“I think Frances would be more receptive if it came from you,” Hugo suggested, his eyes twinkling with humor. “She worships you.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t feel comfortable pushing her into anything. She deserves to be in love, Hugo.”
“Who says she can’t be in love with Luke?”
“You have it all figured out, don’t you? Does she have no say in this? People don’t fall in love on demand.”
“I think we’d better leave this for another time, my sweet,” Hugo said as he drew me to him and kissed me thoroughly. “Nothing needs to be decided today, tomorrow, or next week. It was just a thought.” I couldn’t help admiring his tactic. It was just a thought, which he had carefully planted in my head in the hope that I would do the same with Frances.
“Clever clogs,” I said and smacked Hugo with a pillow.
“Honor forbids me to retaliate against a pregnant woman, but no one says I can’t use other means to bring you to submission.”
I let out a squeal as Hugo flipped me onto my back and pinned my wrists to the bed, his expression going from one of laughter to one of desire. A woman in my condition was forbidden from making love, but Hugo knew better, having visited the future. These last few months my body had grown extra sensitive; every nerve-ending zapping with electricity around the clock. My breasts were tender, my nipples growing hard from the slightest touch, and the skin stretched tight across my stomach, but having Hugo inside me never felt as delicious as it did now that extra blood was flowing to my nether regions. I arched my back as he slid into me, moving slowly and deliberately as I cried out with exquisite pleasure. All thought fled from my mind as I lifted my hips to meet his until I was lost in a maelstrom of sensation. I opened my eyes to find Hugo smiling down at me.
“You are so beautiful right now,” he whispered. “I’m in awe. I wish I could capture that expression on your face and keep it with me forever.”
“How do I look?”
“Blissful.”
I took his face in my hands and met his gaze. He didn’t say it straight out, but I knew he was worried about how the baby’s arrival would change us. He feared that I wouldn’t want him anymore, and give all my love to our child. I suppose his worries were not unfounded, in this time or any time. Relationships changed once babies came along, and no relationship, no matter how close, remained exactly the same after birth. I hoped that I would still feel as I did now, but I could offer no guarantees. I couldn’t even guarantee that I would survive the birth, a thought that I pushed to the back of my mind every day as my due date grew nearer.
Chapter 4
Hugo blew out the candle and adjusted the coverlet around Neve to keep out the creeping chill of the February night. The fire had burned down, and soon the meager warmth from the glowing ashes would be replaced by the cold air of a slumbering house in winter. Hugo placed his hand on Neve’s belly, enjoying the silent communion with his child. When Neve was awake, the baby often slept, but when she finally fell asleep at night, the child seemed to become active and push in all directions, as if it were looking for a way out. Soon enough, little one, Hugo thought as what he assumed to be the head pushed stubbornly against his hand. Or perhaps it was the bottom.
Doctor Durant said that babies got into position several weeks before the birth, their head at the entrance of the birth canal in readiness. He didn’t share his worries with Neve, but he’d spent hours on his knees in church, praying for a safe delivery. He kept his fears in check around his wife, but deep down, he was absolutely terrified. Roughly fifty percent of women died in childbirth; sometimes during the actual labor, and many times within a few days of delivery. Countless newborns died with them. Neve had made her decision to go back to the past with him, but he couldn’t help blaming himself for taking her away from the miracles of modern medicine that were the norm in the twenty-first century. What he wouldn’t give to have Neve give birth in a hospital with a trained staff, an operating theater should anything go wrong, and various drugs to ease the pain.
Hugo dragged his mind away from the impending birth as Neve’s stomach suddenly bulged just beneath her ribs, a protrusion the size of a small fist just visible under the skin. Knee or foot? Hugo wondered as he gently pushed back. He felt a ripple deep within as the baby shifted position, and Neve’s belly went back to normal. How did she sleep through all these acrobatics? he wondered. He wished he could sleep, but his mind buzzed like a beehive; thoughts, ideas, and worries colliding, multiplying, and morphing into new concerns. Hugo hadn’t shared these particular worries with Neve, since despite agreeing to her not going into confinement, he strongly believed that she should feel as serene and untroubled as possible during this delicate time. Sooner or later, he’d have to divulge what was on his mind, but not until after Neve was safely delivered.
Hugo stared at the darkened canopy of the four-poster, trying to make out the fauna and flora so elaborately embroidered on the apple-green damask, which appeared to be a deep gray in the darkness of the room. The matching bed hangings kept out the worst of the drafts, and created a comforting cocoon around his little family, but Hugo’s mind was still awhirl. The conversation about Frances was only part of what was on his mind these days, a very small part. He’d naively thought that getting away from England would solve most of their problems, but there were particulars that he hadn’t properly taken into consideration, and they had been pointed out to him by Luke shortly after their move into the new house.
Unlike Bradford Nash, who was Hugo’s closest friend and the one person Hugo would trust not only with his own life, but those of his wife and future child, Luke had been more of a partner in crime. They’d had some epic adventures while at Court as teenage boys, and there had been a healthy rivalry between them. Hugo always suspected that Luke had flirted with Margaret simply because he knew that Hugo had residual feelings for her from the time when he was a boy. But, it had been Nicholas Marsden, who was several years older than Hugo, who had sweet-talked Margaret into following him to London from Cranley after visiting the Everlys in Surrey, but had ultimately tired of her and cast her aside. And now Hugo was foster father to Margaret’s child, whom everyone perceived to be his own. Hugo had noticed Luke watching Jem when he came into the room, seeing the ghost of his mother in the child’s face. He’d had a speculative look on his face, but said nothing as he waited for Jem to leave so that he could address what he’d come to discuss with Hugo.
“How’s your lady, Hugo?” he asked, starting from afar. “Is she pleased with her new home?”
“Yes, Neve is settling in very well. Thank you for recommending Doctor Durant; he’s due to call tomorrow,” Hugo replied, wondering why Luke had asked to speak with him privately. He’d never before seemed to mind the company of Neve, and especially not that of Frances, who’d left him nearly speechless with admiration.
“I’m very happy that everyone is comfortable and safe,” Luke replied smoothly, accepting a snifter of cognac from Hugo. “I wouldn’t like to think that anything was worrying Lady Everly so close to the birth.”
“Luke, what are you getting at?” Hugo asked as he took a seat across from Luke, his right side pleasantly warmed by the roaring fire, but his hands cold in his lap as he anticipated some unpleasant news, which Luke was sure to deliver within the next few minutes. He’d known Luke since the former was twelve, and he was well acquainted with the pained look that Luke now had on his handsome face. He was wearing an elaborate wig, and his face was powdered and rouged, but beneath the mask of the courtier was still the mischievous boy, who’d sworn eternal friendship to his older counterpart.
“Hugo, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I feel that I must warn you of certain aspects of your current situation.”
“Such as?” Hugo asked warily. He didn’t think this was about money, since Hugo had paid for everything in full. Their financial situation would eventually become strained, since like most landowners, Hugo’s wealth was tied up in property a
nd not readily available in coin, but for now there was enough money to last until the estate manager collected the rents from Hugo’s tenants, and Bradford sent a sum drawn on Hugo’s account in London. He would do so in the spring, and include news of home, and Jane; something that Hugo almost dreaded.
“Hugo, your situation is somewhat more complex than you might have originally imagined,” Luke began as he crossed his legs. He always did that when he was not altogether comfortable with the topic. “Being a representative of the Crown, Sir Trumbull cannot openly acknowledge you as being Lord Everly, since he would be challenging the verdict of George Jeffreys and sending a clear message back home that the man convicted of treason was indeed innocent. Such an action might have repercussions, since to ignore the fact that the English envoy is convinced of your identity is to silently acknowledge the injustice of the trial, and that the Crown will never do.”
“I see. Is that all? I feel there’s more,” Hugo said, taking a sip of his cognac to steady his nerves. Judging from Luke’s fidgeting, this was only the tip of the iceberg.
“There is, old friend. There’s the question of your allegiance and how it might best be addressed. Being a Catholic who worked to undermine the Protestant Rebellion of the Duke of Monmouth, you would, of course, be welcomed by Louis XIV into his Court. You’d risked your life to preserve the monarchy of James II, which makes you seem devout and courageous in the eyes of a Catholic king.
However, should James II’s marriage bear no fruit, and a Protestant succession be the result, your re-entry into England might be compromised by the open admission of your part in the rebellion. Should a Protestant king sit on the throne, he will not welcome back a nobleman who openly tried to thwart the efforts of a Protestant hopeful. So, if you are seen as the traitor who supported Monmouth in his efforts to overthrow a Catholic king, you will not be welcomed in the French Court. But, if you openly admit to your true role and religion, you will not be welcomed back should you wish to return home. And, of course, I must act based on whatever you decide. I’m here as a politician first and your friend second. My reputation must not be tarnished by an association with a known traitor.”
“A conundrum, indeed,” Hugo replied, his head cocked to the side and his eyes hooded as he considered this impasse. Of course, Luke had no way of knowing that in less than three years, James II would be overthrown in what the English people referred to as the Glorious Revolution, and Protestant William and Mary were going to take the throne of England. Hugo had every intention of returning to England and reclaiming the position he’d been forced from by accusations of treason. He’d have to pay court to a Protestant king, so to openly admit to his Catholicism and part in the rebellion was paramount to political suicide.
He would have to give this a great deal of consideration before deciding on how to proceed. At this time, he was virtually invisible since he hadn’t been introduced into French society or invited to the Court of Louis XIV. He could remain that way, but wasn’t sure he’d like to exist on the fringes of society. He’d done that since escaping arrest in May of the previous year, and he didn’t at all care for the way it felt.
“I’d like to have a word with you about Frances as well,” Luke said, uncrossing his legs and changing the topic to something much more pleasant, at least to him. “As you know, I lost my wife nearly three years ago,” Luke confided. Hugo had known that Luke was a widower, but wasn’t sure what his relationship with his wife had been like. He’d never met her.
“Eleanor had been my father’s choice, but I’d come to love her,” Luke said, his eyes clouding over with the memory of his dead wife. “I hadn’t realized how much until she was taken from me.”
“I am very sorry for your loss, Luke. I’m sure she was lovely.”
“She was beautiful, inside and out. You probably won’t believe me, but I have been completely alone since,” Luke confided, blushing slightly beneath the rouge. “There were a few drunken visits to an exclusive brothel, but I haven’t taken a mistress, since I just couldn’t bring myself to care for anyone.”
“And what bearing does this have on my ward?” Hugo asked carefully. He knew where this was going, but he needed to hear it from Luke, and be able to judge the degree of his sincerity.
“Frances is…” Luke grew silent as words failed him. “She’s someone I can truly love,” he finished at last. “I know that she’s young, and I would be willing to wait if I knew there was hope of her accepting my suit. I would be devoted to her, Hugo,” Luke said earnestly. “Do you think you might prevail on her to consider me? It would help you to have her future assured as well,” he continued. “You have enough to contend with without worrying about the future of a young girl. I would provide for her handsomely, and her position would be assured as my wife, both here and in England.”
“Luke, I must tell you that Frances has suffered some emotional and physical trauma in the recent past. She is very fragile, and I would never permit anyone I felt to be unsuitable to attempt to court her,” Hugo said, watching Luke. If Luke were looking for a complete innocent, he would instantly renege on his offer, but Luke looked shattered as he gazed at Hugo.
“I would dedicate myself to making her happy, Hugo. We’ve known each other for many years, and I think you will agree when I say that I’m not an unkind or an insensitive man. Frances would never have cause to regret becoming my wife, emotionally or physically,” he added carefully. Luke didn’t want to be indelicate, but he wanted Hugo to know that he was a gentle and considerate lover, not some brute who would use her without any regard for her feelings. Hugo did believe him on that score. Luke had been mischievous, but never cruel, not like his cousin who’d seduced women and discarded them without any thought to their future.
“All right, Luke. I will broach the subject with Neve, since she has much more influence with Frances than I do. You have my word that I will not stand in your way should Frances be willing.”
“And I will do everything in my power to help you navigate your way through French society and find a happy medium which would pave the way for you here, and in time, ease your return from exile.”
So, Luke could do something to help, but he expected something in return, and that something was Frances. Hugo angrily turned onto his side, aware of his precarious position. He didn’t want to use Frances as a pawn in this game of politics and identity, but he needed a way in, and Luke was the only person who could offer him that. He seemed to genuinely like Frances, so at least that was something to ease Hugo’s conscience after he’d presented the idea to Neve.
February 1686
Barbados
Chapter 5
Max squinted at the brutal sun holding court in the cloudless blue sky, grateful that it was only about a half hour till the midday meal. He was hungry and terribly thirsty; his lips chapped from dehydration. Most days his mind was numb as he cut the cane, but today his thoughts were in a whirl, probably because of the punishment that was to be administered to one of the slaves at the end of the workday. The overseer, Erik Johansson, prudently administered punishments in the evening, so as not to incapacitate a slave during working hours and diminish productivity. He was a hard man, one who always erred on the side of cruelty. Every transgression was punished, especially if the offender was black.
Johansson was much harder on the Negro slaves than the indentures; partially because he was a racist, and partially because he could get away with it. The plantation owner, Jessop Greene, rarely came this far afield and left all disciplinary action to his overseer. Max had not seen him since the day he’d been taken to the plantation, and likely wouldn’t until his indenture contract was up; if he lived that long. Very few people survived the seven years, and even fewer had the means to go home. Max couldn’t even think that far; he had only one objective — survival.
Whatever discomfort Max had suffered aboard the vessel was nothing compared to the humiliation and injustice he had to deal with at the hands of Erik Johansson. Max w
orked fourteen-hour days, never got enough to eat or drink, and hadn’t had anything resembling a bath in months. There was a water barrel by the barracks, and each man was allowed ten seconds once a week before being forced to move on. Max had become accustomed to his own stink, and the only thing he looked forward to during the course of the day were a few hours of oblivion between supper and breakfast. Most men managed to forge friendships to sustain them in their hardship, but Max kept himself to himself, wary of getting too close with anyone.
The only person he ever spoke to was John, one of the men who’d come over with him and was purchased by Greene on the same day. John was an older man, gruff and taciturn, but he was the type of man who’d come to your aid when you needed it and share his last hunk of bread or cup of ale with a hungry friend. Max had learned to rely on him and even shared something of his story, although he kept back some pertinent facts, such as the fact that he was born in the twentieth century and had traveled back in time, only to be arrested for a crime he didn’t commit in place of a man who was his ancestor and now arch enemy.
John had been sent down for stealing, a story that reminded Max of Les Miserable. Years of hard labor for a stolen loaf of bread, or, in this case, a deer that John had poached from his master’s land. John had left behind a wife and four daughters, all under the age of fifteen, and there wasn’t a night that he didn’t pray for them before going to sleep. Max had long since stopped praying. He was godless, angry, and hard. If there had ever been any vulnerability or humor in him, it was long gone, replaced by a feral need to survive.
Night after night, he dreamed of the gentle rains of England and the comfortable life he’d left behind. His inner voice of reason told him that he’d never see that life again, but Max refused to accept defeat. He needed something to keep him going, and this was the only thing that meant anything at this juncture. At thirty-eight, he had no family, no money, no friends, and no freedom. Things were bleak, but not as bleak as they were for the poor boy who would get flogged tonight for going to the privy too many times during the course of the day. The poor kid was obviously ill, but Johansson wanted to prevent him setting an example to others who might decide to claim illness to take a few minutes break from the backbreaking labor.
Sins of Omission Page 3