Counterfeit Lady

by Jude Deveraux

  “Where’s the portrait of Beth?” Wes asked through clenched teeth.

  “I moved it to my office,” Clay said as he poured himself a brandy.

  “So you can be near her all the time? You have a copy of Beth walking around your house and a portrait of her in the office where you spend the rest of the day.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clay said angrily.

  “Like hell you don’t! I mean that vain, overweight bitch you’ve taken in as a substitute for Beth.”

  Clay’s eyes flashed. He was the taller of the two, a strong, hard man, but Wes was powerfully made. They’d never fought.

  Suddenly, Wes calmed. “Look, Clay, I don’t want to yell. I don’t even want to argue with you. I think you need a friend right now. Can’t you see what you’re doing? That woman looks like Beth. When I first saw her, I thought she was Beth. But she’s not!”

  “I’m aware of that,” Clay said flatly.

  “Are you? You look at her as if she were a goddess, yet have you ever listened to her? She’s about as far removed from Beth as humanly possible. She’s a vain, arrogant hypocrite.”

  The next moment, Clay’s fist came smashing into Wes’s face. Wes reeled against the desk and spun backward where he landed on one of the red leather chairs. He rubbed his jaw and tasted the blood inside his mouth. For a moment he considered going after Clay. Maybe a good fight would knock some sense into his head. At least a fighting Clay was one he recognized.

  “Beth is dead,” Wes whispered. “She and James are dead, and no matter how much you try, nothing is going to bring them back.”

  Clay looked at his friend slumped on the chair, rubbing his jaw. He started to speak but couldn’t. There were too many things to say and too few. He turned and walked out of the room, out of the house, and toward the tobacco fields. Maybe a few hours’ work would help calm him, keep him from thinking of Beth and Nicole—no, of Bianca and Nicole.

  Chapter 10

  THE TREES WERE CHANGING TO THE GLORY OF AUTUMN colors. The reds and golds blazed. Nicole stood on top of a hill that looked down on the mill and her house. Through the trees she could see the sunlight sparkling on clear, rushing water.

  It had been ten days since Wesley Stanford had visited her and more than a month since that horrible night when Bianca had returned to her life. She had thought the hard work of the mill would block him from her mind, but it hadn’t.

  “Enjoying the quiet?”

  Nicole jumped when she heard Clay’s voice. She hadn’t seen him in all the time he’d been with Bianca.

  “Janie told me where you were. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  She turned slowly and looked up at him. The sun was behind his head, making the curling ends of his dark hair golden. He looked tired and older. There were deep circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. “No,” she smiled. “You weren’t intruding. Are you well? Is your tobacco harvested?”

  His mouth changed from a hard line to a soft smile. He sat down on the ground, stretched out on it, and stared up at the sky through a brilliant tree of red-gold leaves. He seemed to relax instantly. Just being near Nicole made him feel better. “Your mill seems to be doing well. I came over to ask a favor of you. Ellen and Horace Backes are giving a party for us. It’s a real Virginia party, lasting at least three days, and you and I are the guests of honor. Ellen wants to welcome my wife to the community.”

  When Clay stretched out at Nicole’s feet, his long legs extended, his muscles straining against the open shirt, she felt as if she were going to melt. She wanted to sink to the ground beside him and put her cheek against that brown skin. He was sweaty from the fields, and she could almost taste the salt of him as she imagined kissing his throat. But when she saw him relax near her, her impulse changed—she wanted to kick him. Her body felt like it was on fire, but he acted as if he’d just entered the peace and quiet of his mother’s house.

  It took a moment for her to understand his words. “I guess it would be rather embarrassing for you to have to tell Ellen that I refuse to go, wouldn’t it?”

  He looked up at her with one eye open. “She has met you and knows we’re married.”

  “But she doesn’t know that we won’t be married very long.”

  Nicole turned away to start down the hill, but Clay grabbed her ankle. She stumbled and fell forward onto her hands and knees. He sat up, put his hands under her arms, and lifted her.

  “Why are you getting mad at me? I haven’t seen you for weeks, and when I do I invite you to a party. It seems you should be pleased instead of angry.”

  She couldn’t very well tell him that his calmness made her angry. She sat back on the grass, away from his hands. “It just doesn’t seem right that we should appear publicly as husband and wife when in a few months the marriage will be annulled. It seems you’d want to go with Bianca and tell everyone about the silly error. I’m sure it would make a wonderful story.”

  “Ellen’s met you,” he said stubbornly. He had no answer for her questions. All he knew was that the prospect of spending three days—and nights—with her made him happy for the first time in months. He took her hand from his lap and studied it for a moment. It was so small, so neat and clean, and it could give such pleasure! He raised it to his lips and kissed the soft pads of her fingertips one by one. “Please go,” he said quietly. “All my friends, people I’ve known all my life, will be there. You’ve worked hard the last few months, and you need a holiday.”

  She could feel her bones beginning to melt at the touch of his lips on her fingers, yet a part of her cried out in anger. He was living with another woman, one he said he loved, but he kissed her, touched her, invited her to parties. It made her feel like his mistress, someone kept hidden and used only for pleasure. Yet now he wanted to take her to meet his friends.

  “Clay, please,” she said weakly.

  He nibbled the inside of her wrist. “Will you go?”

  “Yes,” she said faintly, her eyes half closed.

  “Good!” Clay snapped, dropping her hand and standing up. “I’ll pick you and the twins up at five tomorrow morning. And Janie, too. Oh, yes, you’d better bring some food. Maybe something French. If you don’t have everything you need, tell Maggie to get it from the storehouse.” He turned and walked down the hill, whistling.

  “Of all the insufferable—” Nicole began, then smiled. Maybe if she understood him she wouldn’t love him so much.

  Clay was thinking about tomorrow night. He’d be alone with Nicole, sharing a bedroom with her in Horace’s big, rambling house. With that in mind, he could forego a quick tumble on the hillside where anyone could see them.

  As soon as Clay was out of sight, Nicole stood up suddenly. If she was going to have to prepare food for three days, she’d better get started. She started planning as she went down the hill. There’d be chicken baked in Dijon mustard, pâté wrapped in a pastry shell, a cold vegetable mold, cassoulet. And pies! There’d be pumpkin, mincemeat, apple, pear, blackberry. She was out of breath by the time she reached the house.

  “Good morning,” Clay called as he tied the sloop to the wharf on Nicole’s side of the river. He grinned at Nicole and Janie and the twins standing amid several enormous baskets. “I’m not sure the sloop will sail with that much on board, especially after all the food Maggie sent.”

  “I thought she might decide to cook something for you when you told her you were taking Nicole,” Janie said.

  Clayton ignored her as he began handing the baskets to Roger, who stored them in the bottom of the boat. The twins laughed as he literally threw them into Roger’s arms.

  “You seem cheerful this morning,” Janie said. “It makes me almost think you’ve come to your senses.”

  Clay grabbed Janie by the waist and kissed her cheek heartily. “Maybe I have, but if you don’t hush, I’m going to throw you into the boat, too.”

  “Maybe you can throw her,” Roger said loudly and quickly, “but I can gu
arantee that I’m not going to try to catch her.”

  Janie snorted in indignation and held Clay’s hand as she stepped down to the boat.

  He held out his hand for Nicole.

  “I might try to catch that one,” Roger laughed.

  “This one’s mine!” Clay said as he lifted Nicole from the dock and held her tightly as he stepped into the boat.

  Nicole stared up at him with wide eyes. He suddenly seemed to be a stranger. The Clay she knew was solemn and quiet. Whoever this was, she liked him.

  “Let’s go, Uncle Clay!” Alex shouted. “The horse races will be over before we get there.”

  Clay slowly lowered Nicole, then held her lightly with one arm for a few moments. “You look especially lovely this morning,” he said, and ran his finger along her ear.

  She merely stared at him, her heart pounding wildly.

  He released her abruptly. “Alex! Untie us. Mandy, see if you can help Roger steer us out of here.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain Clay!” the twins laughed.

  Nicole sat down beside Janie.

  “Now, that’s the man I remember!” Janie said. “Something’s happened. I don’t know what, but I’d like to thank the person who did it.”

  They heard the noise of the party a half a mile before they reached the Backes’s wharf. It wasn’t even six in the morning, but half the county was already spread out across the lawn. Some people were on the far side of the river shooting at ducks.

  “Did you send Golden Girl over to Mrs. Backes?” Alex asked.

  Clay gave the boy a look of disdain. “Wouldn’t be much of a party if I couldn’t empty everyone’s pockets, would it?”

  “Think she’ll beat Mr. Backes’s Irish Lass?” Roger asked. “I heard she’s a fast horse.”

  Clay grunted. “It’ll be no race at all.” As he spoke, he buttoned his shirt and reached for a cravat from a basket close to the front of the boat. He quickly tied it, then slipped on a vest of creamy brown satin. A double-breasted coat of chocolate cord came next. The buttons were of brass, the front of it cut away, the back hanging to just above his knees. His buckskin trousers fit like a second skin. He wore tall, Hessian boots, taller in front of the knee than in the back. He gave them a quick buff, showing their mirror-like shine. He put on a dark brown beaver hat, the brim softly curved.

  He turned to Nicole and offered her his arm.

  Nicole had never seen him in anything except work clothes. Now the man who cut tobacco was transformed into a gentleman worthy of Versailles.

  He seemed to understand her hesitation, and he grinned broadly. “I certainly want to seem worthy of appearing with the world’s most beautiful bride, don’t I?”

  Nicole smiled up at him, glad she’d taken such care with her dress. Her gown was made of white lingerie silk, very fine and heavenly to touch. It had been hand-embroidered in England with tiny gold-brown jonquils. The bodice was velvet of the same rich, deep gold as the flowers. The collar and cuffs were trimmed in white piping. Her dark curls were entwined with ribbons of gold and white.

  As Roger tied the sloop to one of the wharfs at the end of the Backes’s property, Clay said, “I almost forgot! I have something for you.” He reached inside his pocket and produced the gold locket she’d left on the ship so long ago.

  Nicole clutched it tightly in her hands, then smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  “You can thank me properly later,” he said, and kissed her forehead. Then he turned to toss baskets to Roger who stood on the edge of the wharf. He held her close for a moment when he lifted her to the wharf.

  “Here they are!” someone yelled as they walked toward the house.

  “Clay! We thought maybe she was deformed, the way you keep her hidden away.”

  “I keep her hidden for the same reason I hide my brandy. Too much exposure isn’t good for brandy or wives,” Clay shouted back.

  Nicole looked down at her hands. She was puzzled by this new Clay, by his announcement to the world that she was his wife. It made her feel almost as if she were.

  “Hello,” Ellen Backes said. “Clay, let me have her for a while. You’ve had her for months.”

  Reluctantly, Clay released her hand. “You won’t forget me, will you?” he said as he winked at her. Then he followed several men toward a race track. She saw him take a long, deep drink out of a stoneware jug.

  “You certainly have done wonders with him,” Ellen said. “I haven’t seen Clay so happy since before James and Beth died. It’s almost as if he’d been away for a long time but now he’s come home.”

  Nicole could say nothing in reply. The laughing, teasing Clay of today was a stranger to her. Ellen never gave her a chance to speak before she started introducing her to people. Nicole was bombarded with questions about her clothes, her family, how she had met Clay, where they’d been married. She didn’t lie actually, but neither did she tell of being kidnapped and forced into marriage.

  The front of Ellen’s enormous house faced the river. She’d seen so few American houses, and this one was a surprise. Clay’s house was pure Georgian, but Ellen’s and Horace’s house was a mixture of every architectural style imaginable. It looked as if each generation had added a wing in its favorite style. The house rambled in several directions with long wings, short wings, passageways leading to separate buildings.

  Ellen saw Nicole staring at the house. “Remarkable, isn’t it? I think I lived here a year before I learned my way around the inside. It’s much worse inside than out. It has hallways that lead nowhere and doorways that open into other people’s bedrooms. It’s really frightful.”

  “And you obviously love it,” Nicole smiled.

  “I wouldn’t change a brick, except I’m thinking of adding another wing.”

  Nicole looked at her in astonishment, then laughed. “Maybe another story? Not one wing has a fourth story.”

  Ellen grinned. “You are a clever child. I think you truly understand my house.”

  Someone called Ellen away, and two women began asking Nicole more questions as she helped set up the food. There were at least twenty trestle tables set about the lawn. Some were laden with food; some had benches set by them. Every family seemed to have brought as much food as Nicole and Janie. A pit had been dug, and hundreds of oysters were being roasted. Some slaves were turning a whole hog over a spit and coating it with a tangy sauce. Someone told Nicole it was a Haitian way of cooking called barbeque.

  Suddenly, a horn sounded from far across the plantation.

  “It’s time!” Ellen yelled, and removed her apron. “The races are about to begin.”

  As a body, all the women pulled off aprons, lifted their skirts, and began to run.

  “Now that the beauty is here, we can begin,” a man greeted them.

  Nicole stood a little aside from the other women, who were gathering at the edge of the carefully tended oval track. Her hair had fallen somewhat in the wild run. She pushed a glossy curl under a ribbon.

  “Here, let me,” Clay said from behind her. His hands did very little for the stray curls, but his fingertips on her neck sent little shivers down her spine. He turned her around. “Enjoying yourself?”

  She nodded, staring up at him. His hands were on her shoulders, and his face was close to hers.

  “My horse is about to run. Would you give me a kiss for luck?”

  As always, the answer was in her eyes. His arms slid around her waist as he drew her close to him. He held her for a moment, his face buried in her neck. “I’m so glad you came with me,” he whispered, then ran his lips along her cheek and finally captured her mouth. Nicole could feel herself weaken, her legs growing limp as she clung to him.

  “Clay!” someone shouted. “You have all night for that. Come and tend to your horses now.”

  Clay lifted his head from Nicole’s. “All night,” he whispered, and ran his finger along her upper lip. He released her abruptly and walked toward a man who looked like a larger version of Wesley. The man slapped Cla
y on the back. “Can’t blame you, though. You think there’re any more beauties like her in England?”

  “I got the last one, Travis,” Clay laughed.

  “Just the same, someday I think I’ll go have a look for myself.”

  Nicole stood watching the men walk away. She’d probably been introduced to Wes’s brother, but all the names and faces had run together.

  “Nicole!” Ellen called. “I’ve saved you a place by me.”

  Nicole hurried forward to watch the horse races.

  It was three hours later when the men and women walked together back to the food that waited for them. Nicole was flushed with laughter and sunlight. She had not enjoyed herself so much since before the French Revolution. Her French cousins used to complain that the English were so somber, that they lived only for work and church, that they had no idea how to have fun. She looked about at the Americans around her and knew her cousins would enjoy these people. All morning they’d laughed and shouted. The women had been quite raucous, loudly delivering their opinions about a horse’s worth. And they weren’t always for their husbands’ steeds, either. Ellen had wagered against Horace several times, and now she was bragging that Horace was going to have to dig her a new flowerbed himself and order fifty new tulip bulbs from Holland.

  Nicole had stood silently, an outsider, a spectator, until Travis had seen her frowning at one of Clay’s horses.

  “Clay, I don’t think your wife likes your horse.”

  Clay barely glanced at Nicole. “My women wager with me,” he said, with a meaningful look at Horace.

  Nicole stared at Clay’s back as he adjusted the light saddle on the horse, while his jockey stood by. She knew about horses. The French loved racing as much as anyone on earth, and her grandfather’s horses had regularly beaten the king’s. She raised one eyebrow. So! His women bet with him, did they?

  “He won’t win,” she said firmly. “His proportions aren’t right. His legs are too long for his chest depth. Horses like that are never good runners.”