Mutiny of the Heart

by McDonough, Vickie;

  “Well, there’s nothing more to be done in here until I order some new things. Would you two care for a stroll in the garden before the temperatures warm too much?”

  Heather spun around. “Aye. That would be lovely. I’ve been wanting to see your pretty flowers up close.”

  The older woman smiled. “Wonderful. I do so enjoy them, but I much prefer to have someone else with me. And before you get your hopes up, some flowers are blooming, but it’s still early, so many varieties have yet to open their faces to the sun.”

  Heather wondered if Mrs. Reed was lonely. Living so far from Charleston, she was all but isolated here for much of the time. She would certainly enjoy having her grandson’s company.

  Mrs. Reed reached out a hand to Jamie. “Come, Jamie, shall we take a walk?”

  He eyed the wood pieces he’d stacked in a tall tower as if he wasn’t quite ready to leave them; then he glanced at Heather.

  “Those will be here when we return,” she said. “You may play with them again later.”

  Looking a bit disappointed, Jamie stood and took his grandmother’s hand. He’d always been a sweet, compliant child and rarely complained or pitched a fit. Until now, she’d assumed he had inherited such traits from his mother, but having met Mr. Reed and his mother, she was no longer so certain. Both Reeds seemed to be good-natured people with big hearts. Guilt nibbled at her for thinking so badly of them all these years. But if Mr. Reed was as good a man as he seemed, how could he have done such a deed to Deborah?

  As Mrs. Reed led Jamie from the room, he reached out and took Heather’s hand, too. She smiled down at him, receiving a grin from him in return. Perhaps he did still need her.

  They ambled through the wide hall with its decorative ceiling, soft bluish-green walls the color of the sea, and furniture so shiny that she could see her reflection. Two chairs upholstered in ivory-colored brocade sat in a corner alcove with a potted palm tree about Jamie’s height situated between them.

  At the front door, Mrs. Reed took a straw hat off a hall tree and handed Heather’s to her. Once outside, they descended the front stairs into the warm sunshine. Mr. Reed met them as they reached the ground.

  “Off on an outing, I presume?” he asked.

  “No, son. We’re simply out to take a walk in the gardens.”

  He eyed Heather. What could he want with her? Had he already hired a governess? She swallowed hard. Jamie was adapting well, but would he be bereft once she left? Her heart ached at the thought of causing him pain.

  “I wonder if I might have a chat with Miss Hawthorne.”

  Mrs. Reed glanced back at her and smiled. “I suppose you should ask her. Jamie and I can stroll the garden and hunt for butterflies and bees.”

  Jamie scowled. “I don’t like bees. They sting.”

  Mrs. Reed hugged the boy. “Then we shall see how many different butterflies we can find. All right?”

  He nodded and waved at Heather.

  “Oh my. A carriage is coming.” Mrs. Reed stared down the long lane. A fine coach drawn by a pair of matched gray horses emerged from the tree line and rolled past a creek with an arched walking bridge and a pond with a white gazebo partially covered with ivy.

  “Are you expecting guests, Mother?”

  Mrs. Reed shook her head. “I’ve no idea who that could be.”

  Heather didn’t know whether to snatch up Jamie and run back inside or stay. How would Mr. Reed explain his son—and was he ready to do so?

  He stared at the carriage for a moment then turned back to his mother. “Isn’t that the Duponts’ carriage? I recognize the horses.”

  Mrs. Reed gasped and held a hand to her mouth. “What day is this?”

  He lifted one dark brow. “Saturday. Why?”

  “Oh dear. I’d forgotten that Gwenda and Hilary were coming to tea. They were not supposed to be here until four, though. Surely it can’t be that late.” She glanced at the sun. “I wonder why they are so early.” Mrs. Reed squeezed her forehead. “I’m not even certain if there’s anything ready to serve them.”

  “I’m sure there is something. Mable always has goodies of some sort available.” Mr. Reed dusted the sleeves of his white shirt and tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat. “I need to fetch my frock coat. I’m not in the proper dress to receive guests.”

  “Would you like me to go and check with Mable about refreshments?” Heather offered.

  Relief softened Mrs. Reed’s face. “Oh, would you, dear?” “I’d be happy to.”

  “And could you please find Mrs. Overton and have her locate Elijah, my manservant? Have him run up to my room and get my tan frock and bring it to me?” Mr. Reed’s expression looked hopeful.

  “Aye. My pleasure.”

  “Take Jamie with you.” Mr. Reed reached for his son’s hand and smiled. “Go inside with Miss Hawthorne, and perhaps Mable will have a treat for you.”

  Heather returned to the house with Jamie in tow. Had his father purposely sent them both away? Was he ashamed of Jamie?

  She hurried through the house, searching for the housekeeper, but had no luck finding her. Even though she’d offered her assistance, she couldn’t help feeling as if Mr. Reed hadn’t wanted the guests to meet Jamie. She shook her head, scolding herself for her negative thinking. Perhaps he simply wanted to prepare them first. When she didn’t find the housekeeper, she scurried downstairs to the kitchen with Jamie following. Should she return out front after finding out if there were any cakes to serve with the tea?

  Mable was alone today, but she smiled as they entered. “They’s that fine, young gent’aman.”

  Jamie smiled. “Father said I might have a treat.”

  “Did he now?”

  “Indeed.” Jamie climbed onto a chair at the worktable. “What kind of treats you got?”

  “Have, Jamie. What kind of treats do you have?” Heather smoothed his hair and tucked in his shirt.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Mable giggled. “I has some scones and strawberries or some o’ them little cakes you’uns had yesterday at tea.”

  “Mmm, I want the cakes.” Jamie bounced on the chair.

  “Before you give him that, I need to inform you that Mrs. Reed has guests who are just arriving.”

  Mable nodded and stirred something in a pot over the fire. A delicious scent filled the air. “Mmm-huh. She done told me last week that they’s a’comin’. But I thought they was comin’ later in the afternoon.”

  “I think they were supposed to, but they’re here now. Mrs. Reed said something about them being early.”

  “Humph. That Miss Hilary, she likes to make a scene. She gots her cap set for Mr. Lucas if you ask me.” Mable brought over a plate with two small cakes and set them before Jamie.

  Heather’s heart skipped a few beats. Miss Dupont had designs on Mr. Reed? What would that mean for Jamie? What did it mean for her?

  Heather’s hands tightened on the back of Jamie’s chair. If Mr. Reed were to marry, his new wife might be cruel to Jamie or send him away altogether once she had her own children.

  Heavy footsteps and a metallic jingling sounded on the stairs, and a flash of black skirt showed as the housekeeper stepped into the room. “We’ve guests. Make haste, Mable.”

  The cook set a teapot onto the fire. “The wata’ is heatin’ and the scones is made.”

  “Ah, very good.” Mrs. Overton’s shoulders lowered as she relaxed.

  Heather approached the housekeeper. “Mr. Reed asked me to have you find Elijah and have him collect Mr. Reed’s tan frock coat from his bedchamber and take it to him. He was outside in front of the house a few moments ago.”

  “Ach! That man. Don’t know why he can’t take his coat when he leaves the house.” The tall, thin woman spun around, and hiking up her skirt, dashed up the stairs. The clinking of the numerous keys hanging from her chatelaine could be heard until she reached the second floor.

  Mable shook her head. “That woman, she’s more flighty than a nest of sp
ooked pheasants.” She shook her head and laid a half dozen scones on an etched silver tray. She removed a shiny silver teapot from a shelf and set it on the table.

  Heather giggled at the woman’s bluster. She’d been around a few slaves, and the servants at Reed Springs were little like them. Slaves tended to keep their heads down and never looked a white man in the eye or sassed him. The servants here had more spunk and seemed happy and content. Just one more thing that elevated Lucas Reed in her mind.

  eight

  Lucas slipped his arms into his coat and straightened it just as the carriage made its final turn. “Elijah, please inform Mrs. Overton that we’ll take refreshments in the parlor as soon as our guests are settled.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded.

  His mother leaned toward him. “What do we tell them about Jamie?”

  A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. Hilary Dupont was the last person he’d expected to see today. The pretty but chatty woman had long ago set her cap for him, even though he’d offered no encouragement. He hadn’t been interested in making a match with a woman since he’d lost Deborah. But if he was being completely honest, of late his desire to settle down had been stirred up by a shy northerner. What he needed to figure out was if that desire was birthed from gratitude because Miss Hawthorne had brought Jamie to him—or if it was the woman herself who intrigued him.

  He refocused on the carriage as it slowed. He’d hoped for a week alone with his mother before he had to introduce Jamie to any friends or neighbors. If Hilary knew, it wouldn’t be long before everyone along the Ashley River did, and guests would be arriving in droves to hear how it all had come about.

  Sooner or later, everyone would know anyway. Wouldn’t it be better if he was the one who first delivered the news to Hilary? At least there’d be less spurious blather that way.

  The carriage rolled to a halt, and Lucas stiffened his spine.

  He could only pray for a brief visit. Normally, he’d offer his greetings and take his leave after a short while, but with Jamie here, he didn’t want to leave his mother at the mercy of the two Dupont women, who would pry and prod until they’d revealed every sordid detail. He loved his mother, but she could never keep a secret. The last thing he wanted was for people to know Jamie was Deborah’s child. Or Marcus’s.

  He opened the carriage door and forced a smile. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  “Why, Mr. Reed, what a lovely surprise to see you.” Hilary smiled and reached for his hand, and he helped her disembark. Her silver and lavender skirts rustled as she stepped as close as her petticoats would allow. An overpowering floral scent permeated the air, putting him in mind of a walking lilac bush.

  “I thought you weren’t expected to return until next week.” She batted her thick lashes. The beguiling look in her unusual, near-violet eyes made him wonder if she’d known he was home and that was why she was here now. Had word already gotten out about Jamie?

  “I decided to return sooner than planned,” he said.

  Hilary’s mother was just as bold in her stare. Both women had made it clear that they intended to see Hilary married to him, but he’d rather be keelhauled. Still, he would be the polite host and hope they’d soon lose interest in making him their quest and focus on some other prey.

  “Welcome.” His mother stepped forward. “It’s so good to see you both. Shall we go inside where it’s cooler?”

  Mrs. Dupont nodded and fluttered her fan. “Dreadfully hot for so early in the day, is it not? You needn’t have waited outside for us, Amelia.”

  “Oh, but I was about to take a stroll in the garden with—”

  “Mother, perhaps the conversation could wait until we’re inside and we’ve made our guests comfortable?” Lucas despised interrupting her, but he wanted control of any talk of Jamie. He offered his arm to both older women, helping them up the stairs and effectively holding Hilary at bay.

  “Of course,” his mother responded. “Do let us retire from this heat.”

  In the parlor, Mrs. Dupont sat on the sofa while Hilary situated herself on the narrower canapé, leaving room on the end, no doubt, for him. Resisting Hilary’s unspoken invitation, he strode to the fireplace and rested his elbow on the mantel.

  “How is the shipping business these days?” Mrs. Dupont asked.

  “Fine. We’ve been blessed with clear weather for the past few weeks and have accomplished much.” He bided his time until the chitchat died away. Suddenly, he straightened. Would knowing about Jamie dissuade Hilary from her mission to ensnare him as her husband?

  If it did, then he was correct about the woman. But if not …

  “And how is Howard these days?” his mother asked.

  Mrs. Dupont pursed her lips. “Oh, you know men and their politics. He’s working hard to see that South Carolina ratifies the Constitution. He’s certain it will be the demise of us all if we don’t. They need a majority of nine colonies, you know.”

  His mother waved her hand in the air. “I know nothing of such things. I leave all that to Lucas.” She glanced at him and lifted her brows, as if asking, When?

  He knew how eager she was to share Jamie with her friends. There was no point in delaying things. It would go as it would go, but he had the distinct feeling that neither of the Dupont women would take the surprise of his son well. He pushed away from the wall. Hilary smiled and scooted her skirts closer to her in an open invitation for him to sit beside her. Mrs. Overton strolled in, carrying the teapot, followed by Mable, who held a tray of scones. “Mrs. Overton, where are Miss Hawthorne and Jamie?” Lucas asked.

  “In the kitchen, sir. Shall I send them up?”

  Lucas nodded. “Please do.”

  Hilary turned curious eyes upon him, as did her mother. When the servants left, he cleared his throat and plunged forward. “I had a rather startling surprise arrive while I was last in Charleston. A woman came to my door with a young boy in tow.”

  Hilary cast an odd glance at her mother, while his mother sat on the edge of her seat, obviously anxious.

  “As it turns out, the boy is a Reed. I received documentation proving it, and I’ve claimed him as my son.”

  Hilary gasped and bounced up, her silk skirts swishing. “But—but you can’t. I mean how can you possibly be certain the child is yours?”

  “Just wait until you see him, and you’ll understand. Jamie is a miniature of his father.” His mother’s warm smile revealed the love she already felt for her grandson.

  Hilary flitted to the doorway and back. “You must be wrong.”

  “There is no doubt in my mind.”

  She flicked open a fan that hung by a cord around her wrist and waved it vigorously in front of her reddened face. “Who is the mother? Why have we not heard about this—this child before now?”

  “Because I did not know about him until just last week.”

  Mrs. Dupont’s fan snapped open and joined her daughter’s, flapping like a pair of hummingbird wings. “This is highly irregular, Lucas. Why are you willing to take in the urchin when you weren’t married to his mother?” Her cheeks paled suddenly. “You weren’t married, were you?”

  Lucas straightened, and his eyes narrowed. This woman would rather he fathered an illegitimate child than have married the boy’s mother? He knew the Duponts were shallow, but he never expected them to be so coldhearted toward a child.

  “Of course he wasn’t married.” His mother twisted her hands in her lap. “Oh dear, that didn’t sound quite right. Lucas is a different man than he was when he was younger. We’ve all made mistakes in the past.”

  Lucas paced across the room then realized that brought him closer to Miss Dupont, so he strode to the front window and looked out. “Thank you, Mother, for defending me, but it isn’t necessary, and Jamie is not a mistake.”

  A very unladylike snort erupted from Hilary’s direction. “You will have a difficult time finding a woman to marry if you take in that—”
>
  Lucas spun around and cut off her last word with a glare.

  “Now, Hilary,” Mrs. Dupont said. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. Do come sit down.”

  The young woman returned his stare with her nose in the air. With a flick of her hand, she closed the fan, sashayed back to the canapé, and gracefully lowered herself onto the cushions. “When will we meet this boy?”

  He cared not for her snide tone. How could he ever have looked twice at this woman? Aye, she was lovely on the outside, but she was like a potato whose perfect outward appearance hid a black and rotted interior. So different from Miss Hawthorne, whose love and devotion for a child that wasn’t hers compelled her to travel more than a thousand miles to bring him to his father. “Any moment now. I asked the housekeeper to send him and Miss Hawthorne up.”

  “And just who is this Miss Hawthorne?” Mrs. Dupont asked.

  Lucas straightened under her glare. “She’s the woman who brought my son to me in Charleston.

  Hilary narrowed her eyes at him. “How can you be certain she isn’t the child’s real mother and just trying to make a quick buck by pawning her illegitimate child off on you?”

  Heather held on to Jamie’s shoulder, refusing to let him enter the parlor until the negative remarks died down. How could these women consider themselves friends and ask such atrocious questions? Why, it almost sounded like a wife quizzing her husband about his illegitimate son. But what gave them that right? Did Mr. Reed have an understanding with Miss Dupont?

  Her heart twisted. Why should she care if he had given his affections to another woman? He was perfectly within his rights to do so. She was only concerned for Jamie.

  “I have a letter from his mother stating the facts. I’ll not have you slander Miss Hawthorne’s reputation. She’s a kind, generous woman.”

  “Indeed.”

  Though Heather couldn’t see who spoke last, she thought the voice sounded as if it may have belonged to the younger woman.