by Pamela Clare
Nicholas felt his own temper rise. “I left because I no longer felt fit to live among you.”
“That’s absurd! No matter what you were going through, we would have faced it with you, as a family, but you chose to leave.”
“I nearly killed Elizabeth! I nearly killed my own sister!”
“And for six long years, she has blamed herself for your decision to leave!”
Nicholas turned away, strode across the room, his guilt pressing heavier upon him. “I never intended that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, but that’s what she’s had to live with since she was sixteen. She’s a married woman now, you know—a mother with a child of her own.”
Nicholas tried to picture his sister as an adult woman, a mother, and realized how much had changed these past years. Emma Rose had been little more than a baby. She’d be nine now. And William, Alec, and Matthew . . .
But his father wasn’t finished. “We have lived every day these six years wondering if we’d ever see you again, wondering if you were alive or if perhaps you’d been killed by illness or accident or violence and lay unburied and unmourned, a nameless pile of bones in some forest bog. My God, Nicholas, can you imagine wondering that about your child? Your mother doesn’t even know that I came here looking for you. She believes I’m here on business. She’s already lost you twice. I was afraid the heartbreak would kill her if we failed to find you.”
Nicholas turned, faced his father’s wrath. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do to take back the pain these past years have caused you all. At the time, I truly believed that leaving was the best course of action for everyone. I don’t expect you to understand. Hell, I’d still be out there, headed back west, if it hadn’t been for Bethie. I meant what I said that morning. I was dead.”
His father took a deep breath. “She loves you very much.”
“I know.”
“She loves you so much that she thinks you’d be better off with a woman of your own class and believes I should intervene to prevent this marriage.”
Nicholas felt his temper build again. “And will you?”
His father shook his head. “You have my blessing, Nicholas. She is a wonderful girl with a pure heart. Your mother will cherish her and little Isabelle.”
“Bethie’s had a rough life. It will be good for her to have family. I hope in time you and Mother can be for her what her own parents were not.”
“We will, I’m certain, if she’ll let us. When I think of what that bastard did to her—”
“How do you know about that?” Then it dawned on him. “And how in God’s name did you know I was on my way to Philadelphia?”
His father retrieved a letter and a document signed by Nicholas’s own hand from a nearby sideboard. His will and testament. He’d entrusted it in confidence to the captain.
Nicholas looked at the signature on the letter, gave a snort of disgust. “Écuyer! The bastard!”
“We can talk about that later. In the meantime, for what it’s worth, Nicholas, I’m proud of the man you’ve become. I know what you did for Bethie. I know what you did at Fort Pitt. No father has ever been more proud of his son and heir than I.” His father’s voice was strained at these last words, and his eyes seemed oddly bright.
Nicholas might have said something in response—if the strange lump in his throat hadn’t stopped him.
“Now fetch your bride. I’d say a celebration is in order. And I must get a letter off to your mother with the next post.”
Chapter 30
Bethie held Belle securely in her lap, adjusted the baby’s lace collar. She scarce recognized the two of them, dressed as they were in the first of their new gowns. Bethie’s was a soft blue silk with ivory lace flowing from the bodice and elbows. Belle’s was of simple white linen and lace. A tiny white bow had been fastened to her downy hair, while Bethie’s hair had been coiled regally atop her head. They looked like princesses, for certain, but would they fool anyone?
Outside the carriage window, the streets of Philadelphia rolled by. Inside the carriage, Jamie and Nicholas continued to jest with each other, while Nicholas’s father looked on, clearly amused. The affection the two younger men felt for each other—and Alec’s fatherly love for them both—touched her deeply, perhaps because she’d never seen such closeness in a family before.
Jamie winked at her. “So help me to understand, Nicholas—you held a pistol to her head?”
Nicholas’s rich baritone voice sounded in her ear. “Aye, I did.”
“You held a pistol to the head of a woman ripe with child?”
“Aye, and clearly she found it charming.”
Bethie gaped at him in disbelief. “You’re daft!”
“Is that normally how you seduce women, Nicholas—with cold steel?”
“Of course not. To seduce them, I use hot steel.”
Bethie gasped, shocked by the lewdness of his comment, felt her face flush.
“I’m sorry, love. Did I say something wrong?”
“My apologies, Bethie, dear. Clearly my son has spent far too long in his own company.”
The carriage rounded a corner, drew to a halt.
Alec glanced out the window. “Ah, here we are. Are we agreed, gentlemen? One of us is to be at Bethie’s side at all times, and under no circumstances is she to be abandoned to the vicious company of women.”
Jamie and Nicholas responded with a single, “Aye.”
Feeling more cosseted and protected than she’d ever felt before, but nonetheless terrified, she accepted Nicholas’s help alighting from the carriage and stared up at the large, three-storied brick house before them. A friend of his father’s—a man named Benjamin Franklin—had agreed to host a dinner party to welcome Nicholas home and to introduce Bethie into society.
“When they see my affection for you, it will curb their tongues,” Alec had explained the night before.
After dinner last night, Nicholas and Jamie had taken turns teaching Bethie what manners and etiquette she would likely need. Though she’d been horrified at the thought of a party, the two of them had made her laugh until she’d quite forgotten to worry. But now, as she stared up at the grand house and its many glass windows, her fears returned.
They had agreed to tell a simple version of the truth: Nicholas had encountered Bethie, a widow living alone, far west on the frontier and had fallen in love with her, claimed her as his wife, and helped her and little Isabelle to escape to Fort Pitt, where they had survived the siege. That they had not been married in a church was a fact they had saved for the ears of the priest, who was set to marry them in a private ceremony on Saturday—only two days hence.
Of course, Bethie had not yet agreed to marry Nicholas, but it didn’t seem to matter to him. Everyone, including Nicholas’s father, seemed to believe the question of their marriage was settled. Whenever she pointed out yet another reason why Nicholas should take a more fitting bride, the men cast aside her concerns and reassured her that everything would be fine. But Bethie wasn’t convinced. Nicholas had done so much for her. She did not want to repay his kindness by becoming a source of shame or embarrassment for him and his family.
“Shall we?” Nicholas slipped his arm around her waist, gave her a reassuring smile.
Her heart swelled with love for him. Though she fancied him in leather breeches—or none at all—the sight of him dressed as a gentleman made her belly flutter. He wore a matching coat and breeches of dark green velvet with brass buttons. His waistcoat was of ivory satin and matched his ivory silk stockings. But he looked more manly than the other gentlemen she’d seen on the street—broader in the shoulder, more muscular in the thigh with no need to wear pads on his well-defined calves. And his hair, although tied back with a black ribbon, still hung to his waist.
She adjusted Belle’s weight in her arms, let Nicholas guide her up the steps and through the doors, Alec and Jamie before them.
“Good to see you as always, Ben.” As Bethie watched, Alec shoo
k the hand of a heavyset older man with a balding head, large, kind eyes, and a firm mouth. “Thank you for hosting this tonight. I am in your debt.”
“Nonsense, Alec. Come in, and make yourself at home. Welcome, Jamie. You’re looking well. Now where is Nicholas? I’ve a mind to take a switch to his backside for worrying us so these past years.”
Nicholas chuckled. “You can try, old man, but I doubt it will reform me.”
Bethie saw surprise and a touch of sadness in Master Franklin’s eyes as he measured Nicholas against the younger man he remembered.
“My God, a boy rode to war, and a man has returned.” He shook Nicholas’s hand fiercely. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you alive and whole.”
“Thank you, sir. Allow me to introduce my wife, Elspeth Stewart Kenleigh, and our daughter, Isabelle.”
At the sound of her name, Isabelle buried her little face shyly against Bethie’s breast, but Bethie forced herself to meet the kindly man’s gaze. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine.” Master Franklin took her free hand, kissed it. “You make me wish I were a young man again, my dear.”
Bethie heard Nicholas click his tongue in disapproval. “What would your wife say, sir?”
Master Franklin tossed back his head, laughed. “Deborah would probably say she also wishes I were a young man again!”
Nicholas retrieved Bethie’s hand from Master Franklin’s gentle grasp. “Be warned, Bethie, love. Ben has quite a way with the ladies.”
Bethie looked up into Nicholas’s teasing eyes. “I’ll remember that.”
The evening passed in a whirlwind of introductions until Bethie was quite confused and could remember no one’s name. She’d never met so many people at once in her entire life. Almost everyone was very gracious to her, more so than she would have imagined.
Almost everyone.
The evening seemed to be passing smoothly when Nicholas cursed under his breath.
Bethie followed his gaze to a beautiful young woman dressed in a gown of yellow silk embroidered with bright red flowers. Upon her head was an elegant powdered wig. Her skin was unnaturally white, and Bethie realized it was powdered, even the swell of her breasts, which rose rather bountifully above her bodice. A dark beauty mark had been affixed to her cheek. She moved with the regal grace of a swan. And her gaze was fixed upon Nicholas.
“Nicholas, my dear, I am so relieved to see you safely home again. You’ve no idea how I worried and prayed for you. But that’s not the first time I’ve lost sleep because of you.” She held out her hand to him, gazed seductively at him from beneath her darkened lashes.
Nicholas smiled, took her hand, kissed it. “Sylvia. Thank you for your prayers, though that is not usually what gets you on your knees, is it? May I introduce my wife?”
But Sylvia ignored Bethie, tickled Belle under the chin and smiled. In contrast to her painted face, her teeth appeared almost as yellow as her gown. “What a lovely child. She doesn’t look like you, Nicholas. I would think so vigorous a man would make his mark in his offspring.”
Nicholas’s voice held a hint of warning. “She is my daughter by adoption, Sylvia. Elspeth was widowed.”
Then the woman’s cold, brown eyes fixed on Bethie. “A child—and a child bride. How pleased I am to meet you, dear.”
Bethie could tell Sylvia was anything but pleased to meet her, felt her own temper stir, bit back her words for the sake of Nicholas and his family. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, miss.”
“She’s lovely, Nicholas. I can see why you fell for her. Her eyes are such a unique shade of blue, and her skin—baked brown in the sun like that of a wild Indian. Perhaps she shall start a new fashion and we shall all bake our faces, though I think few of us would choose to do so by working in our own fields.”
Bethie’s heart raced as her temper swelled.
But Nicholas laughed. “Am I right in remembering that your thirtieth birthday has just passed, Sylvia, my dear? Forgive me for not congratulating you sooner. You don’t look as if you’ve aged quite that much these past years, though it is hard to see beneath all that paint.”
Sylvia gaped at him, then stomped off in an angry swirl of skirts.
Jamie came up behind them, a devious grin on his face. “Well done, Nicholas. That was brilliant! But I believe they are calling us to dinner.”
“I’d like just a moment with Bethie, if you don’t mind, Jamie.”
“Not at all. I’ll eat your share.”
When they were alone, Nicholas took both her and Belle into his embrace. “I know her words hurt you, but you’ve no reason to feel shame for who you are, Bethie.”
“But she’s right. My skin is brown, no’ white like hers. And my hands are rough from workin’. These people only speak to me because of you.”
He ran a finger down her cheek. “Her skin is covered with layer after layer of paint and powder, and her hands are flawlessly smooth because she’s never done a useful thing in her life. She is pampered and spoiled and—”
“You were lovers.” Bethie voiced what most troubled her.
“That was a long time ago, Bethie, and there was no love involved. There is only one woman for me now, and that is you. I adore every inch of your sun-kissed skin, from the tip of your nose to that tasty little beauty mark on your left nether lip.”
Bethie gasped. “I dinnae have a beauty mark on my—”
He grinned devilishly. “I’ll show it to you—in the mirror tonight. Now let’s join the others.”
* * *
Nicholas watched proudly as Bethie made her way through her first formal dinner. She was an intelligent woman, and what they had forgotten to teach her, she quickly learned through observation. She seemed to be enjoying the conversation, and Jamie, Ben, and his father were making a special effort to include her. Nicholas would make a point of thanking them in private later.
The fare was outstanding, the wine superb. It had been so long since Nicholas had eaten any of these dishes that he had to fight to keep from moaning with each bite. He knew without asking that his father had hired additional cooks and provided much of the food for the meal. Ben was a prominent and powerful man, but he was not wealthy, at least not by Kenleigh standards.
They had just started upon the second course, when there was a ruckus in the hallway and a well-dressed older man strode into the dining room.
Every man at the table stood. Nicholas followed their lead.
Ben bowed slightly, gestured toward a vacant chair. “Governor Penn. What an honor. Won’t you join us?”
“I’m afraid I’m here on dire business, Ben.”
From outside came the sound of tolling church bells.
“So it would seem.”
The governor looked around the table, acknowledged the other men by name, then turned to Nicholas. “Nicholas Kenleigh. I hear we have you to thank for the survival of many at Fort Pitt. Captain Écuyer speaks quite highly of you.”
“Governor Penn.” Nicholas gave a respectful bow, then took his seat along with the others.
“It seems the troubles on our frontier have followed you to Philadelphia. Ladies and gentlemen, an army is upon our doorstep. Some fifteen hundred Scots-Irish frontiersmen from the area of Paxton are marching on our town. They’ve sent messengers demanding the garrison turn over the Moravian Indians to them for slaughter or face an attack. They’re expected to be here by morning.”
For a moment there was silence, then shouting.
“Bloody Scots-Irish! They’re no better than barbarians!”
“What are we going to do?”
“We must arm ourselves, protect our wives and daughters!”
“Bloodthirsty Presbyterians!”
“Will the garrison stop them?”
Nicholas saw Bethie blanch, felt the hurtful barbs as if they had struck him. This was what she had feared—that her class, her Scottish blood, or her past would cause him and his family embarrassment. This was
precisely why she was hesitant to marry him.
Down the table from them, Sylvia smirked, gazed malevolently toward Bethie.
Determined to show Bethie where his loyalties lay and prove to her that they could not be shaken, he raised his voice above the din, stood, rested a hand upon her shoulder. “Excuse me, gentlemen! Might I remind you that my bride is Scots-Irish? I am surprised that any of you would condemn an entire people based on the actions of a few—or a thousand. Is that not exactly what these Paxton men are doing regarding the Indians?”
His father stood also and, beside him, Jamie. “Quite right you are, Nicholas. On behalf of my daughter-in-law, who has my affection, I demand an apology, sirs.”
Ben stood. “I apologize, sirs, for the ill-chosen words of my guests. Your lovely and gentle Elspeth is a guest in my home and quite welcome here. Madam, I am deeply sorry.”
People cast one another sheepish glances, voiced their own apologies.
Nicholas, Jamie, and his father resumed their seats, but Nicholas pulled his chair a bit closer to Bethie’s, grasped her hand beneath the table. She was trembling.
But the smile had left Sylvia’s face.
It was Governor Penn who next spoke. “I want your advice, Ben. Already we’ve rolled cannon into the town squares, and some of the men are ready to organize into military-style units. The garrison, of course, is under arms and ready for battle.”
Nicholas listened while the Quakers, who were renowned pacifists, discussed their plans for war, and felt suddenly overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. He didn’t realize he was laughing out loud until Governor Penn turned to face him.
“You find this amusing?”
“Aye, sir, I must say I do. When it was the frontiersmen’s wives and children who were being slaughtered, you spoke of peace, refused to aid them, refused to send them troops, refused even to send them lead, flints, or powder. And they died by the hundreds—men, women, children. But now, when you perceive that your own wives and children are in danger, you forget all talk of peace and rush for cannon and muskets.”