Mordecai Brown was waiting for her near the big pound. Within the high board fence a chestnut stallion and a bay mare pranced and chased each other around the enclosure. “I guess it’s a love match, Miss Caroline,” Mordecai said as she approached.
“Good,” she answered, smiling. “As much as we had to pay for the stud, it would be a pity if none of the girls liked him.” She laid her fingertips lightly on the top rail. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he, Mordecai.”
“He is that.”
For long moments they watched the two horses in silence, and Caroline drank in the peaceful sounds and smells of the barnyard—the rich scents of the animals, the soft lowing of a calf for its mother, and the earthy odors of hay and manure. Here, surrounded by her livestock and the solid barns and outbuildings, she could forget her troubles and for a little while be a much-loved child again.
“Any word of Master Reed?” the foreman asked.
“Nothing new. But I’m sure he’ll be coming home soon,” Caroline said, as much to keep up her own spirits as Mordecai’s.
“Master Reed will love this stallion, certain.”
“Won’t he?” she replied. “He’ll have a saddle on him the first day he gets back.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He nodded and tucked a bit of tobacco under his lip. “Master Reed does love a fine horse.”
“Reed will win every horse race on the Eastern Shore with this stallion,” she said. Mordecai grinned in agreement.
Mordecai Brown had been foreman for more years than Caroline liked to think. His curly black hair had turned to gray and his shoulders were a little more bent than they had once been, but other than that Mordecai was as true and solid as good Maryland oak.
The struggle between the Colonies and the mother country had robbed Fortune’s Gift of most of her able-bodied men who had gone to fight for one side or the other. The women remained, and when planting time came Caroline was afraid she’d have to call on them to help. For now, they remained out of sight, frightened by the occupying British presence.
This week, Mordecai was rebuilding the miles of fence line that surrounded the plantation and divided it into paddocks and pastureland, cornfields and tobacco acreage. He’d had to hire men and boys from the neighboring farms and villages. Most of the workers Caroline knew, by sight if not by name, but a few were strangers. These men were busy assembling tools and loading wagons on the far side of the yard.
When Caroline finished her conversation with the foreman, she turned to go back to the house. As she did, she heard a crude whistle and the taunt “Lightskirts” from one of the hired laborers.
Her face flushed with anger and she whirled to confront the men. “Does someone have something to say to me?” she demanded. Blank faces were the only reply.
Mordecai, a devout Christian, swore. “Who said that?” he shouted. “By heaven, you’ll not come to Fortune’s Gift and insult—”
“Never mind,” Caroline said, trying to keep her tone normal. “A man who will not speak his mind openly shows his cowardice. And such a man is as worthless as his opinions.” Proudly, she walked away. She kept her back straight and her chin high, but her heart was pounding so hard that she almost missed the faint snicker thrown after her.
So, it’s started already, she thought. Some big mouth had been out early to start the rumors flying about her and Garrett Faulkner. Well, they’d not shame her with their whispers and their gossip. She’d done what she’d done to save a fellow American, and no matter what it cost her, she’d do as much again.
She was nearing the smokehouse when Bruce stepped around a corner of the building and blocked her path. “Where to so early, little cousin?” he said. His wig was slightly askew and he wore the same stained shirt he’d had on the night before. From the whiff she got of his breath, he’d already started the morning with a measure of rum.
“Same thing I do every morning, cousin,” she replied. “Instructing my foreman. This is a working plantation.” She moved to the right, but he took hold of her arm. “Let go of me, please,” she said in a low voice.
“Not yet.” He released her arm and grabbed the beribboned hair at the back of her neck. “A morning kiss for your betrothed,” he threatened.
She lifted her left foot and brought her heel down on the toe of his right boot with all her weight. Surprised, Bruce let out a howl and loosened his grip on her hair. Caroline ducked left, darted around the smokehouse, and seized a long-handled iron meat fork hanging on the outside of the log building. Swearing, Bruce dashed after her. She faced him, back against the wall, the lethal weapon held waist-high and ready.
“You little bitch,” he said.
“Keep your hands to yourself, cousin,” she warned, “or I’ll run you through with this iron and have my staff hang you up to smoke with the rest of the pigs.”
“How dare you!” Bruce trembled with white-hot fury. “You little—”
“I’ll kill you. You know I can do it,” she whispered. “If not now, some night in your sleep. Leave me and mine alone. Get away from Fortune’s Gift before I—”
“I’ll sell your precious nigra,” he threatened. “I can do it. The law’s on my side. I’ll sell her south to a sugarcane plantation.” His eyes narrowed. “Or maybe to a house of joy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Caroline. Doubtless your black sister is as much a slut as you are.”
“Try it,” she dared. “Do anything more to Amanda and Jeremy—anything at all—and you’ll never live to see her set foot on a boat south.” He backed off a step as she raised the iron fork from belly level to his Adam’s apple. “Keep your hands off what’s mine,” she reminded him. She jabbed at him once. He jerked back, and she ran for the safety of the house, slamming the door behind her.
Bruce started after her, tripped over a one-eared black cat, and smacked his elbow against the corner of the smokehouse. When he regained his balance, he cursed a foul oath and drew his sidearm from his holster. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he called, looking around for the tomcat, but the ragged creature had vanished into thin air.
Caroline tossed her cloak to Jacob, adjusted her linen cap in the hired man’s mirror, and hurried down the hall toward the parlor where breakfast was served. She took a deep breath and forced herself to enter the doorway with the gracious air of the lady of the manor.
The first person she saw was Major Whitehead. Thank God, she thought. No wonder Bruce had tried to ambush her outside the house instead of waiting for her in the hall. “Sir.” She smiled sweetly at the major. “What a pleasant surprise. We have all missed you.”
“Indeed.”
Caroline turned her attention to the Irish hunt table where Garrett was helping himself to fresh fillet of rockfish and a beaten biscuit. “The major and I are already acquainted,” Garrett said. “We met in London at a reception for Lord Archer.”
Garrett’s stock was tied with flawless precision. His sleek wheat-brown hair was drawn back and fastened at the nape of his neck with a black silk ribbon that looked suspiciously like one of her own. Someone, Toby perhaps, had shaved him. She could smell the faint odor of Wesley’s shaving soap. The silver buttons on Garrett’s black coat gleamed; his borrowed shirt was spotless.
As she stared at him, the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement, and he inclined his head slightly in a salute. From where he was standing, Major Whitehead could not see that arrogant gaze, but she could. Garrett was daring her to give him away.
So, you think to use me, do you? she thought. You may be just what I need.
“I remember Mr. Faulkner well,” Major Whitehead said loftily. “Plays a fine hand of loo. I’ve been trying to convince him to reactivate his commission in the Royal Navy. We need every experienced officer in these trying times.”
Caroline crossed the room and reached for Garrett’s hand. “Oh, sir, but I cannot spare him,” she proclaimed to the major. “Not for months and months.” She flashed a smile at Garrett. “There’s no need to keep our secret any longer, darli
ng.” Garrett’s hand tightened around hers as she went on. “We have been betrothed for months and were only waiting for the proper time to make our announcement. Garrett and I are to be married tomorrow.”
Chapter 4
Garrett’s gut contracted into a tight fist. For an instant, he stared at Caroline, wondering if she was playing some odd sort of jest. Then her wide-eyed gaze locked with his and he knew this was no joke. The intensity of her challenge jolted him, and in astonishment, he took an involuntary step back on his bad leg. Sweet Jesus! Blinding pain knifed up his hip and white lights danced in his head. He fought the waves of faintness that threatened his balance and covered his dismay with an affected cough.
“. . . Garrett’s family and mine have shared a friendship for generations,” Caroline was telling the major. “Garrett and my brother Reed—”
“Your cousin Bruce will oppose this marriage,” Whitehead interrupted. “He has expressed a desire to wed you himself.”
Garrett regained his composure, forced what he hoped was an affectionate smile to his lips, and concentrated on what Caroline and the major were saying. He knew enough about Whitehead to suspect that the Englishman had a personal motive for showing such concern for his hostess’s marital affairs. Boy-lover or not, Whitehead was a shrewd opponent and an absolutely fearless soldier under fire.
Caroline moved closer to the British officer, and her voice became softer. “Yes, I know.” She sighed. “That knowledge has made me decide to accept Garrett’s proposal sooner than I would have, were that not the case. Bruce and I are first cousins. Too close in blood to ever produce healthy children. I realize that in England—”
“Yes, I see your point,” Whitehead agreed. “My own uncle is married to-his first cousin, and their first child was born with a harelip—a terrible deformity. It has shadowed his entire life. He rarely leaves the country house.”
“Exactly,” Caroline replied. “Bruce never mentions it, of course, but there is already a weakness in our bloodline. Children have been born that . . .” She trailed off and spread her hands helplessly. “There is a rumor that in my grandmother’s time, one male member of the family was kept locked away. How could I—in Christian conscience—be party to another such tragedy?”
Major Whitehead glanced at Garrett with cool appraisal. “And you, sir, you wish to wed the lady?”
Caroline’s petticoats rustled as she swept back to his side and took his hand in hers. “Oh, he does, Major.” This time, it was her hand that tightened on his. “He loves me, truly.”
Garrett barely contained his laughter. Damned if the jade wasn’t as artful an actress as any high-priced whore he’d ever paid good silver for.
Whitehead raised his goblet of cider in salute. “You love the lady or her estates?” he asked directly. “It is no secret that Mistress Steele could buy and sell our mutual friend Lord Archer without missing the change.”
Garrett glanced down at Caroline and tried not to throttle her. She was smiling at him sweetly but, as she tilted her head up to look into his face, her luminous dark eyes were filled with an unspoken warning. Agree or be exposed as the rebel they seek! Amusement turned to a slow-burning anger. He’d never liked threats.
“When has a lady’s wealth ever detracted from her desirability?” Garrett asked, draping an arm casually around Caroline’s shoulders. “It’s true that the captain wants Mistress Steele for himself. That’s why he’s concocted these ridiculous charges to discredit me, instead of combing the woods and swamps for the real traitor.”
“I agree,” Whitehead said. “A wanted man would hardly seek refuge in my headquarters.” He pursued his thin lips and looked thoughtful.
“We would deeply appreciate your help, Major,” Caroline implored.
“You are both serious in this matter of this marriage?” Whitehead asked. He was a tall man, olive-skinned with brown eyes. His wig was neat, simply styled, and expensive; his red and white military uniform was impeccable. His most striking feature was the saber scar that ran from the corner of his left eyebrow across the bridge of his strong nose.
Garrett nodded. He didn’t know why Caroline Steele was playing this dangerous farce, but he intended to find out. For now, he would let her move the game pieces.
“You must know that Mistress Steele’s brother is a prisoner of the crown, charged with piracy.” Whitehead’s eyes narrowed. “I have already informed the lady that there is a possibility that Reed Talbot can be released with proper legal counsel, but it will be very costly. Ten thousand pounds sterling to start. Are you willing to part with that much if she becomes your wife?”
Garrett heard Caroline’s soft hiss of breath. “Ten thousand pounds?” she echoed.
The major shrugged. “Ten thousand minimum. The barrister is very influential. If he takes your case, it will be strictly confidential. The fees may run much more. Your brother has enemies who wish to make an example of him. Naturally, if I interceded in this, I—”
“Naturally,” she said. “Whatever you think is fair. Reed is innocent—a victim of unlucky circumstance. I will give any amount to have him back alive.”
“And your cousin . . .” Whitehead left his words hanging in air.
“Bruce would never agree to releasing so much money from my estates,” she said, “but Garrett loves my brother. They have been friends for years. Whatever it takes, we will gladly pay.”
The major smiled. “Then I believe we can come to some agreement. I would advise you to proceed with the nuptials at once. If Captain Talbot learns of your plans, he will—”
“Thank you, Major Whitehead,” Caroline said. “We will take your advice and marry immediately.”
“We appreciate your support,” Garrett said. He could see why Whitehead would agree to the marriage. He stood to collect an immense bribe. But why, he wondered, why would Caroline Steele want to force him to marry her? She was young and attractive. With her immense wealth, she could have her pick of titled Englishmen. Why not choose someone of her own class—a man who brought more to the union than a single tobacco plantation?
“My congratulations to you both,” Whitehead said. He crossed the room and took Caroline’s hand, lifting it gallantly and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “If I were not married, I might have considered courting her myself. It is the rare bridegroom who takes such a lovely and well-dowered widow to his bed.”
Before Garrett could reply, a dragoon appeared in the open doorway. “Major Whitehead, sir,” the soldier said. “The dispatches you were waiting for have arrived from Head of Elk.”
The major nodded. “I’ll come at once.” He glanced at Caroline and Garrett. “If you two will excuse me, I have official business to attend to.”
Garrett waited until he was alone in the room with Caroline before speaking. “We need to talk,” he said. “Now.”
“I can explain,” she began.
“You’d better. But not here, someplace private.” He removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Outside, where I can be certain we’re not overheard.”
She nodded. “The maze beyond the herb garden.” She shrugged out of his coat and he caught it before it slid to the floor. “I’ll take my cape,” she said. “It’s cold out, and you’ll need your coat yourself. Can you walk that far?”
“Your concern is touching, madame,” he replied wryly. “After you.”
Silently, he followed her from the room, through the kitchen, and around the house to the brick walk that led through the herb garden. Caroline had paused only long enough to put on her green cape and pull the hood up over her auburn hair. Garrett couldn’t help noticing that the bottom of the cloak swayed as she walked. The hem brushed the heels of her shoes as she moved gracefully away from the shadows of the brick kitchen past the triangles of lavender, marjoram, and chives, to the formal expanse of lawn and carefully clipped hedges.
As they neared the entrance to the maze, she glanced back over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. “We’ll go
to the center,” she said. “There’s a bench there, and shelter from the wind.”
Each step was agony as knifelike pain shot up Garrett’s hip and down his leg. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he swore under his breath, but he kept walking. Caroline took a right turn, then a left, and then another left, turning and twisting down the crushed oyster shell path that led through the boxwood maze until he had lost all sense of direction. Finally, when he thought he could go no farther, she made one last series of turns into what looked like a solid wall of greenery. He stopped, eyesight blurred by his throbbing wound, not certain which way she had gone. Even when a peal of bubbling laughter drifted through the interlaced boxwood, he still couldn’t find the opening. “Caroline,” he called. “Where are you?”
To his surprise, a low gate of hedge opened almost at his right hand. “This way,” she said.
He ducked his head and stepped into the heart of the maze, a lush oval of lawn, statuary, and flowering shrubs, about twenty feet across. In the center of the clearing stood a carved cedarwood bench, a small peach tree, and a miniature well. The shrubs and the tree were winter barren, but even now he was speechless at the exquisite beauty of the hidden garden.
“Do you like it?” she demanded. Her eyes twinkled with delight as she spread her hands and spun around once like a schoolgirl. “My great-great-grandfather built this maze for my great-great-grandmother. Lacy’s Garden, it’s called, and the story is that the maze is haunted. On nights when the moon is full and it rides the clouds like a great ship at sea, they say you can see Lacy and James’s faces reflected in the well.” She laughed again, low and mischievous. “They say you can hear him calling her name sometimes. ‘Lacy . . . Lacy.’ And they also say—”
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