He met her in the courtyard, a paper in his hand. “I was just coming to see you,” he said.
“And I you, Father.”
His gaze landed on the valise, and a frown tugged away his usual smile. “You’re leaving again?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid I must. You’ve been so kind to me, Father. A true example of Christ’s love. I shall never forget you.”
Her last statement brought sorrow to his eyes. “I have enjoyed your company, Miss Winston. And we have appreciated your care of the children. We will all miss you very much.”
He stood gazing at her as if trying to figure out a way to make her stay. “Oh.” He shook his head. “A post for you.” He handed her the letter. When she began to protest, he held up a hand. “No, it’s not from Mr. Rutledge or Doctor Willaby. Per your request, I have not accepted anything from them. But this man was so persistent. Especially when I told him I could not allow him inside the orphanage or the hospital. He said it was most urgent, so I took the letter and told him that if I saw you—and I did emphasize if—I’d make sure you got it. His name”—he examined the letter—“is Sir Walter Miles.”
Adalia’s blood chilled.
She clutched the letter, snapped the seal and read …
My dearest Althea, or should I say Adalia?
Didn’t I tell you that you could never run away from me?
That you will always be mine? Such a shame you did not listen.
Now, you have caused nothing but trouble and grief. For me and,
apparently, for many others. But I have come to take you home.
Yes, yes, I can hear you saying you will never leave your sacred haven and come willingly with me back to Barbados. However I believe you will. You see, I have something quite valuable to exchange. I do believe you are familiar with a young girl, a slave called Joy?
Adalia’s legs turned to mush. She would have collapsed if Father Mulligan hadn’t grabbed her arm. He peered at her, asking something, but she couldn’t make out the words. A fog had invaded her mind and muffled her hearing. Though she didn’t want to, though she wanted to tear up the note, set it aflame and pretend it had never come, she read on ….
Joy, what a luscious little treat. Why, she’s aboard my ship now, all ready to sail to Barbados with me in your stead. That is, if you will not come. It seems she ran away from the good doctor. Or that is the news about town. Lucky for me I was able to capture her. Oh, and by the by, I would keep that between us if I were you. If I hear that you’ve informed the doctor, I will set sail with her. If I hear you’ve sent someone to alert the authorities, I will set sail with her.
In fact, I will set sail with her if you do not do exactly what I say.
Tonight is the Brewton ball, I believe? Where you and that prigged buffoon, Morgan Rutledge, were to announce your engagement … Yes, yes, I know all about that.
In fact, I want you to attend as planned. Wear your best gown, my pet, and join your friends. Once I see you, I will release Joy, and you will come with me. Back where you belong.
Forever,
Sir Walter
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lifting her chin, Adalia drew a deep breath and started down the pathway to the Brewton home. Music and laughter trickled from the open windows on both floors as candlelight spread a sparkling sheen over the elaborate gardens. Such beauty and gaiety.
A perfect disguise for the monster within.
Sir Walter was in that house—stalking her like a crocodile intent on dragging her to his dark lair. She shivered. Took a step forward. Her legs wobbled. Pausing, she waited for her heart to settle. It did not. A gentleman and lady strolling about the gardens greeted her. She smiled and took another step and then another until she had ascended the stairs and wove through the crowd on the piazza to stand before the entrance.
Trembling, she stepped through the front door. A footman took her shawl, and she slipped into the shadows beside the door, needing a moment to gather herself. Jewels, feathers, satin, and lace swam before her in dizzying waves of opulence. Adalia drew a hand to her head. Please do not faint. Not now.
Inhaling a shuddering breath, she pressed her gloved hands over the folds of her skirt. She’d chosen a cream-colored gown with bouffant sleeves tied with pretty ribbons. Sparkling beads lined the neckline and trailed down the front, which opened to a satin underskirt, trimmed in lace. It was her best gown. She would enjoy it while she could, for she doubted she’d ever have the opportunity to wear it again.
She glanced once more over the crowd. Would Morgan be here? She hoped not. For she didn’t think she could bear to see his face when Sir Walter revealed her true identity. Which she knew was the reason the fiend had insisted she meet him here. To shame her. To expose her in front of all her new friends.
She lowered her hand to her mother’s pearls strung about her neck. Black and lustrous—just like her mother. And just like Adalia. She’d been ashamed of them. She’d hidden them away, as she’d done her own heritage.
But not anymore.
God had revealed to her how precious she was. She’d been wonderfully and exquisitely designed before the foundations of the earth were formed. Holding her head high, she plunged into the crowd, nodding at those who greeted her from both sides. Despite her dire circumstances, the thought of how mortified these haughty snobs would be once they discovered whom they had allowed to infiltrate their elitist circles brought her some measure of satisfaction.
She no longer cared what they thought of her. No longer craved their acceptance. And now as she walked in their midst, she found the revelation quite freeing. Entering the main ballroom, she scanned the couples swaying on the dance floor, then moved her gaze to the people clustered about them in giddy conversation. Her eyes locked on Drayton standing beside Emerald and Hadley in the far corner. He lifted his drink toward her in greeting, surprise arching his brow.
She started for them, her heart thrashing against her chest. Morgan was nowhere in sight. Nor did she see Sir Walter. But he was here. She sensed him in the way her skin crawled the moment she entered the house. In the way acid now flooded her mouth. She fingered her pearls again, drawing strength from them as she approached her so-called friends and studied each of them with renewed understanding.
Drayton looked ever so morose as he nursed a drink and watched the dancers with vacant eyes. Trapped in a world he detested, the poor man was a slave to the expectations of his class. Hadley stood beside him. Depositing an empty glass atop a passing tray, he grabbed another and powered it down in seconds before shifting such a longing glace at Emerald that even Adalia was surprised. He didn’t realize it, but he was nothing more than a slave to alcohol and to the whim of a woman who loved another.
Adalia’s eyes shifted to Emerald, all shimmering alabaster and alluring smiles. She waved her fan about and fluttered her lashes at every passing gentleman, wielding her beauty like a sword to get what she wanted. Yet, in the process, her looks had become her master. Her homage to a comely appearance had prevented her from embracing the finer qualities of kindness, honor, and love.
Adalia took another step toward them, pitying them. She wove around a group of people as the sounds of merriment and music muddled together into a distant chorus. A chorus that announced Adalia’s fate. She closed her eyes for a moment, seeking the courage she’d felt earlier that day. The courage that had emboldened her to do the right thing—to save Joy from that monster and deliver her own life up instead. To face the consequences of her lies and play the hand of humiliation and rejection Sir Walter would deal her. Then why, now, did the urge to turn and run away overpower her, begging her to flee?
She froze for a moment, pondering her options. Emerald’s spiteful gaze snapped her way. Hadley’s brows rose. They seemed none too pleased to see her. She could turn and run. She could remain free! But Joy’s sweet face filled her mind—her heart. And Adalia realized she could never live with herself if she allowed Sir Walter to take the sweet child. Word about town was
that Joy had, indeed, gone missing. Doctor Willaby had even posted a reward for her return, only confirming Sir Walter’s threat. Adalia could only pray he had not touched the girl yet.
Be strong, precious one.
Releasing a deep breath, she proceeded forward as her thoughts shifted to Caroline, who, like Adalia, was enslaved by the opinions of others. And Doc Willaby, who lived in a prison of his own bitterness. And lastly, Morgan, trapped by a fear of failure that kept him from living the life God planned for him.
In a sense they all were slaves of something, weren’t they? And the worst part of it was, they didn’t even know it. Adalia shook her head. She had escaped her physical slavery only to willingly become a slave to people who were naught but slaves themselves. But God had set Adalia free yet again. And the freedom He offered was true freedom—the kind no one could ever take away.
Adalia halted before her friends. Drayton was the only one who smiled at her. Hadley barely glanced her way, and a grin of victory played on Emerald’s lips. “I wondered if you would dare show your face.”
Adalia lifted her shoulders, unsure of what the lady meant, but finding she really didn’t care. “Then you need wonder no longer.”
“Adalia,” the voice was not the one she expected, not the nasally whine of Sir Walter, but the deep, masculine intonation of … “Morgan,” she whispered his name on a breath of hope as she spun around to face him … absorbing him with her eyes.
Never wanting to forget.
He wore a black silk tailcoat over a waistcoat embroidered with silver thread. Skin-tight pantaloons disappeared within Hessian boots. A white stock about his neck complemented his clean-shaven face, save for the neatly trimmed whiskers he liked to keep on his chin. All but one rebellious strand of his hair was tied behind him.
But it was the look of joy and bewilderment on his face that melted Adalia’s heart.
He took her hands in his and kissed them both. “Where have you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you.” He searched her eyes, his own brimming with emotion.
Oh, how good it was to see him! To touch him! Adalia memorized the look of desperate love on his face, knowing it would soon be gone. Or would it? Perhaps he truly loved her. Perhaps the news of her heritage wouldn’t matter to him. Perhaps he would fight to save her, purchase her, rescue her from this madman. Dare she hope?
As if to answer her question, a chill shrouded her like a mist in a dark forest. Sir Walter slipped beside Emerald, exchanging a smile with the beauty before he faced Adalia. “Ah, the lioness emerges from her den.”
A shadow crossed Morgan’s face. He tore his gaze from Adalia to face the intruder. “Sir Walter Miles, I believe?”
Sir Walter grinned and smoothed the slick hair at his temples. “We meet again, Mr. Rutledge.”
As if by instinct, Morgan nudged Adalia behind him, and studied Sir Walter as if he were an annoying fly. “What is your business here, sir?” His tone was accusing—unfriendly as if he sensed the man’s bestial character.
The brewing altercation drew Drayton’s gaze while Emerald raised a hand to her mouth to hide her growing smile.
Adalia wished Sir Walter would get on with his deviant plan. She slid from behind Morgan to face her accuser. He hadn’t changed. He bore the same malevolent eyes set too close on his wide head, the same greased-back hair, edged in gray, the same pompous stance and lecherous grin.
Her stomach shriveled as he undressed her with his eyes.
Noting the brazen look, Morgan charged toward him. “How dare you gaze at my fiancé in that manner?”
“Fiancé?” Emerald chuckled. “Oh, dear Morgan, if you only knew.”
Morgan shifted confused eyes her way. “Knew what?” Quickly dismissing her, he faced Sir Walter again.
Emerald shoved between them, holding up a gloved hand. “He has something you need to hear, Morgan.”
The orchestra stopped, and dancers spilled from the floor to mingle with the crowd. Blood rushed past Adalia’s ears. She pressed a hand over her churning stomach. She could still leave. She needn’t face this!
“Say your piece, sir,” Morgan demanded. “Or I shall call you out.” He clutched Adalia’s hand.
His warm squeeze settled her nerves, gave her the courage to stay.
“Fiancé! Bah!” Sir Walter exclaimed. His loud bark drew the glances of those around them. “How can that be when she is my slave?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Adalia forced back tears as she kept her gaze straight ahead. She would not cower in shame.
“Rubbish!” Morgan ran a hand through his hair. “What madness is this?”
“Yes, yes, it is quite shocking, I’m sure. But this woman you call Adalia Winston is an imposter. Her real name is Althea Claymore. She ran away from my sugar plantation in Barbados nearly six months ago.”
“Absurd!” Morgan shouted. “She is white, sir, in case you haven’t eyes to see.”
“Nay, I’m afraid she is very much a Negress. One-quarter, on her mother’s side. I knew the family well.” Sir Walter’s chest seemed to expand with satisfaction.
The room fell silent. All except for the gasps and exclamations firing from the throng.
Morgan charged the man, grabbing his neckerchief and twisting it until Sir Walter’s face reddened and his eyes grew wide. “Take that back, sir.”
Gasping for air, Sir Walter clawed at Morgan’s hands, trying to dislodge them, while Hadley and Emerald merely stood by, chuckling. Adalia must put a stop to this before Morgan killed him and she would never discover where the brute was keeping Joy. She grabbed Morgan’s arm, tugging him back. “No, Morgan. Don’t.”
Still holding Sir Walter, he faced Adalia. “Did you hear what he called you? Why are you not outraged? Why do you not deny these baseless lies?”
“Let him go and I will tell you.” Adalia glanced over her friends.
Emerald’s expression reminded her of a child anticipating a treat. Drayton frowned, while a tiny grin formed on Hadley’s lips.
Morgan released Sir Walter, shoving him backward. The fiend bent over, coughing and gulping in air. Turning toward Adalia, Morgan straightened his coat. “Give me one reason why I should not call this cretin out to a duel?”
Adalia swallowed. “Because he speaks the truth.”
Exclamations from the crowd shot through the air like a quiver of arrows, some she dare not repeat. She glanced at the horrified faces of Charleston society—met each gaze with intensity. She wanted them to know she no longer feared their opinions. She was proud of who she was. Still, she searched for a sympathetic gesture, a smile, a kind expression among the sea of ashen faces gaping at her. People who had only recently greeted her as one of their own. She found none. In fact, several backed away from her as if she would infect them with her Negro blood. One lady fainted.
Adalia faced her friends.
“Oh my!” Emerald feigned shock, but the giggle that followed gave her away. Drayton shook his head and excused himself. Hadley barreled over in laughter. “My brother engaged to a slave! It is too much!”
Morgan released her hand. It dropped to her side, abandoned and cold. He gazed at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads.
Sir Walter recovered and adjusted his neckerchief, eyeing Morgan with contempt. “So, you see why I have come to bring the rebellious Negro home.”
Placing a hand on Morgan’s arm, Adalia tried to explain. “I would have told you, Morgan, but I feared you would be angry, that you would never see me again.”
Shoving past Morgan, Sir Walter wrenched her away from him. Yet Morgan only stared at her. His jaw bunched. Pain and confusion knotted his forehead. Yet his silence gave her hope. A hope that was soon trampled beneath the loathing that emerged in his eyes. With mouth open, he backed away and darted from the room.
Forcing his way past the crush of people, Morgan blasted out a side door, stumbled to the hedge, and disgorged the contents of his stomach into the bushes. He leaned over, hands on his knees, and wiped
his mouth. Breath heaved from his throat as his world spun around him.
A Negress? A slave! She’d deceived him, lied to him. He’d trusted her. Believed in her. Fallen in love with her. Kissed her. Scads, he’d nearly married her! How could he have been so fooled?
The door opened. Scoffs and jests—all at his expense—tumbled out on streams of candlelight before it shut. No doubt, he had been deemed the town idiot—a mockery of society.
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