The Orchid Hunter

by Jill Marie Landis

  “If Trevor had not come along when he did, I cannot really say what might have happened, but I believe Mr. Roth would have used me in a most vicious, carnal way.”

  The young Miss Sutton swooned and hit the ground hard. Her mother knelt and began clucking over her. Cecily Martin sidestepped them both to move next to Joya.

  “That explains your torn gown, but not the familiar way Mr. Mandeville was…touching you when we arrived,” Cecily said.

  “Why, that is easily explained.” Joya looked up at Trevor with hero worship in her eyes. “He was kissing me back.”

  “Kissing you back?” Cecily was no longer trying to hide a smile.

  “Because I kissed him first.”

  Trevor wondered how anyone could be so frustrating, endearing, innocent, and wanton, all at the same time. The walls were fast closing in on him. His emotions were in a complete tangle, impossible to sort out. How did a man deal with feelings he had tried, at every turn, to deny?

  He had spent the morning wrestling with worry over Joya’s spending the day outside London without him along to watch over her. Rightly—given what had happened to Joya—he had not trusted his sister to do so, for lately Janelle had thought of nothing but her paintings and Garr Remington.

  The import house had been shorthanded because his grandmother had insisted Roth be given the day off to “round out her little band of revelers,” as she put it. Finally, giving in to worry, Trevor had left the warehouse and ridden out to join them. Thankfully, he had arrived just in time.

  But after he had rescued Joya, why couldn’t he have simply taken her directly back to Janelle? He should have known better than to spend even one second alone with her. Just as he had predicted on Matarenga, bringing Joya Penn to London had wreaked havoc on his life.

  Now that he was rational and somewhat in control again, he knew that it was time to salvage the situation. He had to put an end to all of this nonsense. There was only one thing a man of honor could do. Only one way this little drama would ever end for the both of them.

  He did not want Joya to be hurt any further —and if everyone went on any longer, she would surely understand that there was no other way out and he would spare her that.

  Trevor gave the vicar a silent, measuring stare before he turned to Joya and said, “Miss Penn, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Oh no, Trevor!” his grandmother cried.

  “Oh yes, Trevor!” Forgetting her torn bodice, Joya threw her arms around his neck again. Fortunately, he had braced himself.

  “I will hold you to this, Mandeville,” the vicar promised as Joya peppered Trevor’s jaw with kisses.

  “You have no need to worry on that score. We will marry as soon as I can obtain a special license,” Trevor assured him.

  At that, Adelaide swooned again, this time pulling Eugenia Wilson down with her.

  Cecily Martin laughed, a loud, very unladylike laugh that came from the tips of her toes. “Well done, Mandeville!” She thumped him between the shoulder blades. “May I be the first to offer you both my congratulations?”

  Trevor sighed as he and Lady Cecily looked down upon Penelope Sutton and her mother kneeling beside her; then at Adelaide, who had already revived but was still pinning down the vicar’s wife.

  “Since there is hardly any room left on the floor, I’ll go and see if I can find Janelle,” Cecily said.

  * * *

  “Here I am, Cecily.” Janelle stepped over the threshold with Garr Remington following close behind.

  A quarter of an hour ago the terrible distress she had been experiencing had evaporated. Unable to explain her feelings to Garr, she had simply assured him, “Wherever Joya is, I feel the danger has passed.”

  From the look on Cecily and Trevor’s faces just now though, she wondered whether her relief had been premature.

  “Did you find her? Is Joya all right?”

  “We found more than your sister, I’m afraid,” Cecily said.

  Janelle hurried over to Joya. When she saw the state of her twin’s hair and her ripped bodice, she felt sick inside. Immediately, she turned to the one person she trusted most in the world.

  “Dear heavens, Trevor, what happened?”

  “Roth happened.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Gone. Now I have to find a new accountant.”

  “But shouldn’t you have notified the authorities?” Trevor shook his head. “I took care of him myself in order to avoid any more scandal.”

  “From now on, when I get the feeling something is wrong with Joya, I will act upon it sooner.” Janelle threw her arms around her sister. “Oh, you poor dear! Whatever came over Jamison Roth? I would have never imagined him capable of such behavior. I should have never left you alone.”

  It was all Garr’s fault that she had not been with Joya. She shot the rake a dark look, but he merely shrugged and gave her his most devastating smile.

  “We are going to be married,” Trevor announced.

  “Your brother did the honorable thing and immediately offered for Joya’s hand,” Cecily added.

  “As well he should have,” the vicar chimed in. “He saved her from Mr. Roth, but then took advantage of the poor girl himself. The scene we saw when we walked in was utterly appalling.”

  If what the vicar had seen was half what she had seen in the conservatory, then not only had she reason to be upset with him, but she knew Trevor had done the right thing by proposing in front of the others. He had immediately tried to rectify the situation in the only way he could have done.

  Mrs. Sutton was a legendary gossip. Even dear Cecily relished passing on a good story. Janelle ignored the vicar as she smoothed back Joya’s hair and clucked over her torn gown.

  Joya whispered, “Trevor and I are to be married.”

  She continued to smile up at him as if he had hung the moon. Trevor, on the other hand, was staring out the open door.

  Janelle wanted to talk to him alone, but she knew that he most likely needed time away from the accusatory look in the vicar’s eyes, perhaps even from such bright excitement in Joya’s. Obviously, her sister was not aware that Trevor’s hand had been forced.

  “Why don’t you go on, Trevor. Take Garr with you. Have the footmen pack up the picnic and ready the carriages. I’ll see to Joya.”

  His expression was one of gratitude. As the men stepped out into the blinding light of the warm summer day, she saw Garr clap Trevor on the shoulder and ask, “Don’t you just love country outings?”

  * * *

  Joya watched Trevor leave. She had seen something in his eyes, something on his face that diminished her buoyant happiness. Janelle took charge.

  “Let’s see about fixing your gown. Cecily, now that Mrs. Sutton has Penelope on her feet, why don’t you take them back to the front lawn? I’m sure Vicar Wilson would like to help Eugenia, and Grandmama as well.” Janelle fussed with the front of Joya’s gown; she pulled the edges together and had Joya hold them there.

  Adelaide was now standing. There was some color back in her cheeks. The Sutton girl and her mother made their way out the door with the Wilsons.

  Janelle quickly took the old woman’s arm and led her grandmother to the door, where they spoke in hushed whispers. Joya watched the exchange between the two headstrong women. Adelaide was visibly upset.

  Thankfully, the vicar returned, but he avoided meeting Joya’s gaze as he offered Adelaide his arm and quickly escorted her out of the mill.

  “Why is Adelaide so upset?” she asked her sister.

  “She is worried about Trevor. And you. Don’t concern yourself about anything.” Janelle put her hands on her hips and frowned. Her spectacles had slipped down her nose. “A morning wedding, of course. We’ll have an intimate gathering at the house following the ceremony.”

  Despite the aches and pains setting in from Roth’s rough handling, Joya’s happiness knew no bounds. She was going to marry Trevor and be his wife, his mate, forever. They would do all
the things a husband and wife did together.

  “I’ll miss you,” she told Janelle.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Trevor and I will have to live in isolation for a month.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Joya rubbed her aching shoulder. “On Matarenga, a man and his new bride always move into a marriage hut and are kept away from everyone for a month after the wedding. To ensure not only fertility, but a strong marriage. At the end of that time, they build a hut of their own in the village. Surely it is the same here, without a hut, of course, but the isolation…”

  “In England things are quite different. As Trevor’s wife, you will continue to live in Mandeville House, and unless Trevor plans a short honeymoon, which I doubt, you will not be going anywhere.”

  “No isolation?”

  Janelle shook her head. “I am afraid not the way you mean.”

  Worry crept into Joya’s heart the way the fog crept silently onto London’s streets. How could a marriage survive without a fertility ceremony or the isolation of the marriage hut?

  * * *

  Gaslight flickered as Trevor walked down the hall toward his room, creeping along like a thief in the night. It was the eve of his wedding and he had no idea what he should be feeling, but he was certain it should not be doubt. He had been plagued with reservations ever since the moment he had proposed.

  As he neared Joya’s door, he slowed, lingering there, staring at the light escaping beneath it. What was she thinking tonight? Was she as nervous as he?

  He smiled in the semidarkness. No doubt Joya feared English dancing more than she did the marriage bed, since she was familiar with Matarengi customs. The islanders regarded lovemaking as a natural act, not something to be whispered about behind closed doors.

  Perhaps he would not be facing a terrified bride on his wedding night, but Joya was still a virgin—and he was inexperienced when it came to deflowering virgins.

  He stared at the yellow glow of light smeared beneath her door, then he sighed and moved on. When he reached his own suite, he locked the door.

  Earlier, when he had told Sims he did not wish to be disturbed, the old butler had again congratulated him on his pending nuptials. Between them, Sims and Mrs. Billingsley had issued enough good wishes to last him and Joya a lifetime. At least Janelle and his two most loyal retainers welcomed the match. His grandmother was another matter.

  Since the scene at the mill Adelaide had taken to her bed, claiming shock kept her there. He suspected she was not as ill as she let on, for whenever he visited, she sat up, barked orders, and inquired about the business. After that she would enumerate all the reasons why he should not marry Joya.

  He had no idea why his grandmother was reacting so vehemently to the union. He hoped that in time she would get used to the idea, just as he hoped that with time he would, too.

  He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair. Inside the front pocket was the folded license he had obtained yesterday. It allowed him to forgo the reading of the banns, which would have delayed the wedding for a month. Looking at the document now was a reminder that money did have its uses.

  He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, physically tired but too disturbed to sleep. The small window in his dressing room was open, admitting the cool night air along with the pungent smell of London, a place where too many men and animals resided together.

  He opened the drawer where he kept his mother’s comb, took it out, closed his fingers around the cold silver, and let it warm in his hand. He wondered whether Joya should wear it on their wedding day until he remembered Janelle’s excitement over a special flower arrangement she was planning for Joya’s hair. He put the comb back in the drawer.

  His grandmother was right in one respect. Things had moved too quickly, yet he was still satisfied that he had done the right thing. Joya was completely innocent, a victim of Roth’s wickedness. Who could have suspected the mild-mannered accountant had such a dark side?

  Earlier that day, Trevor had gone around to the man’s address and found the rooms he had formerly rented empty. Hopefully, Roth had taken his threat seriously and had left London. Trevor did not want to go to the authorities, but he would not hesitate to do so if the man showed his face around any of the Mandevilles again.

  Trevor had only himself to blame for his loss of control after the attack. He should have comforted Joya, not kissed her, but he was so relieved to have her safe that when she kissed him, he had stopped thinking. She had come so close to disaster, was so young and vulnerable, so beautiful and trusting that he gave into his relief.

  She had been looking at him as if he were a knight in shining armor, but he was no knight. Nor did he have any idea how to be a husband, not any more than he could fly. He did not even have any secondhand experience to draw upon, no living archetype to mimic. He had been raised by a widow and a widower, and both individuals had avoided displays of affection.

  Trevor sighed and hoped that doing the right thing would be enough. This marriage was for Joya’s sake, so he would follow through no matter how much it might upset his own plans. There was nothing for him to do but the honorable thing, the right thing, and marry her.

  Whether she would be any easier to protect after she became his wife was another matter.

  * * *

  Just down the hall, Joya sat alone in her room, suffering from restlessness and more than a touch of homesickness. If she were on Matarenga, she would know what to expect on the day of her wedding. She would be housed with her closest female friends and relations.

  They would awaken early, take her from her house, paint her body with crimson and white paste from head to toe, outline her eyes with kohl, and tightly braid her hair with clay beads and feathers. She would don a colorful pudong, a wrap woven of the finest, softest fibers, one that had not been used before and would never be worn by her again. In it she would later wrap their firstborn child.

  The drums would start at dawn, calling the entire village to the beach, where a goat would be bled and a bonfire would burn until far into the night. The sound of goat-hoof rattles would fill the air, and the pounding of the drams would intensify as she and her intended mixed drops of their own blood into the kujmbaa potion, which ensured long life and fertility.

  Otakgi would bless them in the name of Kibatante and after a long night of feasting, her husband would lead her to the marriage hut, which he would have built by himself in a secret location. For an entire moon cycle, they would dwell alone and undisturbed.

  She sighed and pulled her satin wrapper close, wondering where Trevor was now and what he might be thinking. She slipped off the bed, wandered to her trunk, and took out her mother’s comb. Fingering the beautiful filigree, she closed her eyes and envisioned Clara’s face.

  She would give anything to have her mother here with her tonight, to advise and comfort her, to answer her questions about English wedding customs. She would forever miss the woman she had called mother.

  Because Janelle planned for her to wear a spray of orchids in her hair tomorrow, Joya put the comb away. Just as she straightened, intending to try to sleep, there was a soft knock at the door.

  She opened it to find her sister standing in the hall.

  Joya stepped aside. “Come in. I cannot sleep.”

  “I can’t either.” Janelle, too, was dressed for bed and wearing a silk robe. She climbed up on Joya’s bed and patted the spot beside her. Joya’s mood lightened immediately. Whenever she was with her twin, she felt at peace.

  “I was sad, wishing my mother were here,” Joya said. “And now you have come to remind me I’m not alone.”

  “I never knew a mother’s affection,” Janelle said wistfully. “You speak so highly of her. Clara must have loved you very much.”

  Joya nodded without hesitation. “She did. I hope I can be half as wise and loving when I am a mother. Which reminds me, will there be a fertility ceremony during the wedding ceremony?
Of course, I’ll perform the traditional one when Trevor and I are alone afterward, but is there anything of the kind at the chapel?”

  “A what?”

  “Fertility ceremony. The ceremonial bloodletting, the sprinkling of special magical powders. You know.”

  Her sister became very quiet and covered her lips with her hand. Her eyes grew very round behind her spectacles. Finally she dropped her hand to her lap. “There will be nothing of the sort during the ceremony.” She bit her lips and cleared her throat. “You say you will perform one in private, afterward?”

  “Oh, yes. As a woman, it is my duty to dance and chant and to inspire my husband’s lust. There is a traditional costume—not much of one by English standards. All the girls learn the chant and the dance of seduction at a very early age. My friends and I learned, too. Of course, I never told my mother.”

  “I’m certain Trevor will enjoy a little private ceremony like that on your wedding night. You should surprise him with it, though. Don’t mention it beforehand. Is it really a very small costume?”

  “Naturally. Your eyes are very round and merry behind your spectacles right now.”

  “I am so happy for you, is all. And for Trevor. Now is there anything else you are worried about?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is one more thing. Do you think Trevor will take more than one wife?”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Don’t you think it’s time you joined your new bride?”

  Trevor found Janelle watching him from the doorway of the library. He emptied the brandy snifter in his hand, set the crystal on a tray Sims had left on the corner of his desk, and stretched as she walked into the room before he began.

  “She wanted some time alone and said that she would send Mrs. Billingsley for me when she was ready. Why can’t I shake the feeling I should be worried about what’s going on upstairs?”