by Arnette Lamb
He lifted his brows in some sort of approval, as if he knew how affected she’d been by his touch, and, with a knowing grin, promised more.
Discomfited to her toes, she excused herself and went in search of Mrs. Parker-Jones. But she learned that the mistress was still behind closed doors with Captain Brown. In the pantry, Virginia helped Merriweather assemble a tray.
“Thank you for rescuing me. I would have left them to collect dust in the parlor.”
“Don’t fret, Duchess . . . pardon me, Virginia.”
“Oh, Merriweather. I shouldn’t have lied to them.”
He examined every glass and fork as he set them on the silver tray. “I doubt they’d be pleased to know that you bathed in the river and plucked chickens.”
Shame at labor she’d performed paled in comparison to the despair and loneliness she’d suffered. Those heartaches were hers to bear, but they were also at an end. “They mustn’t know.”
“Nor will they. You haven’t gotten by all these years on luck.”
“What would you have done? Would you have told them the truth?”
Pausing, he leaned on the sideboard. “You mean, had I your family?”
“Yes.”
A casual shrug and a huff gave him a noble air. “I cannot conceive of such a happening, but . . .”
His faraway look enticed her to say, “Tell me.”
“I think you will have a remarkable life. Were I you, I would rejoice at the prospect.”
Viewed in a positive light, the unexpected events in her life took on a different meaning. Henceforth she vowed to see them that way.
“Remember this, Virginia. You’ve kept yourself bright and respectable. You no longer cower as you did when the Morelands were here. You hold your head high.”
“But what about the Morelands and what they did to me—”
“Shush. That was the worst of your plight, and you came away from it with good character. You counseled the slave children. You gave them dignity and taught them to care for their personal needs. You’re obedient, but never have you cowered.”
“I shall miss your good counsel.”
She asked him to offer her excuses to Cameron, Agnes, and MacAdoo. Then she located the porter in the garden, cutting a bunch of spring lilies.
“Are those for Lizziegirl?” she asked.
Georgieboy nodded. “Little sister’s pouting because I told her that Moreland was her father, too.”
Perched between two races and accepted by neither, the old master’s slave children had a rough go of it. More often than not, this rawboned lad was more sensitive than his younger sisters.
“I believe she was bothered at the way you told her, not by the knowing.”
“I just said out the words.”
“Now you must tell her you’re sorry. After that, and do not tarry, will you please go to the ship and bring back our guests’ luggage?”
“Ain’t ’spose to ax me, Duchess. Tellin’s the freeman’s way.”
Bond servants and slaves took orders and asked permission—sometimes for the most personal things. “I’m making a mess of it, Georgieboy.”
“It’ll come along to you a little at a time.” He pulled a flower from the bouquet and offered it to her. “You lookin’ the proper lady in your fine dress and done-up hair. Fronie says you’re wearing them laces.”
Saffronia was the midwife in the slave hamlet. “Most ladies of quality have mastered wearing stays before the ripe old age of twenty.”
“Fronie says white women stupid in their ways.”
“She and the others must keep my secret.”
“She will. But the dockmen said that ship’s named for you. You gotta worry about Rafferty.”
The cooper. Months ago, when he’d caught Virginia branding the cask, he couldn’t run to the main house fast enough to tattle. Then he’d told everyone in the hamlet that she’d gone mad and would have ruined his entire shipment of barrels had he not stopped her. He’d tormented her, belittled her in front of the whole village. Now he was bitter.
“I’m safe then. My family has no need to visit Rafferty’s shed or the hamlet.”
Chapter
5
After dinner, over a bracing glass of cider, she sought advice from Mrs. Parker-Jones. Later she made her daily visit to the servants’ hamlet. On her return to the main house, she saw Cameron in the formal garden.
The damp air was sweet with the smell of nightblooming sallies. Moths swirled around the lanterns that cast a golden glow over the stone benches and statuary. Before today the garden had been just a pretty place; now it felt cozy and inviting.
“You were very quiet at dinner,” he said, patting the place beside him on the bench.
It had taken all of her concentration to get through the ceremony of the meal without embarrassing herself. Cameron had tried to engage her in conversation. Even when she’d observed the others, he’d watched her. “I enjoyed hearing you and Agnes speak about the MacKenzies.”
“The MacKenzies?”
She did feel like a stranger to her kin. Sitting beside him she thought of what Merriweather had said. “I’ll get used to it all.”
“Have you been trysting with a beau?”
Her first response was to laugh. Women might be outnumbered five to one in tidewater Virginia, but for servants on an isolated plantation, odds didn’t matter. Rules did, and breaking them, even for love, led to more bondage. “I’ve been on a quest for new shoes.”
He picked up one of the slippers. “Your cobbler made these? They’re very fine.”
They were her first slippers in ten years. Serviceable boots or bare feet were the footwear of bond servants. “We make everything here. We weave our cloth, grow our food, and in winter we pay the Indians to hunt for us.”
“You have a silversmith?”
Tripped up again. “No. Of course not.”
He plucked the newspaper from her hand. “What have you there?”
“The Virginia Gazette.”
He held the slipper in a delicate way. “Are you interested in politics?”
On this subject she could converse comfortably, even if he was distracting her with the way he caressed that shoe. “I’m interested in what Horace Redding has to say.”
“Are you?” With his thumb, he traced the slight heel. “Burke names him a purveyor of pandemonium.”
“Burke disdains any progress beyond a snail’s pace.”
“Paine claims Redding is the voice of unrest.”
“Perhaps, but I dare say we’d still be crowning the trunks of our trees and carrying the weight of an Englishman’s yoke without the words of Horace Redding to inspire us.”
“Us. So your mother says. She can still bring fire and brimstone when the subject turns to British rule.”
The oddest irony of all was the fact that Virginia’s mother had been a bond servant from Richmond before traveling to Scotland and marrying the duke of Ross. The very place Virginia had been named for had become her prison.
But she was free now and eager to reacquaint herself with Cameron Cunningham. Dinner had been too brief and Virginia too hesitant. “How do you see Horace Redding?” she asked.
The subject pleased him, for he turned sideways on the bench and faced her. “He always has an entourage around him. He’s a bit of a braggart, and he can’t drink two pints and keep his chin above the table.”
Shocked, she ignored the hand he placed on her shoulder and said, “He’s no drunkard, and how would you know?”
He shrugged. “ ’Twas all the gossip at Christmas last. He returned to Glasgow then.”
“Do you visit Glasgow often?”
“Aye, I have a house there.”
Both he and Agnes lived in Glasgow. By visiting her sister, Virginia could be close to Cameron. She could also find a way to pay her respects to Horace Redding.
Drums sounded in the hamlet, and the slaves began to sing a favorite song about a lowly weaver’s son who slew a tiger and
became king of his tribe.
Cameron took her hand and held it tenderly. “I’ve something to tell you, Virginia. ’Tis of some importance.”
Apprehension engulfed her. He had married. Now he would tell her. From the wariness in his voice, the subject troubled him.
“I’m listening.”
He stared at his hand, which still rested on her shoulder. “We were very close as children.” He traced the neckline of her dress, which was modest by a parson’s standard. “You might think that odd, me being eight years older and a lad, but . . . there you have it.”
He looked uncomfortable, and she knew she would ease his way. That might be best, though, for she had much to do before she took her place among her family and friends. Until that day came, frankness would serve her best. “If you tell me I lost above one hundred pounds abetting with you, I will not pay it. A memory loss should absolve a gaming debt.” He, in fact, owed her twenty pounds.
“Will it dissolve a formal betrothal?”
The beautiful music became a buzzing in her ears. “We are betrothed?”
“Aye, on the day before you disappeared.”
She wasn’t supposed to know. It followed that she should not care. But she did. Her heart ached at the thought of him taking another. “Do you wish it to be dissolved?”
“Do you?”
She couldn’t let him get away with that. “That’s an unfair question. I cannot answer today for a pact made when I was ten.” She also couldn’t tell him that she’d given up hope. He was Cam. Her Cam. She couldn’t tell him that either.
“We needn’t belabor it now. I just wanted to tell you myself before Agnes blurted it out and embarrassed you.”
Embarrass her? How? “You’re certain she will speak of it?”
“She’ll wage a bloody war to see that the decision is yours. She proved that when Mary refused to wed Robert Spencer even though she carried his child.”
Poor Mary. Mary, the artist who could paint a flower so real you expected it to smell. Mary, who forgot time and worked day and night when inspiration came upon her. Agnes had always made excuses and defended Mary. But why would he speak of Agnes’s opinion of Virginia’s betrothal unless the contract stood? Her dowry had been substantial, she recalled, papers and books had been signed, but the particulars were long forgotten.
“I gave you a ring.”
Anthony MacGowan had kept it as a souvenir.
“I must have lost it. I’m sorry.” Gathering gumption, she said, “Then you have not wed?”
“No.”
She felt relieved but confused. “Because of the betrothal?”
He leaned back and studied the stars.
Instinctively she knew that at some point he’d broken the promise of the contract with her. After a fashion she’d done the same, or at least the result had been the same. In one respect, life for Virginia had stopped on the morning of her fifteenth birthday. It should have been the day she spoke her wedding vows to Cam; instead she’d huddled in the springhouse at Poplar Knoll and made a promise to herself. So long as she lived in bondage she would not think of the future. From that day forward, she planned nothing beyond the moment her indenture would end.
When he remained quiet, Virginia realized her mistake. She’d asked an artless question and gotten the answer she deserved. But she still had her pride and her freedom and the world awaited her. It should have been enough for one who had required little in the way of personal gratification. With sad acceptance, she now understood that dashed hopes and broken dreams were not solely the province of the enslaved. Cam had suffered too.
To end the uncomfortable moment, she pretended nonchalance. “I’m not so naive to think you’ve been pining the loss of a ten-year-old who stitched girlish symbols and expected you to wear them.”
He frowned. “How did you know that I refused to wear it?”
Be bold, she told herself. “Did you? You don’t seem the prideful sort.”
He smiled, his teeth a white slash in the dark. “You were always naive, Virginia.”
He did seem more worldwise than she, and why not? But she had skillfully avoided trapping herself. “Have you turned roguish?”
“Oh, nay. The gentry have sole rights to that.”
He had no title; his mother’s people had lost everything in the last Jacobite rebellion. By an act of Parliament, the descendants of the Lochiel Camerons were forever stripped of their nobility. His father was an English sea captain. “Are your parents living?”
“Aye, my father won a seat in the Commons. My mother loathes London but endures the session for him. I have one sister, Sibeal, who is two years younger than you. She met an Italian at court and married him. They live in Venice.”
Sibeal and his parents prospered. “That’s wonderful, Cam.”
“Only you, of the MacKenzies, addressed me that way—Cam.”
She’d almost given herself away again. She must be more careful, but she’d blundered without thinking. He’d always been Cam to her. “Mayhap it’s a good sign, but I’ve had no great revelation of the past if that’s why you are smiling.”
His grin broadened. “I was smiling at the way you talk—all soft vowels and Virginia drawl.”
Even her speech was different, but that would also change. She was learning new things every day.
“When Lottie hears you talk, she will threaten a swoon. Then she’ll summon a tutor at your father’s expense.”
“I thought Agnes was the more loyal Scot.”
“She is, in all matters except you.” His voice softened. “She blamed herself for what happened to you that day.”
“She does?”
“Aye, she gave you a penny and sent you away so she could meet a beau.”
The diversion had allowed Virginia to look for Cameron’s ship. When she’d learned that he had already sailed, she grew frantic. Moments later she made the biggest blunder of her life.
“You don’t remember any of that day?”
She’d spent years trying to forget her folly. “No. Does everyone else in the family blame her?” An unfair burden in any circumstances.
“Nay, but it’s driven a wedge between her and your father. They can come to peace with it now. We’ll all have that to be thankful for.”
An unfortunate turn of events, for Agnes had worshiped Papa. “What else has occurred as a result of my . . . absence?”
“Nothing else that I can recall or reveal in mixed company.” When she chuckled, he went on. “Have you questions of me? Where you lived? The things we used to do.”
Failing to ask those questions was another mistake on her part. Learning her past would be foremost to one without a memory. But the expression in his eyes and the feel of his hand on her neck distracted her. “Yes. Tell me.”
“You were born at Rosshaven Castle in the northern city of Tain. Your birthday is May 17, 1769. Your father has another estate in the Highlands. ’Tis Kinbairn, and we often summered there. Lachian does not sit in the House of Lords. He abhors London, but he governs his dukedom fairly and it prospers.
“You were a bright child and well behaved until you got your first horse. You grew independent after that.”
“I did?”
“Aye, you took your responsibilities seriously, and you boasted that you would one day breed the finest horses in Scotland.”
“Sounds rather pompous of me.”
“You were confident.” He touched the newspaper. “ ’Tis good you kept up your education. Your family values that.”
Were it in Virginia’s power, she’d make certain they never learned how hard she’d worked to keep and build upon the small knowledge she’d acquired by the age of ten. Leaving Poplar Knoll was vital if she expected to succeed.
“When and to where will we sail?”
“To Glasgow first, but I had hoped to stay until your father arrives. Unless ’twill inconvenience the Parker-Joneses.”
Even though Mrs. Parker-Jones had ordered the house staf
f and the slaves to keep quiet about Virginia, someone could let the truth slip. And there was Rafferty.
Now that Cameron had come for her, she must convince him to make a hasty departure. “I should like to see Scotland.” Even Norfolk held great appeal to her now.
“Are you unhappy here?”
“No.”
“Good. We all feared that you had been enslaved and held against your will. I’m relieved that you haven’t lived in bondage to more than the loss of your memory.” He shivered. “How degrading that would be.”
His revulsion bolstered her courage. “Everyone here is treated well.”
“Brown said the old owner was cruel, but he must have gotten that wrong, too, for he insisted that Moreland sold the plantation. Mrs. Parker-Jones said Moreland had died.”
What else could Virginia say but, “Captain Brown meant well I’m sure.” Quickly, she changed the subject. “Why do you suppose I drew the design?”
“You do not know its significance, do you?”
She wasn’t supposed to. “Tell me.”
“My mother is Scottish—of Clan Cameron. I was named for them. My father is English and has no coat of arms. The MacKenzies have a long history and tradition, but you wanted a hallmark for us and our children. So you combined the arrow from the Cameron badge with your own symbol, the heart of love.”
“I was a romantic?” Looking at Cameron Cunningham and feeling his warmth, she could easily become one again.
“Aye, the hearts prove that.” He took her hand. “Virginia . . . we parted badly. ’Twas my doing. I was rash and selfish.”
Here was the guilt she dreaded. She gave his hand a little squeeze. “You found me. Let us call it even and return to Scotland.” The longer they remained, the greater the risk of discovery. As if to remind her of her change in circumstances, the stays pinched that one tender spot beneath her breasts.
“If that is where you wish to go.”
“Where else would I go?”
“Anywhere you like. I’ll take you myself.”
The intimacy in his words startled her until she looked up. He wanted to kiss her, and curse her for a tawdry wench, she wanted him to. But desire was another emotion she must battle. “You have a question in your eyes.”