Charity pushed back the uneasy feeling of apprehension. Jamie had asked her to become his wife. Nothing else mattered. Surely after they were wed he would see the common sense of forgetting this dangerous business. She would prove to him that she could live on little. She reached for his hand.
"I still would rather marry now than in June," she reminded him.
"So you have told me." His lips brushed hers lightly. "But you'll have a proper courting, as Lady Deale has ordered, and I'll have time to adjust to receiving orders from two fair ladies. June it shall be, mistress, if you expect me to comply."
Charity sighed, accepting defeat gracefully. "Whatever you wish, Jamie. But I fear—"
Her words were cut off by a knock on the door. "Your ladyship," a woman's voice called. "There is a messenger for Master Drummond. He has come from Annapolis. He says it's urgent."
Jamie swung open the heavy door. Maggie dropped a curtsy. "Sorry to disturb ye, but the man says he went first to Bold Venture and then here. He bears a letter from England, sir."
"For me? Where is he?"
"In the kitchen, Master Drummond. He claims he is a clerk, but he was not dressed fit to come into the hall."
Jamie turned to Charity and Elizabeth. "Wait here. I'll see what this is about."
Charity took a seat near the fire, suddenly cold. What was so urgent as to bring a man across the bay on the day after Christmas? She held out her fingers to the flames and whispered a silent prayer. She had never gotten a letter herself, but she was certain that if she did, it would be bad news. Had someone in his family died? She clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering.
Jamie was back in a few minutes, the letter in his hands. The cinnamon eyes were shuttered, his face smooth and unreadable. "It's from my father's steward," he explained. "Lord DunCannon has suffered a stroke. He wants me to come home at once."
Charity stared at him in disbelief. "Home? Home where?"
"To England. The letter was written October 20th. The ship ran into bad weather. Lord DunCannon is near death and asking for me."
Charity ran to him and put her arms around him. "Jamie, no. Please don't leave me. If you leave me, you'll never come back."
"What do you mean, not come back? Of course I'll come back." He looked to Elizabeth for support. "He is my father, no matter what's between us."
"He may be dead already," the older woman said.
"That's a chance I have to take. If he is, Hugh Thomas and I will have to come to terms. I may not have a house to take Charity to. My brother," he said sarcastically, "will not only have me off Drummond land, he may do the same to my mother."
"Bring her back to us," Elizabeth suggested. "Even if you do lose Bold Venture, you know you are all welcome here."
"I don't want you to go," Charity repeated. "Please, Jamie. Something terrible will happen. I know it." Her throat tightened until her voice was little more than a whisper. "Or take me with you," she begged.
He hugged her against him. "You know that's not possible, sweet. You may be a runaway here, but in England you're a murderess. I'll not have you thrown back into Newgate."
Charity began to weep silently and he cradled her, stroking her hair as he would a child's.
"Dry your tears. I've plenty of time to go to England and be back in time for our wedding. You will bide well enough in Elizabeth's care," he promised.
She clung to him as the world dropped away from beneath her feet. The awful feeling of loss was overwhelming. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered.
"I'm not so easily lost," he murmured into her hair, but she knew that in his mind, he was already far away.
Chapter 17
Jamie sailed for England four days later. Charity stood on the dock at Widow's Endeavor as the sloop's sail became smaller and smaller. There were no tears on this cold, bright morning. Charity felt as cold inside as the scattered chunks of ice floating against the dock and washing against the sandy beach.
He was gone. First to Annapolis and then across the ocean to England. "Four months traveling, a few weeks to settle my affairs," Jamie had promised. "I'll bring you back a gown for our wedding."
An inner voice denied his words even as he spoke them. A rising fear, so thick and ominous that she could almost taste it, filled her mind and sent shivers of pain through the core of her being. He's not coming back. Oh, Jamie...
Charity held her hands together so tightly the nails cut into the palms of her hand and she murmured a prayer for safe passage for the man she loved.
Elizabeth laughed away her fears. "Don't be misled by his outer appearance, child. James Drummond will do what is right. His family needs him. You can't expect him to ignore that plea because you two can't bear to be separated for a few months."
"But I'm afraid he..." Charity's green eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
"Trust him, Caroline. If he can't be trusted then you don't want to give him the rest of your life. Lord Deale and I had that much at least. We trusted each other." She smiled, a faint smile of remembrance. "We were friends, real friends... a rare enough thing in marriage. If you and James have that, it will last when you're too old for anything else." Elizabeth quickened her step. "Enough moping. You'll not spend the next few months idly. Go and put on your warmest riding habit and a thick cloak. The men will be preparing seed beds in the woods for planting tobacco. You must ride out with me and see exactly how it's done."
"Plant tobacco in the woods?" Charity looked unconvinced.
Elizabeth laughed. "Tobacco is hand work at every step. First the seed beds to be planted in January or early February, then transplanted into the fields in late May. Each plant must be hand carried, planted, and replanted. They must be watered and cared for like infants. It's a demanding business, growing tobacco. But it is the lifeblood of a Tidewater planter. You must learn it all, Caroline. I told you this country has no place for an idle woman." She drew on thick gloves. "A Tidewater marriage is a partnership, never forget it."
"Anything I can do to help you, I will gladly. And I do want to learn all I can to be a proper colonial wife." Pray that I get the chance, she added silently.
"Hurry then and dress. We must take advantage of this break in the weather." Elizabeth watched as Charity hurried up the steps. Despite her own words, she had doubts. England was far away, and no winter crossing was easy. The ship could be taken by pirates or sunk by storm. James could fall victim to sickness or his quick temper. Charity had every right to worry.
Shaking off the foreboding, Elizabeth called to a servant, ordering that horses be saddled. The thing to do was to keep Charity busy. Whatever came, came. Twould do no good to worry beforehand. If tears must be shed, why shed them now?
Unhappiness was the lot of woman, along with joy. Charity was strong; whatever came she could face.
Elizabeth walked toward the barn with a purposeful stride, unable to keep from offering a quiet prayer of her own for the young man who was the closest thing to a son she had ever known. "Safe journey, James. Safe journey and a quick return," she whispered.
Charity's days passed slowly but the nights were agony. She lay awake for hours, imagining all sort of dangers, seeing Jamie washed overboard, or knifed in his sleep as the Virginian had been. The Constance might be stopped on the high seas by a Royal Navy vessel and the passengers pressed into service as many before them had been.
Would he forget her once he was home in England? Would his promises be worthless now that they were separated by so many miles of empty ocean? Would he give his heart to another? Someone more suited to be his wife? Someone sweet and ladylike?
And when sleep did come, her dreams were of Jamie lying beside her... kissing her... touching her. It was so very real she could not believe she was alone when she opened her eyes.
Elizabeth noticed the dark shadows under those eyes and the lack of color in Charity's cheeks. "I've been working you too hard," she said. Perhaps she had. The lessons had continued, filling the evenings as pla
ntation duties had filled the days. "We've both been working too hard. We'll take the day off and visit Harry. I haven't heard a word from him since Christmas."
"I'd rather not," Charity replied. "I was going to check the wine cellar this morning as you asked. And Martha thought the first of the lambs might be born today."
"Nonsense. We'll ride over to Avalon right after breakfast. The fresh air will do you good, put some roses back in your cheeks. James will never forgive me if he comes home to find you looking like a wizened apple."
They had ridden across the frozen fields and picked up the road on the far side of Widow's Endeavor. Duchess, happy to be out of the stable, stepped along at a smart pace. To her surprise, Charity found she was enjoying the ride and the morning.
Elizabeth pointed out a flock of ducks flying in a V formation over their heads. "They winter in the marshes and creeks," she explained. "They're too far away to tell what kind they are."
Charity listened to the sound they made. The sky was very blue and without a single cloud. The ducks passed over and soon disappeared. The animals' hooves thudded softly against the hard ground; their breath made little white puffs in the frosty air.
"Are you ever lonely here?" Charity asked. Now that the ducks were gone, there was no sign of life. The fields were empty, without workers or farm animals. Once again, Charity was overcome by the enormity of America. The immense vacant lands seemed to stretch forever beyond the western horizon. It frightened and thrilled her at the same time.
Elizabeth smiled. "Not since you came. Come on, I'll race you." She rose slightly and tapped her mare with a leather quirt. The sorrel leaped ahead and settled into a steady canter.
Duchess followed suit; Charity concentrated on holding on to the reins and not losing her seat. Even though her riding had improved greatly since summer, she was taking no chances. The frozen ground was much too hard to fall on this morning.
No matter how often Charity visited Avalon, she always had the same feeling of awe. The King's palace in London must not be half so fine as this enormous brick manor house, she thought. Two grooms in scarlet livery ran to hold their horses as they trotted into the brick courtyard. Charity dismounted, her eyes still fastened on the beautiful home.
Elizabeth led the way, sweeping graciously into the wide center hall as the butler held open the elegant double doors. A magnificent staircase curved up a full three stories, the banister a shining work of art with its hand-carved balusters and string. Elizabeth told Charity that a master cabinetmaker had worked for two years on the grand staircase alone when Avalon was constructed.
Charity tried not to stare at the foreboding portraits with their ghostly countenances. "Belowstairs, wench!" they seemed to shout. "Back to the scullery where you belong!"
Charity looked away, her glanced resting on a highly polished table that must be hundreds of years old. The furniture was dark and heavy and all too valuable for her to consider sitting on.
Lord Beauford greeted them warmly. Charity stifled a giggle at his banyan and tasseled cap; the silk dressing gown was a mass of brilliant flowers and exotic birds. Reds and greens and blues all vied for attention, almost hiding the wrinkled face of the old lord between cap and gown. "Come in, come in," he repeated. "Wonderful to have you here, wonderful."
He led them into a small sitting room with a blazing fire. "Here I was feeling sorry for myself," he confided, "wondering how I would fill the day. And two beautiful women appear at my doorstep. Glad to have you." He hugged Elizabeth and planted a warm, dry kiss on Charity's cheek. The old man smelled of tobacco and a spice Charity couldn't identify.
"Sit down, sit down." He motioned to a serving girl. "Chocolate for the ladies."
Charity took a seat near the fire, noticing that a book lay open on the tea table, a pair of spectacles beside it. A cat rubbed against her ankle and she bent to stroke the purring head.
"Old puss keeps me company, she does," Harry chuckled. "You'll love the chocolate. Just the thing to warm your insides. I am glad to see you both. I was going to come and see you. I have news for you of your neighbor Drummond."
"Of Jamie?" Charity sat upright in the chair. "But there's been no time. He couldn't possibly be in London yet."
"Has something happened to the Constance?" Elizabeth demanded. He'd not been gone yet a month, and it was eight weeks' sailing time at the best.
Lord Beauford threw up his hands in mock alarm. "Must you women always think the worst?" He reached for a long-handled clay pipe and carefully loaded it with tobacco. "Tidewater oronooko," he assured them. "A special blend I make myself, grown right here on Avalon. Virginia has nothing over on us." Using clamps, he took a coal from the hearth and lit the pipe, then settled back and drew a deep puff. Smoke encircled his head and he smiled at Charity, his eyes twinkling. "Rather good news for you, girl. The best."
Elizabeth leaned forward expectantly. "Well, Harry, are you going to keep us in suspense? What news could you possibly have of Jamie?"
"My brig, the Welsh Princess, docked yesterday in Oxford. Captain Elwood was here last night with letters and news from home. He left Land's End in mid-November."
"But that was weeks before Jamie sailed from Annapolis," Charity interrupted. Elizabeth shot her a glare and she bit her lip.
"As I said," Harry chuckled, "good news, good news for James Drummond and for his bride-to-be. Lord DunCannon has caused a scandal."
"We'd heard the Earl of DunCannon had suffered a stroke and was dying," Elizabeth said.
Harry drew another deep puff on the pipe. His eyes locked with Charity's green ones. "He was alive enough in November. They say he's set aside his legal son and heir and called home his woods colt from the Colonies!"
* * *
Aboard the Constance, Jamie's thoughts were with the girl he had left on the dock at Widow's Endeavor. He leaned against the ice-covered rail, a bitter north wind in his face, and stared at the gray gale-tossed water. A fine cold rain beat against his face, a welcome relief from the stifling quarters below. He wondered again if he had done the right thing in taking sail immediately for England. Charity had been so against the thought of his leaving, so distraught.
He'd been fortunate to book passage at all. Few ships made the perilous crossing in January. In this case, important dispatches for His Majesty from the Maryland Colony necessitated the voyage. There were few civilian passengers.
For three days, the Constance had struggled through rough seas. Her lines and sails were coated with ice, the deck slick and dangerous. Jamie knew he was taking unnecessary chances just being topside. But the confines of the cabin had been worse.
He was not a bad sailor; the pitching and tossing of the ship had not made him ill. But the close quarters and inactivity were maddening. Charity's face lay just behind his eyelids... the smell of her fresh-washed hair, the silken texture of her skin beneath his fingertips. She haunted his dreams and turned the bare cabin into a cell.
Was his father already dead and buried? Was the voyage for naught? Would he and Hugh Thomas be able to settle their differences peaceably?
It had been how long since he had seen his brother? He thought back, counting the months and years. Not only his brother, but his mother. A longing to see her face rose strong within him. If his father were still alive, he would be glad to see him, no matter Lord DunCannon's condition. But Jamie's heart warmed at the thought of his loving mother, and he wished he could have brought Charity to meet her. He knew instinctively that they would have liked each other.
At last, chilled by the wind and rain, Jamie turned from the rail and went below. He'd spend a few more hours on Bold Venture's books, the ones that must be produced for the owners of the plantation, not his private ledgers. A little more, he thought. A little more time and he'd have enough to care for Charity without his brother's bounty. He snorted sarcastically and touched his vest pocket. He'd brought enough gold of his own to buy passage back to the Tidewater if need be. Nothing would keep him from returning i
n time for their wedding, least of all Hugh Thomas.
* * *
If Lord Beauford's announcement had whitened Charity's face a few shades, the effect was hidden by the winter sun and wind's rose on her cheeks. If she was strangely subdued, Elizabeth might easily have taken it for awe of the earl's magnificent home. In truth, she was deceived by neither.
The ride home was quiet, with each woman locked in her own thoughts. Clouds were moving in, promising rain before nightfall, and the temperature had dropped. The horses did not need to be urged; they were eager for familiar stalls and warm grain.
Charity barely made the safety of her own bedchamber before becoming ill. She locked the door behind her and ran for the china pot. Nausea rose in her throat. "Jamie," she murmured. "Oh, Jamie." What would this mean for him? Would he still be coming home? Overcome by weakness, she was suddenly and violently sick.
A day passed, and then a week. Elizabeth tried to gloss over the threatening rumors, but Charity was unconvinced. And adding to her fears was the undisputable fact that her monthly flow had not come on time. As long as she could remember, she had been as regular as the moon. And now... nothing.
There were other changes in her body that added to her suspicions. Her breasts were swollen and tender, her stomach seemed uneasy after the evening meal, and she was always hungry. Charity had never been pregnant, but she was no fool. She had seen and heard many women who were. She was with child! Conceived the night of the Christmas party, or the day after.
Pregnant. She was pregnant, and Jamie was half a world away. What would she do? His harsh words came back to echo in her head. "You'll have no child of me." Why? He believed himself unable to father a babe... but was that the only reason? Would he blame her for getting pregnant, for shaming him before his neighbors and friends? Would he deny her? What if he never returned to the Tidewater?
And even if he did come back, her condition would show long before he could return. She could be dragged before the parish congregation and publicly denounced as a whore. Elizabeth might even abandon her out of shame. And then questions would be asked, questions about her past that could not be answered.
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