Valiant Bride
Page 13
Just this morning she had awakened with the dull headache and a general feeling of malaise. Only the prospect of Jacqueline’s delightful company had prodded her into overcoming her lethargy and following through on her plans.
There was no sign of Duncan upon her departure. It was not surprising. He had taken to riding out to the fields very early in the morning, not returning until late. Some days, when he was surveying a distant part of the plantation, she knew he stayed over at the cottage at night instead of returning to Montclair. But his not giving her the courtesy of seeing her off on a week’s absence was yet another wound to be concealed beneath a bright smile when she arrived at Cameron Hall.
By the time her carriage drew up to the door, she had assumed her usual cheerful oudook, and no one, not even Jacqueline, who knew her well, would have suspected the pain she harbored in her heart.
Noramary was greeted with great warmth by her hostess and introduced to the three other houseguests, ladies from neighboring plantations, all of whom she had met at the Christmas party. Each of them, liberated from the stultifying isolation of the long winter and icy roads that had kept them from the company of congenial friends, was eager to enjoy the pleasant interlude, and the mood was soon one of frivolous gaiety.
The next two days at Cameron Hall were a delightful blend. The mornings were spent in examining the fashion dolls, making sketches of the various costumes, consulting each other about patterns, fabrics, and adaptions of the styles. After the midday meal, they retired for a long afternoon nap.
But it was the evenings, when they gathered in the drawing room for more conversation or music, that Noramary found most enjoyable. Here, amid friends and a relaxed atmosphere of cheerful repartee and laughter, Noramary thrived. Here, she did not have to watch her every word, fearful of saying or doing something that would bring a frown to Duncan’s brow or a cool stare. For Noramary, it was a time of pleasant diversion—feeling amused and amusing and, above all, accepted. More than anything, she felt herself again after the dreary winter in Duncan’s reluctant company.
On the last evening of her visit, Jacqueline came into the guestroom where Noramary was dressing for dinner.
“Ah, cherie, it has been such a pleasure to have you here these past days, but I have not had a moment for private conversation. I thought you looked a bit pale and peaked when you arrived, and the thought crossed my mind that perhaps…? Mais non, I’m sure it is only my imagination, for you seem rosy and radiant now. You have enjoyed yourself here, n’est ce pas?”
“Oh, it’s been wonderful, Jacqueline. I’ve had such a good time, I hate to…” Noramary checked her impulsive words before she admitted that she dreaded going home.
Jacqueline did not seem to notice, but continued smoothly, “But then, the handsome Duncan must be pining away for the return of his bride, qui?” Without waiting for a reply, she went on: “I shall never forget how excited Duncan was after you became engaged. How anxious he was that the house would be in perfect condition for your arrival, everything finished for you!
“You are a very lucky girl, Noramary, to catch such a man! You know half the mamas in the county were hoping to have him for a son-in-law!” Jacqueline laughed at Noramary’s puzzled expression. “You didn’t know that? Well, let me tell you. I can’t count how many friends tried to select just the right bride for Duncan. All the daughters, nieces, sisters who have been trotted out for his approval! Ah, la! But let me tell you a secret—I never saw him so happy as when he rode over to tell us there had been a change of plans, that instead of the Barnwell girl, he was marrying her cousin. The look on his face, cherie! Oh, it was good to see! Duncan is a wonderful man… and I have seen many, but none better than he!”
Suddenly Noramary felt hot and sick and dizzy. Blood rushed into her face, then drained from her head as waves of nausea swept over her. Jacqueline’s face became a blur and the whole room tilted crazily. She tried to stand, but a smothering black mask came down upon her, choking off the air, and she slipped to the floor in a faint.
The next thing Noramary knew was the stringent aroma of smelling salts, the pressure of a cool cloth against the back of her neck, the support of gentle hands. As she regained complete consciousness, she saw that she was lying on the chaise lounge, with Jacqueline’s anxious face hovering above her. Nearby stood a black maid, holding a cup of steaming, fragrant tea.
“What happened?” Noramary asked weakly.
Jacqueline’s worried pucker changed to a teasing smile. “But why didn’t you tell us this happy news? Or were you keeping it a secret for a while? Do not worry, cher Noramary, soon you will feel better, you’ll see. It is the first few weeks that are sometimes trying.”
Noramary stared blankly at her hostess for a moment, bewildered. Then slowly, understanding came, followed immediately by dismay.
“Oh, no!” she covered her mouth with one hand. “I can’t be! What will Duncan say?”
“What! Haven’t you told him?” Jacqueline demanded in amazement. “But what should he say? Duncan will be beside himself with joy, of course! Oh, yes!” she hastened on over Noramary’s protest. “He adores you, and now even more, since you will bring him an heir to his vast lands and to his name!”
“But you don’t understand!” Noramary shook her head forlornly, slow tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks.
“What is to understand? Duncan will be so happy at this news. Did you not see his reaction when my husband toasted him at the Christmas party? There is nothing Duncan wants more than many fine sons to follow him at Montclair.”
Noramary continued shaking her head. But she knew she could not confide in Jacqueline what she did not know herself. Perhaps Duncan had once been happy to have her as his bride. Perhaps even once he had loved her. But now everything was different, everything was changed.
“You’ll see, Noramary. What I’m saying is true. I only wish I could see Duncan’s face when he hears his good fortune.” As she rode back to Montclair from Cameron Hall the next day, Noramary felt the news she carried to Duncan was more a burden than a blessing. She dreaded the moment when she would know his reaction, for of course he must be told.
It was Ellen rather than Duncan who greeted Noramary upon her return. The delay only fueled her apprehension. Perhaps it was for the best, she reassured herself. In the morning she would be more rested, better able to confront Duncan’s anger or disdain, whichever it might be.
Still, as the hours passed, Noramary grew more and more distracted. When the strange weakness and nausea assailed her again, she went to lie down, telling Delva to tell her the minute Duncan came home.
She must have drifted off, for her bedroom was shadowed when she heard the dogs barking, always a signal of Duncan’s homecoming, then the sound of his boots on the polished floor outside her room.
The door opened and he stepped inside.
“You wanted to see me?” he demanded. Approaching the bed, he frowned. “Your maid tells me you’re feeling unwell. What is it?”
Noramary struggled to sit up. “Oh, it’s nothing… really,” she murmured hesitantly.
“It must be something… otherwise you wouldn’t have asked to see me.” His voice was stern. “Perhaps it is simply an attack of melancholy after your visit to Cameron Hall. Perhaps coming back to Montclair is the cause of your malaise. It is sad, but true, that life at Montclair can hardly rival that of either Williamsburg or Cameron Hall.”
“Oh, no Duncan… it isn’t that. Indeed, under the circumstances… my coming back to Montclair should be a time of rejoicing.” Noramary forced herself to ignore his irony and to speak steadily and cheerfully. It was, she felt, a chance to right all the wrong between them, to end forever this state of bitter misunderstanding.
He turned to stare at her, bewilderment, doubt, and uncertainty mingled in his expression.
Noramary took a deep breath and proceeded, “Duncan, we are to have a child.”
The sudden silence that fell over the room was devast
ating in its totality.
Then Duncan spoke and his voice was edged with steel. “Correction, my dear!” Here he paused significantly. “If your condition is as you imply, it is you who are to have a child… not we. What kind of a fool do you and your close, loving, and oh-so-clever family take me for? First, they offer—as a ’substitute” to one flighty daughter—her more beautiful, brighter, more amiable, more charming cousin, as if she were some prize that I, the rejected suitor, should feel fortunate to win. Never a word that it would be convenient—nay, helpful, in fact—to get this lovely young woman off their hands before she did something indiscreet.… Or perhaps they were aware of other indiscretions that might have led to a less… shall we say… suitable marriage! At any rate, I admit I was taken in by this cleverly arranged substitution. More than that, I fell under the spell of this charming ’substitute bride.’ Ah, yes, her demure, unassuming manner did quite beguile, and I fell prey to every well-planned move until—” He halted abruptly.
“So, Noramary, you find yourself with child. So be it. We are married. You bear my name. I should not disgrace either of us by disclaiming the child that you are carrying. But never…” and his voice deepened in cold intensity, “never insult me by insisting it is mine!”
His words fell upon her like stinging blows.
“Duncan, you are wrong!” Noramary burst out. “Why can’t you believe me? I have not… there has never been…”
“Don’t add to your shame with more lies. I have eyes! I saw you and Robert Stedd in Williamsburg. There was no mistaking the relationship between you. Nor did it escape my notice that you took the first opportunity to be alone with him, regardless of how it might look.… Please, spare me any more… spare us both more of these distressing scenes.”
With that he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Noramary quivering under the lash of his words.
chapter
19
THE FIRST OF MARCH was bitterly cold, ushering in a series of storms, each one worse than the one before. Rain, sleet, and sudden snows followed one another in rapid succession.
Noramary, morning-sick as well as heart-sick, felt imprisoned and isolated. Duncan’s unrelenting attitude numbed every emotion except the anguish of his constant rejection, the reason for which still remained a mystery to her.
What bothered her most was that there was no joy in the coming baby. The child of their supreme moment of love had found no welcome in the home he would inherit, none in his father’s heart.
Because of the depressing sameness of her days, Noramary was tempted to daydreams of Williamsburg, of Robert, of what might have been. She prayed to be rid of them, for she knew they only added to her unhappiness and did nothing to give her hope of an eventual reconciliation with Duncan.
Seated at her escritoire at the window of the master bedroom one morning, Noramary tried once again to answer Robert’s letter. She had taken it from its hiding place that morning and reread it through tear-blurred eyes. Poignant memories of all their happy times together now seemed so long ago. Another lifetime!
She took out stationery, dipped her quill into the inkwell, and with pen poised to write, searched her mind for the words.
How could she answer truthfully Robert’s question? Was she really happy? Anything she might say could give him false hope. To allow Robert to harbor hope was wrong. To let him linger in regret of what might have been was destructive. To prolong his yearning for her love was cruel. As long as he kept thoughts of her burning in his heart, he put his own soul in jeopardy. Didn’t the Commandments themselves prohibit such thoughts? “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.” It was clear enough there. Even clearer in the New Testament. There was no other way than to write gently, firmly, and finally to Robert, telling him he must forget her once and for all.
Determinedly she started to write, but each time she tried, the words sounded so stilted, so false, she scratched them out, crumpled up the paper, and started again. On about the fourth try she happened to look up from her desk and see Duncan ride by on his dapple gray horse.
With a heart sore with longing she watched them pass. The graceful beauty of the animal matched the proud bearing and set of the head of the rider. A powerful yearning wrenched Noramary, a desperate longing that the terrible misunderstanding could be solved, that they could know once more that soaring rapture. But it had been as brief as a candle flame, she thought sadly, and as quickly extinguished.
For a few minutes Noramary stared out the window. Although the severe winter storms had passed, the landscape was bleak. The rim of the mountains seemed like grim prison walls, locking her within this unhappy place.
As she looked a pale sun struggled through the pewter-colored clouds, and although a blustery wind was bending the bare tree branches, Noramary felt a sudden urge to go outside, get out of the house, out into the fresh air. A walk would do her good after the weeks she had been confined by the inclement weather.
She flung her cape around her shoulders, paused briefly to tell one of the servants she was leaving, and went outside. The wind whipped the folds of her cape like billowing sails, but the sharp bite of the wind felt invigorating.
Patches of snow still clung to the brown meadow, and icy drifts were piled under the low-hanging branches of the evergreens along the path to the woods. Noramary took long breaths and drew the crisp, exhilarating air deep into her lungs.
She walked along briskly, more conscious of her troubled thoughts than of the direction she was taking. When she found herself at the rustic bridge that curved over the creek that cut through the meadow, she stopped and paused to catch her breath. Inevitably she was reminded of that stormy night when this bridge had been washed away, forcing her to remain with Duncan in the little cottage overnight. That night when they had made those first, tentative moves toward understanding each other, getting to know each other. Everything had seemed possible then. Even learning to love each other.
The memory was bittersweet. Noramary stared hypnotically into the crystal clear water rushing over the stones, wishing she could somehow turn back the clock. Almost unconsciously, she continued on the path toward the cottage, as if following some inner leading. Soon she was on the little rise just above the hollow where the cottage nestled into the protective shelter of the trees. The next thing she knew, she was standing in front of the door. Moving as if in a dream long-remembered, or by the deep longing in her heart, she put her hand on the latch and lifted it. The door opened easily to her touch, and Noramary walked inside.
She went over to the fireplace, remembering the festive supper she and Duncan had shared in front of it. At least it had seemed so. She thought sadly of the strained dinners they now took together in the vast dining room at Montclair— each seated far apart at either end of the long table, with only a few words spoken in the presence of the servants waiting on them.
Ironically, she recalled how they had happily quoted the psalmist over their meager supper that night. “Better a dry morsel with joy than a feast where strife dwells.”
Noramary wandered about the little house, noticing the tasteful furnishings. Just as Cameron Hall bore the indelible stamp of its mistress’s colorful personality, so this place where Duncan had lived for several years reflected his quiet dignity.
On the night of the storm, she had remained in the front room near the blazing warmth of the fireplace. The next morning she had gone into the bedroom only long enough to make a brief toilette. Now she moved through each room taking note of everything. It was a miniature of the great mansion down to the most minute detail. Everything was of the finest quality, the most precise craftsmanship. Duncan demanded perfection in everything.
There was also evidence of the more recent times when he had chosen to remain here rather than ride back to Montclair, the house where love had ceased to be, Noramary thought sorrowfully. A heavy, woolen outer jacket was hung carefully over a chair, a linen shirt discarded, a scarf flung onto the wooden settle.
Noramary went over for a closer look. There could be no mistake. It was the duplicate of the one she had given Aunt Betsy. But it was Jacqueline who had asked for the copy. Had she given it to Duncan? Or, and something like hope leaped in Noramary’s heart, had Duncan asked for it?
If Duncan had come to despise her as much as it seemed, why would he want an image of her where he could see it often? It was a tantalizing question, one for which Noramary had no answer.
She sat down on the chair at the desk, staring at her silhouette, trying to make sense of this puzzling discovery.
How long she remained there, lost in thought, she never knew. But suddenly the rattle of rain against the window startled Noramary. Looking up, she noticed that the day had darkened considerably. She had come a long way from the main house. She must start back right away.
The wind had come up and she heard it keening down through the chimneys of the empty fireplaces and around the eaves. She stepped outside onto the porch. In the midst of these dense woods, it appeared as if evening had already descended. She pulled up the hood of her cape, drew its strings, and tied them under her chin. The rain was spasmodic as she started out, but the wind was fierce and she bent her head against it and began to walk faster.
It seemed that she walked for some time at a brisk pace when her legs began to tire. She stopped, arching her back and pressing with her fingers to relieve the ache. Looking around, she frowned. She should have come to the clearing that led into the meadow above Montclair by now, but she was still in thick woods.