by Arnette Lamb
Euphoria made her giddy. She looked up at him and smiled. “I pray not. I’m just more overwhelmed by the moment.”
“Of course you are, but take heart, Virginia. We’re in uncharted waters too.”
Her name rolled off his tongue like a lullaby. Never again would anyone call her Duchess. Henceforth she’d sleep in a bed and wear soft clothes. She’d read any newspaper she chose, and books. She’d acquire enough books to make a fine library. She could travel at will, go in any shop. She was free.
“Good,” he said. “I can see you’ve cornered the gist of it.”
She wanted to ask him how soon they would set sail but decided against it. Another, more personal question begged to be asked. “Would you have known me? Do I look the same?”
He grew pensive, but his gaze never left her. “You’re very beautiful, but all of the MacKenzie women are.”
“I was not seeking flattery.”
“Very well. You’re much taller than I expected. Sarah will rejoice at that.”
“Sarah?”
“One of your sisters, and speaking of that, if I don’t take you in to see Agnes, she’ll have you redefining the word overwhelming. Trust me, you wouldn’t wish that event on your meanest enemy.”
Take heart, she told herself. She took his arm first. He had skillfully skirted the question about differences in her appearance, but she had plenty of time to glean the answer. She had a lifetime. “I’m ready.”
As they walked toward the front of the house, he said, “Do you still favor lemon tarts?”
No chance of finding exotic sweets on the menu in the servant’s hamlet. The idea of catering to a bond servant’s whim was laughable, but she must respond reasonably. Another excuse presented itself. She held up a stained hand, hoping he would accept a lie. “The spring berries here are delicious and bountiful this year.”
He examined the fingers on her left hand. “In that respect, you haven’t changed. You always were one for doing a job yourself rather than ordering the servants about.”
Thank the saints, he didn’t know the irony of that statement, and if Virginia had her way, he never would. She had a right to her pride and her privacy. Sparing her family and Cameron the truth about ten years of servitude and eight years of hell must surely be the kinder method. She gladly chose that path. She put behind her the cruelty of the Morelands and prepared to start her new life.
But at the thought of coming face-to-face with Agnes, her courage waned.
Chapter
4
Cameron stopped before they reached the open door to the parlor. “Stay here.” Taking hold of her hand, he moved an arm’s length away and peered into the room.
Virginia gladly accepted the delay; her stomach was flip-flopping. Ten years of wishes were about to come true, and as was the case in all of the most important moments in her life, Cameron held her hand.
To the occupants of the room, he said, “In her own words, Virginia MacKenzie is somewhat overwhelmed. Go gently with her, Agnes.”
The heat of embarrassment rushed through Virginia, but with it came the joyous familiarity of days gone by. He had always played the cavalier. The difference lay in manly allure, which he now possessed in abundance.
“Oh, bell heather, bring my sister in.”
The cheerful impatience in Agnes’s voice drew Virginia. Cameron’s strong presence gave her courage. Somehow she’d repay them for the deception, but until she could find a place for herself in the world of the free, she must act the stranger.
Shrouding her heart, she stepped into the room.
Agnes hurried forward. Her dress wasn’t merely yellow. On a background of buttercup wool floated a sea of tiny golden thistles embroidered in silk thread. The modest panniers allowed the fabric to drape rather than hang. Her brown eyes glittered a welcome. “I’m one of your sisters. Agnes is my name.” She swallowed back a sob. “Do you not remember me?”
Not as she was, for Agnes had always been taller than Virginia. Now she stood almost half a head shorter and as poised as a queen. The honest plea in her voice shamed Virginia.
Wishing she could answer truthfully and knowing she could not, she plucked up a story. “I’m sorry. I fell from a horse a very long time ago.”
Agnes nodded, not in confirmation but acceptance, for her lips were set with scorn. “Leave it to a colony of Englishmen to ignore your Scottish accent and think you are better off with them.”
Agnes had always cursed the Brits, or Loyalists, as they were called in Virginia. “I haven’t a Scottish accent.”
“Not after ten years in the colonies, but you did as a child. Any decent person would have recognized your Highland speech and looked for your family.”
Virginia’s heritage hadn’t mattered to Anthony MacGowan. Much as she hated to admit it, selling her into bondage had been one of his more humane acts. Those and the more unsavory of her experiences were Virginia’s secrets to keep.
Now she must offer comfort to Agnes. “I have lived with decent people.” The Parker-Joneses and her friends in the hamlet certainly counted as that.
Cameron drew her farther into the room. “Good, because Agnes brought twelve pounds, sixteen, in case you’d fallen into indenture and had to be bought out.”
“Cameron! You promised not to tell that.”
“You promised to put the coins in a sock and cosh the colonial scoundrel with it before you rescued her from his clutches.”
Agnes waved him off. “Thank goodness we haven’t that to deal with. But I shudder to imagine the consequences of a ducal MacKenzie in bondage.”
Virginia congratulated herself; she’d made the right decision in keeping the truth to herself.
“I don’t suppose you remember speaking Scottish,” said Agnes, an apology in her voice. “But you were the best at mocking Papa.”
“No, I don’t,” Virginia answered, staring at Agnes’s fine gloves and amber jewelry.
“Mrs. Parker-Jones says you are her housekeeper.” Agnes swiped the air with her hand. “No more. Our father is a wealthy man, a peer of the realm. We’re taking you away from here.”
“Easy, Agnes,” Cameron said. “You’ll frighten her off. But it might be a gift to us all that she doesn’t remember your bossy ways . . . if a doubt still remains with her.”
MacAdoo stepped forward. “Do you remember nothing of Scotland, lass?”
He’d broken his nose since Virginia had last seen him. He’d aged more than the others, but he was six years older than Cameron. “I’m sorry. You are also sure that I am Virginia MacKenzie?”
“I’d’ve known ’twas you,” said MacAdoo. “Your MacKenzie blue eyes tip the odds.”
Cameron’s hold on her hand tightened. “And you still have your mother’s fine complexion.”
Agnes smiled up at her. “You also have Juliet’s hearty spirit.”
Did she? What a delightful thing to say, especially when Virginia wasn’t sure she could recall her mother’s face. She hadn’t recognized Agnes.
Regretting it more by the moment, Virginia dredged up a question from her list. “Who are you?”
MacAdoo rolled his eyes. “Pardon my bad manners, lass. I’m MacAdoo Dundas. I had my first taste of ale on the night you were born. When you were braw enough, I taught you to patch sails and climb the rigging.”
Cameron leaned closer. “MacAdoo came with me from Perwickshire. My mother and your father were close friends. That’s how I came to foster with the MacKenzies.”
Were Cameron’s folks still alive?
“Now who’s confusing her?” Agnes taunted.
Virginia said to MacAdoo, “Then you are not related to me?”
He folded his burly arms across his chest. “Nay, lass. We share no common blood. We were friends and will be again.”
“Yes, I hope so, MacAdoo.” She hadn’t spoken his unusual name in so long the word stumbled off her tongue.
“Let’s sit.” Cameron led her to the only couch and sat beside her. He
pointed to the hogshead. “When I made port in Glasgow and found that cask, I went straight to Agnes. She lives there, too. She sent word to all of your family.”
Virginia said a silent prayer that others in her family had survived. But who? “Tell me about them.”
Agnes stripped off her gloves as she spoke. “We are nine siblings counting you. Only one lad, thank the saints. I’m the eldest of your four older sisters—Lottie, Mary, and Sarah. Unusual as it is, we are all the same age, and we are not”—she slid a glance at Cameron—“a litter, as some trolls say we are. We all have different mothers. Father raised us alone until your mother, Lady Juliet, came to the Highlands. We were six years old at the time. You were born the next year.”
“Careful, Agnes,” Cameron said. “If that’s not confusing, nothing is.”
One thing was certain to Virginia, legitimate or not, Lachian MacKenzie loved all of his children equally. He’d found Agnes a very important earl.
Ignoring Cameron, Agnes continued. “Then there’s Lily, a year younger than you and wed to Randolph Sutherland. She’s so modern she delays childbearing. Next is Rowena. She’s eighteen, truly accomplished, and studying music in Vienna. Cora is sixteen, and she intends to catch a prince at her coming out. Our brother, Kenneth is thirteen and making an occupation of being a dreadful boor.”
Virginia rejoiced. Her sisters and brothers were alive, and they had fulfilled their dreams, except for Kenneth, and he’d been too young to know what he wanted. Agnes loved them too. She had always been direct in her manner, but the affection in her voice shone clear.
The most important question begged to be asked. “Where are my mother and father?”
Tears pooled in Agnes’s eyes. She dried them with her gloves. “A few days out of Norfolk. They sailed shortly after us. Hoots, it’s wonderful to see you again, Virginia.”
Virginia couldn’t sit still. Not stopping to consider the right or the wrong of it, she rose and embraced Agnes. As her favorite older sister squeezed her tight, Virginia wondered how many times she’d prayed for a moment of Agnes’s company. Reliable Agnes, who smelled of lilacs. Loyal Agnes, the only one who had not laughed when an eight-year-old Virginia had declared her undying love for Cameron Cunningham.
Virginia said the first thing that popped into her mind. “I’m very lucky.”
“Aye, and so are we all.” Drawing back, Agnes offered Virginia a glove to dry her tears.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. I’ll soil your fine—” Virginia stopped. She was speaking like a servant.
“Here, take it,” Agnes insisted. “They’re only gloves. I’ve dozens of them.”
They were ordinary to her. As a bond servant, Virginia was fortunate to have a pair at all. But Agnes must never know about that.
In her struggle to contain her wayward emotions, Virginia counted her blessings. Her brothers and sisters thrived. Mama and Papa were alive and on their way to Poplar Knoll. Cameron, Agnes, and MacAdoo were here at last. They would take Virginia back to Scotland.
Cameron said, “Agnes tricked the earl of Cathcart into marrying her.”
“I did no such thing.”
Ignoring her, he went on. “They have two children from his first wife. Agnes has a son, Jamie, and a new daughter who is named Juliet for your mother.”
Virginia hoped Edward Napier appreciated his good fortune. “What of the other three sisters, Mary, Sarah, and Lottie?”
Staring at Cameron and waving the glove, Agnes smiled broadly. “See? Contrary to what you say, I did not confuse her.”
How could she forget her older sisters? They had enriched her life, and Agnes had come with Cameron to rescue her.
“Stop preening,” Cameron scoffed and pulled Virginia back to the couch. “Your sister Lottie married David Smithson, who is now the earl of Tain. She has too many children to count.”
MacAdoo chuckled and slapped the chair arm. “Three lads and a sprite of a lassie.”
Agnes stiffened her neck, thrust up her chin, and said to the room at large. “Never were brighter, more attractive, well-bred children born of a mortal womb.” Placing the back of her hand to her forehead, she added, “Travails though they were.”
Cameron and MacAdoo laughed at her mimicry. Virginia smiled. Lottie had always been a priss, and Agnes had always mocked her for it. “Um . . . Mary?”
Agnes sighed and made a task of smoothing out her skirt. “Wed at last to that English scoundrel, Robert Spencer, the earl of Wiltshire. Her daughter Beatrice is four, and I trust a son has brought her to bed as we speak.”
To an impressionable girl, the four sisters had been mentors and, on occasion, menaces. “Then you all are countesses?”
“Not Sarah. She married a viscount, but Michael Elliot is as distinguished as my own Edward.”
She spoke with pride, as well she should. Every man with a plowshare or a flail had Edward Napier to thank for his modern tools. If Sarah’s husband were as admirable, Virginia would cherish knowing them both.
Cameron said, “Sarah has twin sons and her daughter has yet to take her first steps. They make their home in Edinburgh.”
Someone rapped on the doorknocker. Merriweather hurried to answer the door. “Welcome, Captain Brown. May I help you?”
A broad-bellied man wearing a dark gray coat and knee breeches over a red waistcoat stepped inside and doffed his hat. So this was Captain Brown, the man who’d led Cameron to Virginia. Mrs. Parker-Jones had told Virginia about him. He looked like a robin, and he peered into the parlor at Virginia as if she were a fat worm.
“Aye, I’d like to speak to the mistress if she’ll spare a moment or two.”
“Of course. She’s expecting you. Please follow me.”
“Don’t bother. I know the way.”
Brown started down the hallway, his shoes sounding loudly and probably scuffing the floor. With bittersweet humor, Virginia realized that she knew more about cleaning a house than running one. But they wouldn’t be here long enough to discover that lie. Her bag was packed. She was ready to resume her life.
Merriweather moved into the doorway. “Shall I serve refreshments?”
Everyone looked to Virginia. Food was the last thing on her mind. But as a respectable member of the household, the comfort of the guests was her responsibility. Had they noticed her lapse? Bless Merriweather, she thought. “Please serve tea and some of the berry tarts.” She remembered the brandy Mrs. Parker-Jones had given her. “Unless Cameron and MacAdoo would like something stronger?”
As if the movement were natural, Cameron draped an arm around her shoulders. “Tea and berry tarts will be perfect.”
Virginia felt sheltered, even in the casual embrace, and the covetous way Cameron admired her made her heart beat fast.
Merriweather stood there, waiting for something else, but what? Virginia had no inkling.
“Shall I also have rooms prepared?”
Rooms? No. They were leaving right away.
“Not for me,” said MacAdoo. “I’ll stay aboard ship.”
“A hot bath and a soft bed would be lovely,” said Agnes.
Virginia almost choked on her own selfishness. Cameron, Agnes, and MacAdoo were surely tired after the long voyage. They would want to rest. A meal must be planned. The table set. Napkins folded. Silver polished. Dozens of other things. Mrs. Parker-Jones must have instructed Merriweather to offer the hospitality of Poplar Knoll to their guests. It was up to Virginia to learn their preferences. But how?
An old image of Lottie came to mind, and Virginia acted accordingly. “I’ll have the porter fetch your bags from the boat. Have you brought servants, Agnes?”
“No. My maid only travels with me if Edward or the children come along. I’d be grateful if someone could press my gown before we dine. Unless you do not dress for dinner?”
Cameron stretched out his legs. “I’d fancy seeing you wield an iron, countess.”
Agnes flipped the glove again. “We are offered this observation from a man whose
wardrobe consists of a shirt, a strip of tartan cloth, and his Highland pride.”
To Virginia’s surprise, Cameron blushed. “I told you Agnes was trouble.”
Virginia envied their easy camaraderie. She’d been a part of that friendship once and would again, but only when she could join in comfortably as an equal. In some circumstances she might have been called to freshen the gown of a visitor. She needed help from the mistress. If she didn’t gather her wits and perform the duties of housekeeper, they’d see through her ruse. Pity would follow, and she couldn’t bear that thought.
“Watch yourself, Cameron,” Agnes warned. “Virginia doesn’t remember you either. I could weave her some juicy tales.”
“Weave away. I’ve nothing to hide from Virginia, and she knows better than to believe your lies.”
But she had hordes of things to hide from him, from them all.
She rose to tell them what she’d learned in three days on the subject of the evening meal.
Cameron and MacAdoo shot to their feet. That little courtesy was new. Slaves and bondsmen did not rise in the presence of their female counterparts. What other niceties occurred in polite society? She couldn’t recall.
To Agnes, she said, “We do wear our best dresses, and the cook serves at nine o’clock this time of year.”
“Must you go?” Agnes asked. “You haven’t told us a thing about yourself.”
Once they were safely away from Poplar Knoll, Virginia would be free of those who could expose her. She thought of a truth and cloaked it in humor. “If I don’t instruct the staff, you’ll be sleeping on a pallet and dining on corncob soup and Tuesday’s bread.”
Agnes laughed. “You always were one for a good jest, Virginia. Wasn’t she, Cameron?”
“The very best.” Cameron took her wrist and, bending from the waist, kissed her hand. Years ago, the first time he’d performed that courtesy, he’d turned her hand over and spit in her palm. She’d been six and mortified. Now she was curious and moved by him in a very adult way.
Curling her fingers around the kiss, she held it. The look in Cameron’s eyes turned absolutely joyous, and when he sent that gaze on an exploration of her, from the coil of her hair to the hem of her dress, she grew warm inside.