Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  She'd given him what he'd wanted. Charity chewed at her lower lip. What they'd both wanted. Their lovemaking had been wonderful. But she wanted more. She wanted Jamie for a lifetime—not for just a few lustful nights.

  His touch against her breast was disconcerting. Even the slightest movement caused the rough material to rub against her swollen nipple. A sensation of warmth seeped down to become a glow. Sensuous thoughts tantalized her mind, and she blushed in the darkness. What had Jamie set loose? Had she no shame at all?

  Angrily she pulled away and rolled herself into a tight ball. If he could sleep, so could she! And finally she did.

  Charity was stiff and sore when she awoke in the morning. Jamie seemed his cheerful self as they saddled the horses and mounted up. "You promised me civilization," she reminded him wryly.

  For once Jamie was as good as his word. They rode only a short way through the forest before coming onto a trail. That became a rutted road, and in less than an hour they were passing other travelers all headed in the same direction. They called friendly greetings and waved. Some asked where they had come from and if they were bound for the fair in Chestertown.

  "We are," Jamie answered. "And a good day for it too!"

  "We're going to buy a 'dentured girl fer me wife here," a farmer said proudly. His pregnant wife grinned, exposing two missing front teeth. "If they don't run too high."

  "We got two boys at home," the woman added. "One jest startin't' walk. Tom thought I could use the help in the kitchen. We had a good crop this year, a real good crop." She tightened her grip around her husband's waist. She was riding pillion behind him on a huge gray workhorse. "We cut two acres of 'baccy."

  "Oronooko," the farmer said. "We done it all alone too. Maybe next year I'll get a slave or two. It's a powerful piece of work fer me and Nance and my brother Jack."

  "Be easier when the boys get big enough to lift a hoe," Jamie observed, in his best country voice. He touched his cap. "Maybe we'll see ya in Chestertown. Good luck with that oronooko."

  "Thank ya. What's yer name and where do ya hail from?"

  "John. John Powers, and this is my wife, Sally. We're from Easton." Jamie nudged the sorrel horse into a trot and avoided Charity's amused glance.

  Charity waved, then concentrated on holding on to the horse. "Sally? Sally Powers? I'm glad they didn't ask me."

  "Would ye rather I said ye were Caroline Smythe-Tarylton of Widow's Endeavor or Charity Brown of London?" He grinned. "No, I didn't think so. It's best that Jamie not be seen in Chestertown today either. We're poor oronookoes, tobacco farmers in for a day at the fair and indentured sale. I'll tend to my business and we'll be off for Philadelphia tomorrow. You'll like the fair; Chestertown knows how to throw a party."

  Charity wrinkled her nose at him. Jamie looked positively rakish in that eyepatch in the bright light of morning. The child in her thrilled to the thought of a fair. "Will there be music?" she asked. "And sweets sellers?" Her gray-green eyes danced with excitement. "In London there used to be puppet shows. Anyone could watch, even if you didn't have a penny." Her cheeks glowed as she remembered the joy of those bawdy performances. "There was gingerbread like you've never tasted before, and little pies that would fit in the palm of your hand."

  "Enough, wench! Must you remind me we've had no breakfast this morning? You'll have your gingerbread, or whatever else takes your fancy." He tossed her a bag of copper coins. "If you promise to stay out of trouble, you can see the fair while I tend to my affairs." The ready emotion on Charity's face troubled him. Where had she come by her carefree nature... the ability to see the best of any situation?

  Once, when he was a child, his father had taken him to London Town. Hugh Thomas had been ill with the measles and unable to go. The poverty and stench of the city had been frightening, but the worst memory had been that of the gangs of urchins who roamed the streets begging for coins and bread.

  A boy no bigger than Jamie had hobbled after Lord DunCannon's coach on a wooden leg, his dirty ribs standing out like staves on a barrel. Fear left a taste of copper in his mouth as he realized for the first time how precarious his own position in life was. He was a bastard, subject to the whim of his father's will. He had no rightful place. He and his mother could be turned out on the roads to starve without a second thought.

  The nightmare of that crippled boy had returned again and again to haunt Jamie's sleep. He had told his mother finally, when she demanded to know the cause of his tears. But she had only laughed and hugged him.

  "Never fear, me Jamie," Megan Flynn had crooned, running her fingers through his soft hair. "His lordship will never throw us out. You're more of a son than that milksop the lady has given him." She'd kissed away the tears and hummed an Irish lullaby that she hadn't sung to him in years. "DunCannon loves me, he does, and I him. Does not every fairy tale have a happy endin'? Never fear."

  But he had feared. The uncertainly and shame of his illegitimacy had been carefully concealed behind an impish grin and a boyish bravado. Never again would he allow tears to give away his inner feelings. He had set himself to be such a son that must be recognized. If the earl admired bravery, then he would display courage; if his father wanted Jamie to be a horseman, he would be the best... no matter what risks must be taken, or how often he would creep into the bushes to be quietly sick after a bad fall.

  Jamie sighed as his eyes caressed the upright form of the slight figure beside him. They were so much alike... and so different. Charity had suffered far more than he, and yet it seemed to have left no mark on her soul. He hoped their relationship wouldn't change that. He had no wish to add to her pain.

  The streets of Chestertown were crowded with animals and people. They had to push their way through a flock of sheep to reach the livery stable. There were no stalls left; Jamie had to settle for a place in the pound for the horses.

  "You're lucky to get that." The stable owner was a thin beanpole with an Adam's apple that bobbed disarmingly as he spoke. "Fair days are full up early. Chestertown will be bigger'n Annapolis soon."

  Charity waited quietly as Jamie had instructed, unable to keep her eyes from the moving Adam's apple. Taking her scrutiny as admiration, the man gave her a leering wink as she followed Jamie into the street.

  "Why were you staring at him?" Jamie demanded. "You couldn't have found that scarecrow attractive!"

  Charity swore under her breath. "I wasn't staring. I was keeping still like you told me." She wondered if Jamie were jealous.

  "You can see the fair without getting into trouble, can't you? I've got some things to attend to. I'll meet you in two hours in front of the customhouse. It's down near the river; you can't miss it."

  A shiver ran through her as she watched him walk away down the dusty street. What he was doing was dangerous, so dangerous that he didn't want her with him. What if something happened to him? Would she even know? Suppose he just kept going and didn't come back for her?

  The tip of her tongue flicked across her top lip. Should she follow him? An ox team came down the street and she dodged out of their way, ignoring the driver's rude shout. She wanted to see the fair, but... Jamie stopped and turned to wave at her. She went all mushy inside at the sight of his mischievous grin. She waved back, and then turned toward a gingerbread stand, her heart a little lighter.

  Munching her sugarcoated gingerbread, Charity wandered among the crowd. She was amazed at the cleanliness of the wide shaded streets and fine brick homes. In London, slops were thrown into the thoroughfare with no concern at all. The air here smelled of baked goods and roast pork. Through an open gate, she saw a pig turning on a spit in a tavern courtyard.

  In the town square, a platform had been erected for the auction of bond servants' indentures. It unnerved her to see dozens of men and women, most in their teens, waiting docilely for their fates to be decided.

  Some were criminals; those were easy to pick out by the missing ears and scars of brandings. The women looked as hard as the men, features lined
with despair and distrust.

  Suddenly cold, Charity ducked her head and hurried past. She could have been one of them, still might be if anyone recognized her. She had nearly forgotten. Life as Caroline had become so real, the other seemed to have happened to someone else.

  Were they still searching for Charity Brown? Was there a reward for a young white bondslave, no scars, hair yellow and eyes green? Her heart beat faster as the old fears rose to haunt her. She had changed her life, hadn't she? She had Jamie. The voices mocked her. You're his harlot, nothing more. He's not asked you to be his wife, and he will not. The son of an earl, even a bastard son, doesn't ask your kind to be his wife.

  Charity walked faster. Jamie loved her. She knew he did. He must. Pain knifed through her. Jamie was quicksilver. Holding him might be like trying to hold bay water in your fingers. She wanted Jamie, but she also wanted security... a home... children. Was it possible to have them all?

  She followed the groups of people moving down the main street. The whole countryside seemed to have turned out for the fair. Women were hawking berry pies and piggins of cider; a bearded Jew offered ribbons and shoe buckles and all manner of fancy gewgaws to the public. Charity fingered her coppers as she spied a little silver brooch in the shape of a wishbone, then decided against parting with Jamie's money unnecessarily.

  A footrace was to be run from the courthouse square to the river; Charity won a halfpenny from a country wench on the outcome. Boys and dogs seemed to be everywhere, darting between the stalls, dodging bewigged merchants and officials, and avoiding their chastising mothers.

  Jamie found her seated cross-legged on the grass before a Punch-and-Judy show, as engrossed as any of the children. He stood watching her for long moments; not even the rough country clothes and huge mobcap could hide her beauty. The verse of an old song rang through his mind: "...catch a pretty maid..." He swallowed hard. Better for them both if they'd not become involved. A man like the squire would be able to give her more than he could promise.

  Charity's eyes lit up as she spotted him, and she waved him down beside her. He dropped an arm around her waist. "Watch!" she insisted. "Wait until you see the magistrate's wife."

  Jamie slipped a hand in hers and pulled her away, stealing a sugary kiss behind an elm tree. "You look twelve years old, Mistress Powers," he teased.

  "I could say the same about you." The shadows had gone from Jamie's eyes and he looked five years younger. "Did you find..." He nodded. "Good. Did you see the footrace? The wagoner's lad won. I knew he would, legs like a stork, hardly weighs six stone." Triumphantly she produced a copper coin. "I bet on him and won!" The green eyes sparkled. "I spent none of your money either."

  "Do you think I'd begrudge you a halfpenny?" he asked huskily. He traced the outline of her lower lip with a finger. Trembling, she pressed herself against him and he kissed her, a long and tender caress that left them both shaken.

  Jamie ran a hand through his hair. Another moment and he'd have been looking for a dark corner to pull her into. He'd known beautiful women before. What was there about Charity that ripped through his self-control? A man could lose himself in those innocent green eyes. He forced a light tone. "Since you've stuffed yourself with sweets, I suppose you're not hungry. The tavern keeper just took a pork roast off the spit. I thought I'd buy us a proper meal."

  "I'm starved! But..." She paused. "There was a silver brooch I saw. If the money's really mine to do with as I like..."

  "The rest of the day is yours," he promised. "I think we can afford a brooch and dinner."

  "Good." She beamed. "I'll buy the pin, then we'll have dinner and some ale and maybe one of those small blackberry pies the goodwife is selling on the square."

  They ate their meal at long tables set up outside to hold the overflow of people at the tavern. From there, Charity had a good view of the greased pig contest.

  A half-grown sboat was liberally coated with lard, then turned loose in the square. Two dozen boys and one barefooted girl ran headlong after the squealing, dodging pig. It scrambled under stalls, between legs, and escaped down the street leading to the river with the shrieking children in hot pursuit.

  One redheaded boy caught the shoat by a hind leg, then lost it as the animal twisted away. Two more boys fell on top of him, and a third jumped on top of the pig and was carried away down the street to the delight of the cheering crowd. The animal was finally captured, to Charity's satisfaction, by the lone girl in the contest. After a loud dispute among parents and judges, the beaming girl's mother led the pig away on a rope.

  The sale of indentured servants was held, and then the crowd flowed to a meadow not far out of Chestertown to watch a horse race. "I've won many a shilling; on Ebony," Jamie said. "If I had him here, and I were Drummond today, instead of John Powers, I'd give them a run for their money."

  The race included several high fences and a wide ditch. Three horses fell, but no one, horse or rider, was hurt, and Charity thought the whole thing very exciting. The horse she chose, a big gray, came in third. But Jamie's choice didn't win either, so she felt as qualified to pick horseflesh as he did.

  "You probably would have bet against me if I did race," Jamie grumbled.

  She thought a moment and then answered honestly. "No, if you had raced, I'd have bet my new silver pin on you." She polished it proudly with the edge of her modesty piece. "Ebony would have left those other horses like they were standing still."

  After dark, bonfires were lit and the merrymaking continued far into the night. There were singing and dancing competitions. Parents tucked sleepy children under the trees with an older child to keep watch and made the most of a rare occasion in town.

  Strains of music came through the windows of some of the finer homes, and Charity caught sight of elegant ladies and gentlemen dancing, enjoying the hospitality of liberal hosts. There was general dancing in the square, and Jamie pulled her into a lively romp called the Sir Roger de Coverley that left her both breathless and tapping her foot for more. Jamie was an excellent dancer, and she an able student. For over two hours, they didn't miss a single set.

  It was Charity who noticed him first. She and Jamie had just finished a spirited reel, and he had gone to fetch them another mug of ale. She was leaning against a tree, trying to catch her breath, when she saw someone cross the square accompanied by two important-looking gentlemen.

  Daniel Halifax! A feeling of dread crept through her. Why was Captain Halifax in Chestertown tonight of all nights? Had he followed them?

  Halifax was not in uniform; he wore a handsome velvet waistcoat with matching breeches, and an expensive bag wig. His shoes were high-heeled with cut-steel buckles. Charity busied herself with her own shoe buckle as the three passed, close enough to reach out and touch. Whatever his reason for being here tonight, she didn't believe it was coincidence.

  Jamie didn't think so either. "I believe we've had enough of the fair," he said. "Go back to where we watched the horse race. I'll get the animals from the stable and meet you. Walk slow. Don't attract any attention."

  "I'm scared, Jamie," she admitted. "Can't you just leave the horses and come with me?" She was telling the truth. She was afraid... not for herself so much as for him. What if it was a trap? What if Halifax was waiting for him to come after the horses? "Suppose you've been betrayed?"

  "It's possible, but I don't think so. And I can't leave the animals. Underneath that tobacco seed and wheat is the reason we're going to Philadelphia. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." He grinned. "If there wasn't a little danger, everyone would be doing it, right?" He clung to her for an instant and then vanished into the crowd.

  Keeping carefully in the shadows, Charity moved away from the square and down a side street.

  It seemed like hours before Jamie joined her at the appointed spot. They rode silently away from Chestertown. An hour from town, they turned north into trackless forest. When Jamie finally spoke, Charity started. "Oh!"

  His chuckle was soft in the darkness.
"I said, Elizabeth had packed you off to relatives in Virginia."

  "She what?"

  "She had to tell the neighbors something. You were prostrate with grief at the loss of poor Richard so she sent you south to recover."

  "And if I don't?"

  "I just hope they can find a priest to conduct the service."

  "Don't blaspheme!" she answered sharply. "You've done enough damage to me soul!"

  "If I did, I had some help. I didn't do it all alone." Jamie's voice was deep and plainly amused. "My mother was a Catholic girl and she never worried so much about her soul. Perhaps you should have been a nun."

  "My soul is no jesting matter, James Drummond! Nor my faith! I may be a bad Catholic, but I'll be one until I die. And I'll have you nor no one else ridiculing it!" Charity stiffened in the saddle, unconsciously falling into the icy tones of an angry Tidewater lady. "It's not worthy of you," she lashed.

  "You're right." He was suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry. It was only a joke. I didn't think."

  "There are many times when you speak without thinking. You've used your fair looks to get you out of far too many scrapes, I'm thinkin'."

  "Enough, damn it!" He dug his heels into the horse and the animal leaped ahead. "I said I was sorry! Now let it drop!"

  They rode in silence for the rest of the night.

  In the rosy haze between dark and dawn, they stopped to rest the horses and to prepare a meal. Charity was so tired she'd nearly fallen from the saddle several times in the darkness. Still, she forced herself to gather sticks for the fire and took her share of camp chores, doing what Jamie instructed to the best of her ability.

  The roast pork and bread that had tasted so wonderful in Chestertown was flat against her tongue. Charity kept her eyes averted, unable to meet Jamie's. Why had they fallen into such a silly argument? The devils of doubt began to push their way into her happiness. Why had she allowed him to carry her off into the wilderness? True, he had said he loved her once, but men are often easy with such words. He had called her his wife, but had not asked for her hand in marriage. Was she a fool to risk everything by coming with him?