by Kim Bowman
But, he could no longer attempt to convince himself of such. Seeing only the petite form, complete with the gentle curves of the chit, who stood next to Gabriel there was no denying it: she'd found him again.
His axe slipped from his numb fingers and made a soft thud as it hit the ground.
“I've got work to do,” he shouted, snatching up his axe with a scowl. He didn't know — nor did he care—what her game was, but as far as he was concerned, she could use her wiles on Gabriel. He wanted no part of it.
“That can wait,” Gabriel called. “I want you to meet my sister.”
Any amount of blood which had begun circulating back through John's body drained again, and this time, when he dropped his axe, he had to swallow the cannonball sized lump that had recently formed in his throat. “Sister?” he croaked.
Gabriel nodded. “Yes, Lina. The one I told you about.”
John closed his eyes. In the six months they'd been acquainted, Gabriel had spoken of “Lina” many times. Each time, John quickly found a way to abandon that topic for one less uncomfortable. John had come to America for a chance to escape his pressing duties and responsibilities, not gain more.
Commanding his heavier-than-lead feet to carry him forward, he made his way over to the siblings. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lina,” he said, avoiding her eyes.
“And it's a pleasure to see you again, too, John,” she said, touching the back of his callused hand with her dainty one. The action sent a jolt of desire directly to his groin and a grimace to his lips. This was exactly what he didn't need.
“Do you two already know each other?” Gabriel asked; his curious brown eyes challenging John to deny the charge.
“Yes,” he bit off.
“Is she the one you told me about?”
John nodded. “Yes.” He bent his head and ran a hand through his hair, trying in vain to ignore the way his face was heating. Considering just what he'd told Gabriel about her, it was hard to meet his friend's eyes at the moment.
“I see,” Gabriel drawled.
Beside him, Carolina — or Lina — whichever she was going by these days, tittered and grinned, presumably at the knowledge that John had spoken to her brother about her. Little did she know exactly what John had said, and he prayed for her sake, Gabriel didn't decide to tell her. Not that it was cruel or decidedly unflattering; it wasn't, but it sure wasn't the words of love and admiration she might have hoped he'd said.
“Shall we all go inside and have some refreshments?” the object of his thoughts asked.
John wanted to protest but was spared when Gabriel shook his head and said, “And be subjected to being in close quarters with a vulture, no thank you.”
Carolina's merry laughter filled the air. “You have no idea just how beastly Mother's become since you've been gone.”
John did, though, he thought with a cringe. “I'd best be getting back to work.”
“Work?” Carolina asked, her large brown eyes widening.
He nodded as, not for the first time since Mr. Morrison had given him his pay, he wished he'd counted the money before signing the ledger. He'd thought that'd be insulting to the man. But now, he wished he'd been insulting—for at least that way, he'd be on his way home, not working on a plantation. Particularly one that had his blasted female stalker in residence.
“Banks here is — Lina, is something wrong?” Gabriel asked.
Carolina's face had lost all color. A strangled sound escaped her lips, then just like the odd chit he remembered her to be, she ran off.
Both he and Gabriel shrugged. Perhaps now that she knew he was working at her father's plantation — even if it was only temporary — she'd lose whatever interest it was she had in him.
Chapter Six
Carolina could not get back to the big house fast enough.
And, she had no desire to embarrass herself by casting up her accounts in the grass.
Which is exactly what would happen if she didn't get inside and find a chamberpot quickly.
He was working here?
That couldn't be. She could accept that he was visiting, but not working here.
Mother already held him in disdain. Now she'd have no reason to treat him better, and everyone on the plantation knew how she treated those she didn't like.
Bile rose in her throat, and her shaky hands poured the water from the floral pitcher in her room into the matching basin. She splashed water on her flushed face. Why? Why had he come here seeking work? Did he truly need it or was this an attempt to become better acquainted with her?
She wrung her hands together and shook her head. No, that didn't make any sense. Father was so tight with his money he wouldn't willingly pay anyone for what the hands could do without a good reason — and likely some convincing from Gabriel. Besides, he'd seemed just as surprised to see her here as she was to see him. Which presented the question: how did he and Gabriel know each other?
Not that it mattered. None of it really mattered except that he was here now, and she'd have to convince him he didn't have to work here in order to win her favor.
The thought dissolved in an instant, aided by Mother's ear-piercing shriek.
Carolina flew out of her room and down the oak staircase.
“This is still my home, and this bounder will not be sharing it,” Mother said with enough venom to rival a rattlesnake.
Carolina peeked around the corner to see what was going on in the room, because just hearing it didn't seem adequate.
“It's good to see you, too, Mother,” Gabriel said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Don't lie to me,” Mother snapped. “If you truly had an interest in seeing me, you'd have at least had the courtesy to come see me during your stay in Charleston. But I guess even that would have been an imposition on a son who's been away from his family for seven years.”
“As if you'd have wanted me to ruin your plans for an afternoon.”
“Of course not,” Mother said airily. “But you could have sent a note and arranged a time to come visit me when I had nothing planned.”
Gabriel stared at her; a muscle in his jaw ticking. It was no secret that Gabriel's feelings toward Mother rivaled Carolina's. In fact, it would seem that no one who bore the Ellis surname held Mother in any esteem. Instead, their love and respect went to Bethel. She'd always been the one who'd cleaned a scraped knee and kissed a wound. She'd offered the love and motherly affection her real mother had denied her and Gabriel. Given the choice between the two, she'd choose Bethel, and she was certain Gabriel would, too.
“Your disdain for your own mother is not what we're discussing. Your utter disrespect for your family by bringing a filthy wanderer here is,” Mother said.
“I don't see what the problem is,” Father intoned. “And I certainly don't see how his presence is a disrespect to this family.”
Mother pursed her lips. “I will not be made a mockery of, Calvin. If we are in need of more field hands, I'll go to the auction next month and find one. But he—” she said, pointing an accusing finger at John — “will not be staying on my plantation.”
Father's gray eyes narrowed. “I have no idea why you have such a strong dislike for the man—”
Carolina bit her lip so not to give herself away by blurting out the answer to that.
“—but he is staying. This is still my plantation, Hazel, and I will run it how I see fit.”
Mother sucked in a sharp breath and stomped from the room.
Carolina ducked into the dining room to avoid her mother's gaze. Then, when she was certain Mother had passed, she stepped into the parlor.
“Good afternoon again, fellows,” she greeted with a bright smile, lingering for a few seconds in John's direction.
Was it her or had his cheeks just turned a bit pink?
“Come sit, Lina,” Father invited.
“I need to go repair the eastern fence,” John said abruptly.
Carolina frowned. Did he not wish to be i
n her presence in front of her family? Surely, he wasn't embarrassed for her family to know of the feelings they shared for one another. His fidgeting and red face suggested otherwise. “You don't have to leave,” she whispered to him.
“Yes, I do.” He cleared his throat. “I'm not being paid to sit in the parlor for afternoon tea.”
“Just so,” Father agreed. “Those fences need mending before dinnertime if you want to earn your wages; so you boys need to get after it while Lina tells me all about her favorite suitor from Charleston.”
A sound akin to a strangled grunt erupted from John's throat.
“Yes, well, we'll be out repairing that fence,” Gabriel said, clapping John on the shoulder then casting a quick wink in Carolina's direction.
She blushed. He knew! Exactly what he knew, she had yet to determine, but he most certainly knew something. She'd have to ask him later, right after she asked why he stayed away for so long.
“Lina, what do you think of Mr. Banks?”
Carolina's face burned, and she couldn't meet her father's eyes. “I like him well enough.”
Father chuckled. “I'm a cripple, Lina, not blind.”
“I know,” Carolina said, taking a seat on the green settee he had invited her to sit on earlier. “You don't think less of him because he's in your employ, do you?” She had to ask. She had to know. She might not care about her mother's opinion of her choice in suitors, but she did care about her father's.
“That's only temporary.” The softness in his tone and the gentleness she glimpsed in his gray eyes gave her pause. There was something he wasn't saying, but what?
“Do you not think it's temporary?”
He twisted his lips and turned his head to the side a fraction. “No. I'm fairly certain that it's temporary. When he arrived the other day, he explained that he needed only enough funds for passage back to England.”
Carolina's heart sped up. England. She'd never been to England. It was thousands of miles away. She'd never see her family again if they went there. Not that she minded his desire to return to his homeland, but she wouldn't deny she was a bit displeased he hadn't seen fit to ask her opinion on where they'd live.
“Well, I suppose it's not the literal end of the world,” Carolina said a moment later.
Father blinked at her. “What's that?”
“Moving to England.”
“Moving to England,” he repeated slowly.
“After we marry.”
“Marry? That boy asked you to marry him?” Father asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the window.
“Well, no,” she said cautiously. It had been a long time since she'd seen her father's face quite so dark, she thought as she chose her next words with extra care. “But he will.”
Father stared at her for a minute. A long minute. “I'm not sure I want to know the answer to this, but I feel compelled to ask: have the two of you done something to ensure that there will be a marriage?”
Carolina stared at her father, dumbfounded; then blinked; then shrieked in surprise. “No! Nothing of the sort,” she rushed to assure him. “See, we met at the Brown's annual ball — where he stole everyone's attention by coming dressed as a 'defeated Englishman' — and we danced. Then he stuck by my side until he was ready to leave,” never mind that his departure that night was a result of Mother driving him off, “then the next day, we spent part of the afternoon together.”
“You did?”
“As a matter of speaking, yes.”
He sighed. “Lina, I don't intend to upset you, but talking to the man on two occasions does not mean he plans to ask you to marry him. You're an intelligent girl; you should know that.”
Carolina sucked in a harsh breath. “When stated that way, it does sound ridiculous. But I'm not wrong.” She cleared her throat. “You have to believe me. In those first moments we spoke — I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That he'd be my husband,” she said easily. “And if that is not enough to convince you. We ran into each other the next day, and now he's working here. See, it's fate's plan that we're to marry.”
“And does he know of fate's destiny for his life?”
He should. It seemed pretty obvious, it should be to him, too. “I think so, yes.”
Father looked doubtful. “Then perhaps you'd do well to remind him.”
Chapter Seven
“John?”
The muscles in John's arm tensed. Slowly, he turned his head around to meet Carolina's soft brown eyes. “Yesh?” he asked around the two nails he was holding between his teeth.
“I was hoping to talk to you.”
He turned his attention back to the fence post and board in front of him, then took one of the nails from between his teeth and put it into position. “It'll have to wait,” he said, driving a nail into the board he was holding.
She didn't leave. “Why can't we talk now?”
Why did she always ask him questions when he was working? Wait. He knew the answer to that. Because, other than the night of the ball, that was the only time she'd ever seen him. He took the other nail from his lips. “How about if we talk later?” he suggested.
“No,” she said, stepping closer to him. “I need to talk to you now. It's important.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. What could she possibly have to say to him that was that important? He shook off the thought. Females, he'd learned, thought everything was of the utmost importance. He lifted the nail to the board and tightened his grip on his hammer, ready to swing. “And you're sure it cannot wait until a more opportune time?”
She shook her head so vehemently that two tendrils of her curly hair came loose. “It's about our wedding,” she said just as he gave his hammer a hearty swing.
John's hammer collided with his nail.
Unfortunately, not the metal one that would attach the two boards; no, his hammer hit his nail, his thumbnail to be exact.
“Confound it all!” he burst out, tucking his thumb against his palm and curling his fingers around it.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her small hands reaching for his.
He pulled his hand away. “I'm fine,” he replied, but only if fine meant being in severe pain from hitting oneself with two pounds of solid metal.
She didn't seem a bit put off by his reaction and reached for his hand again. “Let me see.”
“No,” he bit off. “I think you've done enough.”
“I don't recall hitting you with the hammer.”
“You might as well have,” he muttered to himself, squeezing his thumb as tightly as he could.
“What's that to mean?”
He gritted his teeth. “Nothing; just go, so I can get back to work.”
“But I need to talk to you.”
He stared at her and suddenly the discomfort in his thumb was quickly being replaced with another sort of discomfort, the one that had caused him to hit himself with the hammer in the first place.
“When did you plan to return to England?”
“As soon as possible.”
Her cheeks grew pink, and the smile that spread her lips was enough to make a man's heart stop. “Well, not too soon. Weddings take time to plan, don't you know?”
There she went again talking about a wedding. “What wedding?” he burst out, his stomach knotting in anticipation of her answer.
“Ours.”
“Yes, I heard that the first time.” He sighed and leaned back against the fence post. “Carolina,” he started. For some reason he couldn't name or place, he preferred to use her full name. And it had nothing to do with her preferring it; at least, that's what he told himself. “I don't know what I might have said or done to make you think there would be a wedding taking place where I would be your bridegroom, but I'm returning to England — alone — as soon as I earn enough for my passage.” To be quite blunt, she'd have better luck waiting for her mother to grow a heart than for him to exchange vows with her.
It wasn't that
he didn't like her; he did, well, in a way. She was as annoying as his older brothers used to claim him to be. But still, there was something about her... Something fresh and unique; something intriguing and intoxicating; something he didn't want — nay, didn't need — to discover.
“Mmmmhmmm,” she hummed in a sing-song tone, stealing his attention. “That's what I thought.”
He scowled. “What's what you thought?”
She gave a sigh worthy of an actress who'd spent her whole life on Drury Lane. “Your pride and your heart are at war, John.”
He knit his brow. What was she talking about? Nonsense, if he had to describe it. “Listen to me, please. I have no intention of marrying you.”
She looked unmoved.
Praying she wouldn't ask him to elaborate further than what he planned to tell her, he said, “Carolina, for the majority of my life, I've been practicing what my brother Edward calls near honesty and haven't knowingly told a lie for nearly ten years.”
She grinned at him. “See, you haven't knowingly told a lie, which is why you're lying to me now; you just don't know it's a lie.”
John groaned. “No. I'm not. Carolina, we're from two entirely different worlds. We cannot marry.”
“That doesn't matter. Just put aside your pride about accepting work from my father and then we'll get married.”
John's jaw dropped. “What, pray tell, has transpired between us in the last four days that has made you certain I planned to ask you to marry me?” he asked, matching her blunt tone.
She shrugged. “It's your eyes.”
“Pardon? My eyes?” he asked, blinking.
“They told me so,” she said simply.
“I wasn't aware eyes could speak.”
“Normally, they don't. But yours do.” She grinned at the blank look he must have on his face. “See, I'm not one who puts a lot of credit in someone's words. To me, their facial expressions — including eyes — say far more. It's a gift, really. And your eyes, John Banks, say you want to marry me.”