The front door flew open and two women rushed down the steps, crying and calling greetings. April, who’d just been released, ran up the steps to meet them, scooped up by the older white woman.
“I’m home! I’m home!” she announced.
“Praise to our Lord in Heaven,” the older woman shouted. “Master Latimer, you found our little one.” Latimer released Ceressa then hurried over to the woman.
“She wasn’t hard to find,” Latimer said and chuckled. “Bocatakum got more than he bargained for when he took our pigeon.”
“My word, my heart nearly stopped from the fright,” the woman declared. “When I saw those savages surrounding Tidelands and that one you sometimes hunt with demanding that we give him April, I just didn’t know what to do. But now you’re back and, oh, this must be the Lady Heloise.” The woman turned to her and smiled.
“This Ressa,” April quickly corrected. “Don’t know no L-o-wheeze.” The child shook her dark curls in emphasis of her words. “Don’t she have pretty hair?”
“My word, that she does,” the woman replied while she directed a questioning look at Latimer.
“My dear Mrs. Arston, I’m afraid I’ve pulled something of a trick on all of you. I didn’t marry the Lady Heloise. Her heart was committed to a larger purse than mine. However, this is indeed my wife, the former Ceressa Quarles of Quarleton Mews. The Mews is neighbor to Kirkleigh Hall. Sir Geoffrey is Ceressa’s godfather. Ceressa, this is my housekeeper, Amelia Arston.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Arston said, quickly placing April on her feet. She and the other woman, a young pretty girl of ebony skin, curtsied. “Welcome, Lady Kirkleigh, to Tidelands.”
“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said and extended her hand to the older woman.
Amelia Arston looked to be in her late forties with a sweet smile, bright blue eyes, and a cheery countenance. Her dark hair was liberally silvered. Ceressa turned her eyes upon the younger woman.
“Lady Kirkleigh, this is Libby. I don’t know what I’d do without Libby.”
“A pleasure to meet you, as well, Libby,” Ceressa said, next extending her hand to the younger woman. Libby hesitated then took it.
“We’re glad you’re here. It seems so long ago Master Latimer left for England, since before Christmas.”
By now several men had gathered, both white- and black-skinned, murmuring and chuckling as they waited a discrete distance. Latimer glanced in their direction.
“Ladies, I’m going to introduce Ceressa to the men then bring her inside. I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m famished.”
Mrs. Arston laughed. “You always are. We’ll be sure you’re well fed, Master Latimer. Cassie will see to that. Cassie is our cook,” Mrs. Arston explained to Ceressa, “and Libby and Sissy’s grandmother. You’ll meet her in a bit. And Sissy, too.” Shooing April up the steps, they soon disappeared, and Latimer directed her toward the gathered men, his arm once more about her waist. Why pretend something he didn’t feel?
The largest man, with skin of polished teak, moved away from the others and with his battered hat in his hand, approached. When they reached him, Latimer surprised Ceressa by hugging the man and clapping him heartily on the back.
“It sho is good to see you, Master Latimer,” the man said warmly. “We was gettin’ worried ’bout you.”
“I’m here now, and I want you and the other men to meet my wife. Mo, this is Lady Kirkleigh. Ceressa, this is my overseer, Mo.”
“Pleasure it be, ma’am, to meet you,” Mo assured her. “We’ve all been thinkin’ for some time that Master Latimer needed himself a bride. Now, here you are.”
“Yes, here I am.” Ceressa forced a smile. Mo was a good three inches taller than Latimer, who was well over six feet. He was thickly muscled and looked solid as an oak. His head was closely shaven and his dark brown eyes were warm and welcoming. It was obvious the man thought the world of Latimer. Somehow that stung. Latimer was more caring and concerned about those he employed than her.
Other introductions followed, Ceressa valiantly trying to remember names and faces. But one thing became perfectly clear—they all held Latimer in the highest esteem.
It was dark when Latimer bid the men goodnight then led Ceressa up the steps to the house. Mrs. Arston opened the door and ushered them in with happy chatter and a promise that dinner would soon be served in the dining hall. April bounded down the stairs, followed by Mariette, who apparently had already been shown about and accepted into the household.
Ceressa was acutely aware that Latimer was still by her side, his attentiveness all a pretense. Libby appeared and conveyed the message that Cassie wanted to meet Master Latimer’s new bride while she waited for the turkey to roast to that perfect shade of golden brown. It was something of a relief to slip away from Latimer as she, Mariette, and April followed Libby out the door they had just entered. His sudden display of husbandly affection both unsettled and confused her.
By the time they’d made their way to the kitchen, Ceressa had discovered that a plantation was a self-sufficient community as Libby explained the various parts that made such a tidy whole. To Ceressa’s relief, she’d also discovered that Latimer had no slaves on his property—everyone who lived and worked there was either free or indentured. Her father had always openly voiced his disgust with those who made their fortunes selling humans as though livestock, and she agreed.
The kitchen was set a short way from the main house. Wonderful smells emanated, reminding Ceressa she hadn’t eaten much of anything all day. As they neared, the door creaked open, and a child with chocolate skin scampered out, her braids dancing about her. She looked to be about five years of age, and when she saw April, she squealed excitedly.
“April! April! They didn’t scalp you. The Lord Jesus has brought you to back to us.” The two girls embraced and, grasping each other’s arms, hopped about in a circle.
“Sissy,” Libby addressed the child, “calm down. I want you to meet someone very important.” Sissy went motionless, her gaze suddenly fixing upon Ceressa. This child had to be Libby’s sister.
“It’s an angel,” she whispered. “Are you the angel that saved April from the Indians?”
“I assure you, I’m not an angel,” Ceressa said as she knelt before the little girl. “And April was with her uncle and aunt and their children. She was in no danger.”
“Are you sure?” the child asked, poking out her lower lip and rubbing her bare toe in the dirt.
“I’m sure. It’s nice to meet you, Sissy.”
“You’re so beautiful. And your hair is so pretty.”
“It’s a mess now,” Ceressa said, as she tucked back several wayward curls.
“So you married Master Lat?”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s a good thing. That mean ol’ Mistress Phyllis was hopin’ for a ring, Granny says. Guess she won’t be gettin’ it now.”
“Sissy, hush,” Libby commanded, and that little lip poked out further.
“It’s true. And Granny says always tell the truth. ’Sides, you’re the one who said Mistress Phyllis is sly as a fox.”
“Sissy!” Ceressa and Mariette laughed while Libby looked mortified. Children could always be counted on to say something they shouldn’t.
“It’s all right, Libby,” Ceressa assured the girl. “I’ve met Mistress Carruthers, and unfortunately, Sissy speaks the truth.”
“I like you,” Sissy chirped up. “And I like Master Lat. Sometimes he rides me on his back, and I pretend he’s a horse.”
“Master Latimer is very good with the children on the plantation,” Libby said. “I suspect he’ll want plenty of his own.”
Ceressa managed to keep a smile on her face, even though she knew Latimer didn’t want any children with her. “How long have you and Sissy been at Tidelands?” Ceressa asked, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.
“About two years,” Libby replied. “Our ma and pa belonged to Master Ma
rlington. But our ma died when Sissy was born, then our pa was killed accidentally when he was out huntin’. Since our granny was Master Latimer’s cook, Master Latimer bought us from Master Marlington then gave us our freedom, and we came to live here with Granny.”
“Libby!” A shrill call filled the air, coming from the doorway of the kitchen. “If’n you’ve got Master Latimer’s bride out there, you’d best bring her in now or you’ll be the worst for it, you hear?”
“That’s Granny Cassie,” Libby said and laughed. “Don’t let her scare you. When she’s like this, you simply do as she says.”
Peering into the doorway, Ceressa’s gaze rested upon a rotund, cherub-cheeked woman of indeterminate age. Unexpectedly, the cook bustled forward with surprising swiftness, throwing her arms around Ceressa and squeezing her tightly.
“Thank the good Lord Master Latimer’s done married himself a fine lady. I was so afeared that he’d hook up with that no good Mistress Phyllis. That nearly put me in my grave afore my time. And who’s this little mite?” Cassie nodded at Mariette.
“This is Mistress Jones,” Libby said. “She’s Lady Kirkleigh’s lady’s maid. I told you, Granny, Master Latimer would never marry Mistress Carruthers.” Libby’s voice conveyed an unspoken I-told-you-so.
“Men can do mighty strange things,” Cassie retorted as she released Ceressa, allowing her to draw a deep breath. The cook returned to the open hearth and resumed stirring something that smelled wonderful. A worn trestle table, positioned in the center of the brick floor, was draped by drying herbs, onions, and peppers that hung from the exposed rafters. A turkey roasted on a spit over the fire and freshly baked loaves of bread steamed on a smaller side table. Sissy and April had already discovered the gingerbread and were stealthily sampling pieces. Libby reached out and swatted at Sissy’s hand. Both girls giggled then scampered over to Cassie, one standing on each side of her as she stirred the contents of the huge black pot.
“I doubt that woman will be behavin’ herself one bit better now that Master Latimer has gone and gotten married.”
“Granny, there’s no need to speak of this before Lady Kirkleigh.”
“She needs to know what that woman is capable of.”
“Not now, Granny. Lady Kirkleigh, I can take you back to the house.” Libby obviously feared that her grandmother might divulge more about Phyllis Carruthers than she should. Ceressa wanted to stay and hear all the woman had to say but decided it might be best to return with Libby.
“Thank you. I suppose I should try to get settled.”
“Child, you come by and chat any time,” Cassie invited. “I do love company.”
“Thank you,” Ceressa said. Libby motioned for the two girls to come then led the way from the kitchen. April came up beside Ceressa and took hold of her hand, smiling up at her. How thankful Ceressa was for the presence of this child. She only hoped she could provide April with the love and nurturing she needed.
Glancing over at Mariette, she saw that Sissy had done the same with her. The young woman displayed no reticence in accepting the black child’s hand.
Upon their arrival at the house, Mrs. Arston admitted them so promptly it was as though she had been standing by the door awaiting their return. Lighted sconces lining the eggshell-white walls dispelled the lengthening shadows, casting a warm, golden glow all about.
“Libby,” Mrs. Arston said, “take Mariette upstairs to Lady Kirkleigh’s room so the two of you can go through the trunks and start unpacking.”
Already Latimer had seen to it that she was established in her own bedchamber. Ceressa didn’t know if she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation or cry over the affront.
“Lady Kirkleigh, I’d be glad to show you around a bit. By the time we’ve finished, your bath water will be ready.”
“Can we come?” April asked hopefully. Sissy eagerly bobbed her head.
“I don’t see why not.” Ceressa held out her other hand to Sissy and the child hurried over to take it. Mrs. Arston smiled then led her to the salon, explaining things as they passed.
In the dining hall, a large cabinet, nearly as wide as one of the shorter walls, was filled with elaborate pieces of silver and gold-rimmed plates. The large center table would easily seat a dozen people. Hangings at the windows were of dull gold and blue brocade stripe as were the seats of the chairs.
“Perhaps there’ll be entertaining now that you’re here.”
Ceressa had no reply for the housekeeper, not sure what Latimer expected of her in that regard. Her parents had thought nothing of hosting a simple dinner party of close friends on the spur of the moment. Somehow, she couldn’t see Latimer enjoying that sort of activity.
After leaving the dining hall, Mrs. Arston returned to the main hall, heading toward the stairs. The two girls decided they now wanted to go upstairs and help Libby and Mariette unpack the trunks. After watching the children safely ascend, Ceressa gazed down the length of the hall. Noticing a door at the far end, she moved away from Mrs. Arston and walked toward it. Grasping the knob, she started to turn it.
“You mustn’t enter!”
Fire Dragon's Angel
32
“This is Master Latimer’s library,” Mrs. Arston explained breathlessly. “He doesn’t let just anyone in.”
Ceressa bristled. “I merely want to look. I thought you were showing me around the house.”
“Perhaps we can visit this room another time,” Mrs. Arston said quickly, looking ill at ease. “It’s growing late, and I should be taking you upstairs to that bath that’s waiting. We wouldn’t want the water to cool overmuch.”
Ceressa opened her mouth to insist she enter the room until she realized how ridiculous it would be to cause a commotion over something so trivial. She’d have plenty of time to explore with or without Latimer’s permission. After all, she was mistress of this house even if she was banned from Latimer’s bed.
Mrs. Arston started back toward the stairs and Ceressa dutifully followed. “You know, Master Latimer is quite the architect. Seems he picked up a bit of knowledge during his years at university. He’s more the bookish sort than he lets on. I’ve caught him poring over those old books he brought with him from England when no one’s about.”
So his belittling of the literary-minded actually masked his own penchant for prose and poem. Ceressa was slowly discovering there were many facets of Latimer, most of which failed to fit with her preconceived notions. What else about the man had she yet to learn?
Now on the second level, Mrs. Arston identified the various rooms. There were five in all. Three guest chambers, April’s nursery, and the master’s suite. Mrs. Arston rapidly passed Latimer’s room, and Ceressa nearly laughed. Apparently, she was not to be allowed a peek at this private domain of Latimer’s either. Why did she feel like the child who’d been told she could look but not touch?
“This is to be your room, Lady Kirkleigh,” Mrs. Arston announced as she opened the door.
Mariette, assisted by Libby, was spreading Ceressa’s clothing over the high bed draped in delicate ivory lace while Sissy and April “oohed” and “aahed.” The chamber was spacious and inviting, as lovely as a spring morn with colors of blush pink and cream predominating.
“Master Latimer hopes this will be to your liking.”
As Ceressa moved about the room, she alternated between fury and delight. Her accommodations were truly lovely, but knowing that the servants were aware of the fact she was not permitted to enter her husband’s chamber deeply rankled. She forced a smile. “It’s more than adequate, Mrs. Arston. Thank you so much for your kindness. I know dinner is to be served shortly, so I should be about dispensing with the stains of travel.”
“Very well, dear. I’ll leave you in capable hands.” The housekeeper smiled at the girls. “And I’ll see that Mistress April is cleaned up, too, and fed. She must be exhausted.”
“Am not,” April piped up. “I unpack for Ressa.”
“The unpacking is a
lmost done. We need to do as Mrs. Arston says,” Libby said as she left Mariette’s side, “including you, Sissy.” Even though April and Sissy were clearly unhappy, the two left with Libby and Mrs. Arston, and Ceressa glanced again at the bed, her clothing strewn upon it. Not really her clothing, she reminded herself. Heloise’s.
“Mariette, I’ve a great need to be alone for a few minutes. I’ve a dreadful ache of my head.”
Mariette’s expression instantly filled with concern. “Of course, Lady Ceressa. I’ll be close by when you need me.” Mariette hurried from the chamber and brought the door shut.
Ceressa collapsed on the bed, angry and hurt. How dare he—how could he?
****
Their first meal had proven torturous, Ceressa’s gaze never meeting his, and her lack of appetite unmistakable as she pushed the food about her plate.
Latimer could only imagine what Cassie said when Ceressa’s dishes were taken back to the kitchen nearly as untouched as when they’d first been delivered. The woman hated it when her meals weren’t fully appreciated. He only hoped Mrs. Arston had managed to smooth the ruffled feathers. His housekeeper had assured him that Ceressa was pleased with her room, and complimented his thoughtfulness in giving his bride her own room while she gradually adjusted to her newly wedded state.
Latimer wondered if he should correct the woman’s erroneous assumption concerning their separate chambers until Mrs. Arston mentioned that Ceressa seemed most put out when she’d been denied admittance to his library. He wasn’t ready to share that part of him. It was his vulnerable side—what was left of a young, idealistic man who’d thought he could change the world, breathing the fire of the Lord’s gospel to all he encountered. Long lost dreams. Long lost hopes.
Sighing heavily, he dropped into a wingback positioned near the hearth in his room, no fire needed on this warm, humid night. Thunder rumbled in the distance, portending a storm. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he fixed his gaze upon his knotted hands. It didn’t help that all he could see at that moment was Ceressa’s beautiful face as she’d kissed April good night with a promise to begin her lessons in earnest on the morrow. It didn’t help that he knew he’d destroyed his relationship with Ceressa by insisting on separate rooms. It didn’t help that he loved her; that she was his wife, and she was sleeping alone. As was he.
Fire Dragon's Angel Page 24