoid it. “I am with child,” she said. He started. “I am with child and I must go home to Sweet Briar, where I was born, and bear my child there.”

  His expression was one of astonishment.

  “You have a fleet of ships!” she cried. “Surely one of them will disembark for an American port? Please, my lord, I can pay for my fare, and I beg you to let me find a berth on that ship!”

  He was clearly shocked. “Are you running away from my brother?”

  She stiffened. That was not quite the case, but she had no delusions. She doubted they would ever recover what they had so briefly had. Still, her goal was not to leave her husband. She simply had to go home. Her country was at war, Sweet Briar was being threatened, and she must bear her child there, where she would not be alone.

  “Virginia—” his tone became kind “—I cannot aid you in such a feat.” Clearly he had taken her silence for an affirmative.

  She inhaled harshly and sat down. Then she covered her face with her hands. “I love your brother,” she whispered, not looking up. “And I always will. But it was one thing for me to bear the brunt of his obsession with the Earl of Eastleigh.” She glanced at Cliff and held his gaze. “I have begged him to give up his revenge for the sake of his child. He will not. I must think about our babe now. Our child comes first.”

  Cliff was grim. “Of course I agree with you. I agree that Devlin must end his obsession—but I am doubtful that he can.”

  “He can’t,” she whispered, fighting her tears. “He has made that clear. And he is gone now, gone to war against my country, maybe even against my home. I am not staying here, Cliff. If you do not help me, I will find another way, another ship. I am going home to have my child, and if the war dares come near Sweet Briar, I will defend my land, even if I must defend it against Devlin. I have no choice now.”

  Cliff stared, his eyes wide and thoughtful. It was a long moment before he spoke. And when he did, he sighed. “I know you will do exactly as you have said. I would rather escort you safely to Sweet Briar than see you on some ship that founders or is attacked. I was setting sail next week for Martinique—I have acquired a sugar plantation there. I will take you home first.”

  She cried out in abject relief.

  “But I will not keep this a secret,” he warned.

  She began to protest.

  “No!” His blue eyes flashed. “You are my brother’s wife. He has every right to know where you are—especially as you are with child. I will take you to Sweet Briar, Virginia, but I will also tell Devlin what I have done.”

  Virginia knew better than to argue. At least she would be escorted safely to her home. She took his large, rough hands in her own. “Thank you, Cliff. Thank you.”

  He was grim.

  IT WAS NOW THE MIDDLE OF MAY. The transatlantic crossing had been a slow and difficult one, with several storms and disadvantageous winds slowing Cliff’s schooner down. It had also been a dangerous journey. Cliff, who captained the ship, had ordered a twenty-four-hour lookout for any warships, friend or foe. Twice they had evaded American ships; once, the Amelie had even flown the Stars and Stripes in order to provide cover when a pursuit had begun. Cliff had given her his cabin, a luxuriously appointed affair, but otherwise, he had kept his distance, at once formal and polite. That had been fine with Virginia. Her spirits were bleak and she had not wanted anyone to confide in. All in all, the journey had been long and dismal and she was relieved to see its end.

  Virginia had one arm around Arthur, who shared the back seat of the open carriage she had hired in Norfolk. With her other hand, she held on to the carriage door as they bounced down the rutted driveway, her home rising in real glory before her. She almost expected to see her mother running out of the front door, waving madly at her and crying with joy; she almost imagined her father on horseback, riding in from one of the fields. She smiled tearfully, for the house remained such a splendid sight, tall and stately and oh, so welcoming. She had come home after all this time, and her smile was her first since leaving Britain, Somehow, she would bear Devlin’s child alone and everything would be all right.

  She smiled still, even though more tears fell. To even think of Devlin brought crushing heartache. Instead, she gazed at the fields, which had yet to be planted, as it was too early in the year. She could see that the soil was in the process of being burned, which sterilized it before the transplanting of the seedling plants, and her heart leapt for the first time in a long time. Suddenly she was eager to walk the fields and inspect them for fungus, rot and other seedbed disease. She was as eager to inspect the crop of seedlings, protected by a thin layer of mul
ch, so she could calculate the crop they might harvest at the end of the summer. She did not expect much, not with the plantation having been up for sale for most of the past year. But Sweet Briar was now debt-free, so she could borrow money to get them through next winter if she had to. And there had been plenty of rain—she could tell by the thickness of the grass on the lawns and the abundance of the flowering gardens.

  Excitement rippled through her, like the cool, fresh air that came after a hot summer storm.

  She inhaled deeply then. The salty-sweet, thick Virginia air was like an elixir; her stomach, long since settled, growled with hunger for the first time in months.

  A thin, tall, familiar figure appeared on the porch. Virginia really smiled and she waved at Tillie as the carriage halted in front of the house. She could do this. Before, she had secretly doubted her strength, but now she knew Sweet Briar would save both her and the baby.

  “Do come in for a meal before you drive all the way back to Norfolk, Ned,” Virginia told the driver, a man she had known most of her life.

  “Thank you kindly, Miss Virginia—I mean, Mrs. O’Neill,” he said, tipping his felt hat at her.

  “Down, Arthur,” she said softly, and the big dog bounded to the ground, wagging his tail enthusiastically.

  Tillie had not moved. She appeared immobilized as she stared toward Virginia in shock.

  Virginia climbed down. “Tillie!” And the seed of happiness began to take root.

  Tillie screamed. “Virginia! Virginia, it’s you!” Skirts lifted, she flew down the porch steps. Virginia ran to meet her and they embraced halfway.

  “I haven’t heard from you since I got your letter in February,” Tillie cried, pulling away and clasping Virginia’s face. Virginia had written her about her marriage and Devlin’s wedding gift of the plantation. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home—why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? And why are you as white as a ghost—and so skinny?”

  Virginia hugged her again. “There was no time to write since then,” she whispered.

  “And you’re alone? I mean, other than that dog?” Tillie put her arm around her. She stiffened in surprise, for Virginia’s cloak had hidden the protrusion of her tummy. “You with child? Honey, you got pregnant so soon?”

  Virginia nodded, suddenly incapable of speech. Their gazes locked.

  Tillie stared and her brows lifted in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

  Virginia swallowed hard. “My marriage is over, Tillie, and I am here to stay.”

  VIRGINIA BUSIED HERSELF with running Sweet Briar, never mind that Tillie scolded her to no end for doing so in her condition. The seedlings were transplanted the last week of May, and it looked as if they had enough plants for an abundant crop. Far to the north in Canada, the British fort of York had fallen to the American troops, and as word of the hugely significant victory traveled about the countryside, her neighbors rejoiced. Still, the toll had been huge, due to an explosion of the garrison’s magazine. One county newspaper claimed that more than three hundred Americans were killed in the explosion, twice as many losses as the British had in their defeat.

  Virginia did not want to hear about the war, but it was impossible to avoid now that she was home. There was constant fighting in the Canadian Territory. Even more distressing, four Sweet Briar slaves had run away, as had dozens in the rest of the county. Rumor had it they were encouraged by the redcoats, and that they were even fighting for them. There were also terrible shortages of the most basic foodstuffs—sugar was exorbitantly priced at more than $20 a hundredweight in Richmond and Baltimore, almost triple what it had once been. Flour had risen to $4.50 a barrel in Richmond, and Virginia heard it was five times that in New York. Everywhere she went, the hottest topic was the cost of essential food items that no one could now afford. There was no sugar at Sweet Briar and Tillie’s jams were sour.

  Toward the end of May, Virginia began to feel unwell. It was just a slight lightness in her head and some difficulty breathing, but it was enough to make her feel faint. She worried that she might actually black out if she did not rest. Tillie scolded her endlessly and refused to let her out of the house. Virginia complied, afraid she knew the real reason for her sudden illness. The day before, at church, she had heard that the Defiance was hovering off the coast of Maryland with another British frigate, the Honor, hoping to do battle with any American warship brave enough to come out of the Chesapeake Bay.

  Virginia had done her best to make it appear that she had forgotten about Devlin and her failed marriage. In the month since her return home, she was careful to never mention him, not even to Tillie. But the truth was that she thought about him every day, fear for his safety warring with the grief that had claimed her soul. And the worst part of it was that it was so painfully clear they were on opposite sides of the same war.

  It was a warm and humid day. Virginia had asked her foreman, MacGregor, to meet her in the study so they could go over the plantation’s ledgers. Arthur was sleeping on the floor near her desk, panting heavily, and Virginia was fanning herself and standing by the window when she saw Frank riding up to the house at a frantic pace.

  She was seized with dread. She ran outside, where it was even hotter and more muggy. Perspiration made her face shine and her skin sticky. “Frank?”

  His expression taut, he dismounted and hurried up the porch. “Miz Virginia?”

  “What is it? What has happened?”

  He hesitated.

  And somehow she knew. Her heart lurched with a sickening fear. “It’s Devlin, isn’t it?” There were no secrets at Sweet Briar.

  “He gone an’ sent the Honor away. But it was a trap, Miz Virginia. The Independence sailed out, thinking she could get by him, but she couldn’t. He sailed right up to us an’ started firing when the two ships were about to collide. Our troops done lost control of the Independence and the redcoats boarded her—all in fifteen minutes.”

  Virginia clung to Frank’s arm. Devlin had seized one of the American navy’s greatest battleships. “Did he destroy her?” she managed numbly. Her head felt light again and her heart raced so swiftly that she could not breathe.

  Frank shook his head. “He’s sailin’ her north, maybe to Halifax, as a prize.”

  She nodded, still feeling ill enough to faint, hanging on to Frank’s solid arm. Devlin had been so close by. And damn it, she missed him so terribly that she ached for him, night and day, even as he fought and destroyed her own people. She must work harder, she decided abruptly, for that was the only way to keep her mind from such treacherous thoughts, the only way to keep her heart whole and beating. “Of course—how foolish of me.” She wet her lips and tried to slow down her breathing, to no avail. “How many died?”

  “I heard half the crew, maybe a hundred sailors.”

  Virginia made a sound.

  “Ma’am? It’s worse. There’s all kinds of talk in town, talk of an invasion.”

  Alarm stiffened her spine. “An invasion here?”

  “They say them Brits will invade Norfolk real soon—and we be too close to town, Miz Virginia, if you ask me.”

  Virginia turned toward the house, her heart beating so quickly now that she was becoming alarmed. She rubbed her chest. Sweat beaded on her brow. “I need some lemonade. Would you like some, Frank?” Would the troops come this way, burning and looting as they had done farther south and farther north? Would Devlin participate in the invasion? Were Sweet Briar and her people in danger? They had put together a small arsenal, in case they ever needed to defend the plantation. But Virginia prayed it would not come to that, for she knew they could not win an engagement with any British troops.

  “Miz Virginia, I don’t like the idea of us bein’ so close to Norfolk!” He was afraid and it showed.

  She must be calm and strong now, for the sake of Frank and all the people at Sweet Briar who relied upon her. Instead of going into the house for a cool drink, Virginia sat down in a wood rocking chair on the porch and vainly tried
to fan herself. “Frank, we’re eight miles from the city. Even if they are dastardly enough to invade our small town, we will be safe where we are—our militia and the army will never let them get this far.” But it was a lie. The army would have their hands full with an invasion and Virginia knew many who served in the militia by name—they were young boys and old men.

  Virginia knew that she could not let Frank see her fear. So she smiled at him. “Could you get me a glass of Tillie’s lemonade?”

  He hesitated, then finally his expression relaxed. He nodded, tipped his cap and walked into the house.

  Her smile vanished. Virginia gripped the arms of her wood rocker, staring out at her beloved fields. It had been bad enough hearing the war news from her frightened neighbors for the past two months and suffering distinct shortages because of the blockade, but still, somehow the war had seemed distant. Now, with the news of Devlin’s triumph just off the coast and the rumor of an imminent invasion, the war had become a very real and close threat.

  She closed her eyes and was struck instantly with the strongest feeling that she would see Devlin again—soon.

  VIRGINIA NEVER SLEPT SOUNDLY. In fact, sleep had become the enemy, for her dreams were filled with pain and heartache. She was always in Devlin’s arms, happy and well loved, only to have him turn coldly upon her and walk away. Sometimes she would chase after him as he left, begging him to stay. At other times, he had their child in his arms and she could not even get her voice to work to scream at him to give her baby back.

  She awoke now from just such a horrible nightmare, her body covered with sweat, her heart beating frantically. As Virginia sat up in the shadowy bedroom, panting and sobbing, she told herself it was just a dream. She touched her belly to reassure herself; their child was still there, inside her tummy. She lay back down, holding her belly, waiting for her breathing to return to normal, for her pounding heart to subside. It was a very hot and cloying night, and although her windows were open, there was no breeze.