She drove the buggy in front of the wide front porch, and a barefoot slave emerged from the dark shadows near the side of the house to help her down.
Zeddie dismounted and took possession of the buggy, and the slave led the guest horse to its place beneath the shade of a large pepper tree.
Emerald drew in a breath of courage and looked up at the forbidding house. Its door was solid oak, a door that had been firmly shut against her from the time she’d been brought from Tortuga as a small child. Now, as the earl’s grandson’s future betrothed, she walked across the yard, past its heated shadows and fragrant shrubs, and up the wide front steps.
Even before she could pull the bell cord and announce her arrival, Jitana opened the door wide. The older African woman, who was head housekeeper, smiled.
“Evening, Miss Emerald,” she whispered, glancing cautiously over her shoulder toward the drawing room on the left. “I cain’t do a thing with Lady Sophie! She’s sprouting thistles over you and his lordship’s betrothal.”
“I’m certain of that, Jitana. Where is she now?”
The cool dim hall was empty, the discreet house quiet Most of the family would be napping in their rooms before the cooler winds arose and supper was served. From the back of the house near the cook room, she could hear the muffled voices of servants readying the crystal glasses and chinaware for the dining room table.
Emerald remembered the times she had visited Lavender and had to come and go by the servant’s route through the kitchen to her cousin’s grand bedroom, as required by Lady Sophie. Lavender was her darling who could do no wrong, and she had wanted Baret to marry Lavender. Yes, Emerald could understand why Lady Sophie Harwick was “sprouting thistles.”
The drawing room was on the left side of the entrance hall, and its tall double doors stood open to receive the cooler breezes from the Caribbean.
“I’ll tell her you’s here.”
“There’s no need,” came Lady Sophie’s crisp voice. “I saw the buggy arrive from the window. Come in, Emerald. I’ve been expecting you.”
Emerald turned toward an elegant woman in her seventies. She wore her immaculate white hair in a heavy coil at the back of her neck, and her bristling pale eyes were emphasized by her dark satin dress with stiff white lace collar at the throat and wrists. The appearance of this elegant but distant woman had always overwhelmed Emerald, perhaps because Sophie had never spoken more than a few sentences to her at one time in all the years she had grown up on Foxemoore. And yet, here she was now, facing Aunt Sophie not as an illegitimate waif from the pirate stronghold of Tortuga but as the soon-to-be betrothed of a prized nephew.
The frosty gray eyes in a porcelain white face gave no hint of what was on Sophie’s mind, since the woman’s demeanor was normally crisp. As always, Emerald held the notion that she should curtsy, as if Sophie were royalty. There had been a time when she had deeply wanted recognition from Lady Sophie, so badly that she used to dream of the elegant woman smiling at her the way she had seen her smile proudly at Lavender. There remained a deep unmet need in Emerald’s heart. It was a quest for love, of acceptance, a sense of worth that only the Lord could ultimately satisfy.
The drawing room offered the finest of gold drapes, matching velvet settees, ottomans, and a large olive green divan with gold tassels. The hardwood floor sounded beneath her slippers, but her footsteps softened when she stepped onto the woven rug, thick and plush and brought from the Main.
Lady Sophie’s skirt rustled stiffly as she walked to the front windows facing the carriageway, where red hibiscus bloomed below the windows.
Emerald readied herself for a scathing denunciation, but when Lady Sophie turned to confront her, her frosty demeanor had melted into an expression of tense apprehension. Emerald was bewildered. She could only respond by watching her great-aunt in silence.
Sophie cast a glance toward the closed doors as if to make certain they were alone. “We must speak before he arrives.”
“Before who arrives?”
Her eyes swerved back, apprehension turning to loathing. “Felix, of course. He’s not here now, but he’ll soon be. I want you to speak to Geneva before he returns. She’s awake now, and waiting, but before I bring you upstairs, I want to make certain of your help.”
Emerald was totally unprepared for this. Lady Sophie was reaching out to her for emotional support?
“You’ve always been strong, Emerald. I suppose hardship is a virtue. It can develop character, the will to survive the worst of things.”
Emerald scanned her. “Yes, when there is hope,” she agreed, wondering what she could possibly have in mind. “Without hope,” she continued, thinking of her past situation, “there is little incentive to keep on struggling for survival. But why, Madam, do you bring this up now? I’ve come because of Minette—my cousin. She’s quite sick. I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you, but it’s urgent. If Cousin Geneva’s physician could be spared a short time to come to the manor house, I wouldn’t need much of his time and perhaps only a morsel of quinine.”
“If you think he can be trusted, yes, by all means.”
For a moment Emerald’s mind stumbled over the suggestion gleaned from her startling words. “If… he can be trusted.”
The once balmy refuge of the drawing room became restrictive, and it seemed Emerald no longer saw birds with pale yellow and red plumes but heard the distant cackle of a crow. She walked toward Lady Sophie, whose face was now in shadow.
She stared at the woman, trying to fathom the extent of the casual, yet blunt, warning, as if Sophie were seeking confirmation of her own uncertainties. By asking Emerald here, she appeared to be actually seeking to gain an ally within the family structure rather than making Emerald feel she was an inappropriate choice for Baret.
“If Geneva’s doctor can be trusted?” repeated Emerald in a low voice. “Why shouldn’t he be?”
“He’s a Spaniard.” Her eyes snapped. “What else needs to be said?”
Perhaps a great deal, but Lady Sophie was not inclined to explain now. She moved toward the doorway with a rustle. “Come along. Geneva’s asked to see you.”
A Spaniard. So many questions converged on Emerald’s mind at one time, but it was the hacienda at Spanish Town and what Baret had told her about Lord Felix and his daughter, Carlotta, that commanded her attention. Until then, she had never guessed that Carlotta was Felix’s daughter or that he had ever lived in Cartagena.
She thought back to her meeting with Geneva at the town house. Had Geneva suspected her husband even then? But suspected him of what?
Emerald recalled the conversation she had overheard between Geneva and Lady Sophie the night before Geneva’s wedding to Lord Felix, a conversation about how his first wife in London had died prematurely and suggesting that Felix may have hastened her death. A chill ran through Emerald.
She followed Sophie into Geneva’s large bedchamber, and her senses were struck by its loveliness, the opulence of reddish-brown mahogany, the overflowing yards of cream-colored sateen spilling from the four-poster bed, the windows, the vanity table and bench. A terrace occupied one side, providing a view of amber twilight and lavender blue from distant Port Royal Bay.
Her father’s cousin, Geneva Harwick Buckington, sat propped up against lace-trimmed pillows in her bed. Its silk mosquito netting was drawn to one side. Her reddish gold hair, prettily groomed, hung across each shoulder. Her pale face was thin, and there were purplish smudges streaked beneath her silvery eyes. Though apparently in delicate health, Geneva didn’t appear any worse than when Emerald had last spoken to her at the town house on Queens Street.
Emerald cast a brief glance about the room. Neither Lord Felix nor the doctor was present. Had Cousin Geneva asked to see her before they returned? Geneva must suspect them of something, thought Emerald tensely. Why else would she ask to see her now with such urgency instead of waiting for Baret?
Lady Sophie neared the side of Geneva’s bed where there was a settee upholstered wi
th ivory brocade and tiny pink rosebuds.
Geneva lifted a folded sheet of stationery from beside her. “Baret tells me the betrothal will take place in two weeks.”
So Baret had sent her a message. That said something about the kind of man he was and that he must hold Geneva’s opinion in high regard.
Lady Sophie swished her palmetto fan. “Two weeks is hardly enough time to adequately prepare for a tea, let alone the betrothal of a future earl!”
Emerald felt a sting. The pressure was on her for a postponement, all in the name of adequate preparation. She might have told them Baret had gone so far as to wish to hold the actual marriage ceremony in just two weeks, without a publicly announced engagement, but that would not help the situation now.
“Baret wished to announce the betrothal before sailing with Captain Morgan,” Emerald said.
“Henry Morgan.” Lady Sophie sighed. “Another error. Baret is beside himself.”
“I doubt it matters much what anyone wishes in the matter of the betrothal, except Baret,” said Geneva.
“He’s a scamp if there ever was one,” Sophie agreed, swishing her fan. “Worse than his father, Royce, if you want my opinion.”
Was it Emerald’s imagination or did the mention of Royce Buckington bring a flinch to Geneva?
Emerald was embarrassed by their open disapproval. After the ordeal she’d been through with Mr. Pitt, she didn’t care to prolong this.
“I understand it must come as total surprise,” she began, striving to keep her voice from fumbling into an apology.
But Geneva’s thin face offered a smile. “Not altogether a surprise, if I recall what you told me at the town house. And just what is this French pirate Rafael Levasseur going to do about it? Call Baret out in another duel?”
Emerald was surprised by the keen awareness in the gray eyes so much like her father’s.
Lady Sophie groaned at Geneva’s words. “Pirates. Oh, the scandal!”
“I don’t think, Madam, that Captain Levasseur will dare show his face, seeing that Baret has bested him on several occasions.”
“Good mercy, I hope not.”
“Anyway,” Emerald hastened to add, embarrassed, “what my French cousin may think is of no concern to me or to Baret. Rafael is an odious and bloodthirsty knave.”
“Well, we agree on something,” said Lady Sophie.
Emerald walked to the foot of the bed and stood between the two sturdy posts, wishing the older women were protectively on her side instead of against her. How she missed not having had an honorable woman for a mother while growing up. She looked from one to the other. It had not been her intention to become involved in controversy without Baret present.
“I had no intention of coming here now,” Emerald said. “I didn’t want to appear as if I were boldly affronting the family. I don’t expect the matter to come to satisfying terms easily. Baret should be here to speak for himself. As soon as he concludes his meeting with Morgan, we expect to see Earl Nigel as well.”
“Nigel is still in Port Royal,” said Sophie, as though that made a difference.
“I wouldn’t want you to think—to think—that—”
Geneva interrupted abruptly. “You needn’t apologize to either Sophie or me. If Baret’s made up his mind he’s in love with you, and I’m certain he has, there’s no detouring him now. And I would remind you, Sophie, Nigel is behind them in this. You know he wishes Lavender to marry Grayford.”
“I wouldn’t trust Nigel. He has his ambitions where both Baret and little Jette are concerned. He wants them in London at his side, to carry on the earldom. And Emerald, dear girl that she is, is hardly the—”
“And Sophie, this is hardly the time. The reason I wish to speak to Emerald…” She looked from Sophie, who had raised her, to Emerald, and her face softened. “Neither Sophie nor I have any intention of making your entry into the family difficult, dear. You’ll find life hard enough in London as Baret’s wife without the Buckingtons’ and Harwicks’ opposition. Every woman of title will be anxious to rip your reputation apart, and, believe me, nobility can be wolfish.”
Emerald remembered that Baret had told her much the same thing about the biting tongues of London’s blooded nobility.
“We haven’t asked you here to discuss pirates or your betrothal. All that must wait.”
Lady Sophie sighed painfully and lowered her palmetto fan into her lap as if to surrender.
“Geneva is right. We’ll all need to get along, and we do need you now. At least you have strength, which Lavender pitiably lacks. And I don’t think having you in the family will rival the catastrophe of having Felix.”
It was no compliment to Emerald, nor meant to be. Lady Sophie was known for the honesty of her pungent tongue, but Emerald believed that the slightest movement by the woman must be deemed a small victory. Until now, she’d been treated little better than Minette.
Cousin Geneva closed her eyes wearily and leaned her head back into the pillows. “Are we back to Felix again?”
“I’m afraid we will always be back to Felix.”
Yet, Geneva showed no suspicion over Felix. Then I must have been wrong about her response at the town house, thought Emerald. At that time I was so sure Geneva suspected Felix of ulterior motives.
“I came about Minette. She’s sick with fever. Is it too much to ask that your physician come and treat her?”
“It would be the kind thing to do, especially if you expect to move into the house with her.”
Lady Sophie dropped her palmetto fan. “I won’t have a half-breed living here like family!”
Emerald turned to face her, but Geneva headed them off by sitting up. “None of that now. We won’t discuss who her mother was, Sophie!”
As Sophie’s face went rigid, Geneva turned to Emerald. “I’ll ask the doctor to visit the manor house as soon as he and Felix return from Spanish Town. They should arrive within the hour with Carlotta.”
So Geneva knew about the secret daughter from Felix’s first marriage to the daughter of a Spanish don in Cartagena. Perhaps after the ugly incident at the hacienda between Baret and Sir Jasper, Felix had decided he could no longer keep the matter hidden, especially now that Emerald knew so much and would marry Baret. Felix must think that he needed to deal with her as well, if he expected to carry on at Foxemoore as though the incident of her father never happened. Of course, Felix didn’t know that the assassin he’d hired to dispose of his own nephew had betrayed his involvement before he died. And as far as Felix knew, Sir Karlton was dead.
“Spaniards,” protested Lady Sophie. “Wealthy planters or not, the family of Don Miguel Vasquez are loyal to Madrid. Bringing Carlotta here can bring no blessing to Foxemoore, and that goes for Minette.”
“Carlotta won’t be here long—only a few weeks until we can sail.”
Sail? Emerald looked at her, but Lady Sophie had retrieved her fan and was waving it energetically.
“Felix may dabble all he wants in the medical expertise of Porto Bello, but the very idea of going there is positively scandalous!”
“Sophie, dear, please don’t be so dramatic. There’s nothing at all inappropriate with my visiting the Spanish estate of Carlotta’s future in-law, especially since he’s related to Dr. Vasquez.”
“Rubbish. I’ve only to look at you to see your condition has worsened since Felix brought the man to see you. Since when can we trust a Spaniard loyal to King Philip of Spain?”
“Since Dr. Ricardo Vasquez received acclaim for his knowledge in London,” said Geneva wearily.
Emerald’s surprise could not be concealed. Carlotta’s relative was Geneva’s physician? She wondered when and how he had arrived. She didn’t recall seeing a doctor at the hacienda, but then she had not been given freedom to move about. Even Carlotta’s presence there had come as a surprise the night Baret shot Sir Jasper in their duel.
Geneva must have read her expression, for she offered an explanation. “It was fortunate for me that Ri
cardo came to Spanish Town when he did. He’s confident he can help me regain my health at the estate in Porto Bello. I’ll accompany Carlotta there with the doctor and Felix.”
Covering the thoughts that rampaged through her mind, Emerald said nothing for a moment, but Lady Sophie spoke up indignantly. “Carlotta ran away, and her marriage was postponed. Some pirate helped her to reach Port Royal. She’s willful, I understand, and determined to marry Sir Jasper.”
Emerald knew, of course, who that pirate was who had helped Carlotta avoid the wedding arranged between the two wealthy families of Spain. Baret had taken her fiancé, Don Miguel, from a Spanish galleon voyaging to the island of Margarita. Evidently no one knew this as yet except herself and Carlotta. And there was also the question of just what Baret had done with Miguel, his prisoner. Emerald assumed that the dashing Spanish soldier was still cooling his heels somewhere under Baret’s decree, perhaps on one of the islets or even on the Regale.
Emerald tried to look innocent, but she felt a prick of guilt under the direct gaze of the two other women.
“You’re being too cautious, Sophie,” said Geneva. “Carlotta is a fine girl, just high-spirited.”
“Am I being too cautious? Then why didn’t Felix tell you about her before your marriage? Who knew he had dealings on the Main? Or that he’d fathered a child by the daughter of a don?”
“We’re past that,” Geneva said, but whether that was true was questionable, Emerald thought. “I confess surprise, yet not disillusionment. Carlotta can be a rewarding young girl in many ways. I don’t mind being a stepmother. She needs whatever emotional support I can give her. And my going is not altogether unselfish, since Ricardo can best treat me at the family hacienda. Naturally, I’d prefer to seek a cure in England, but the war has put a pretty end to that.”
“A good turn of fortune for Felix, I would say.”
Buccaneers Series Page 89