“touching me where he shouldn’t. When I screamed and tried to fight him off, he pulled my hair and hit me.” She looked Naomi straight in the eye. “If you think I’m lying, call the doctor. He’ll know that Nate hit me when he sees the bruises on my ribs.”
Ezra sighed and rubbed his jaw with his free hand. “One of you is lying.
Can’t tell which. Let’s just forget it and go to bed. It’s late. Lots of work to do tomorrow. Need our sleep.”
“I want a key to the attic door,” Hannah said. “I want to lock it in case Nate tries to force himself on me again.”
Nate swaggered over to where his mother stood, still glaring at Hannah.
“She don’t need no key, Ma. No man’d want to break in here.” His eyes skimmed over Hannah insolently. “For what?”
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But Hannah knew Nate would be back. And the next time he would make sure they weren’t interrupted.
Ezra stared at his wife’s stiff back turned toward him in the bed they shared.
Naomi was going to make him pay for not taking Nate’s side tonight.
Whenever he displeased his wife, she turned her back to him and slept as near to the opposite edge of the bed as she could without falling out. The space between them was as cold as the Connecticut River in January.
Ezra sighed as he watched the white curtains billow ever so slightly in the faint night breeze. While he wouldn’t admit this to Naomi, he believed Hannah’s story. He didn’t share his wife’s illusions about her three boys. Privately, he agreed with Hannah. Nate, Zeb, and Zeke were stupid and uncouth, Nate worst of all.
Ezra had watched Nate ever since Hannah came to live with them. He had caught him leering at the girl often enough. He suspected Nate put his hands on her under the table at dinner and thought no one noticed. Ezra noticed, all right.
Hannah…
Ezra shook his head in the darkness. What was he going to do about this niece? She may have been a burden to him and a temptation for his stepsons, but she was still his late sister’s only child, and he felt responsible for her. But she was a disruptive force in his household, and it was only a matter of time before Nate or one of the other boys lost his head and had his way with her.
Ezra had to do something about Hannah, and fast.
An idea came to him just before he fell asleep.
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25
Lindsay Chase
Reiver Shaw sipped his sweet cider beneath the cool shade of Bickford’s oak tree and wondered what the old skinflint wanted. He still couldn’t believe that Bickford had actually sent one of his stepsons to Reiver’s house with a note inviting him to stop by the tobacco farm to discuss a matter of mutual concern.
The Racebrook land, Reiver thought. He’s going to sell me the land.
He took another sip and forced himself to relax. He mustn’t let the old skinflint get the upper hand. So he nonchalantly discussed the sweltering weather and asked about Ezra’s tobacco crop.
When the tankards were half-empty, Ezra drew his sleeve across his mouth.
“Bet you’re wondering why I asked you to come calling today, Shaw.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Want to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“For the Racebrook land.”
Reiver set down his tankard and leaned back in his chair. “You ready to sell?” Finally.
“Yup.”
“Well, name your price, and I’ll see if I want to meet it.”
“Prime land. Hate to part with it.”
“Then why are you offering it to me?” he asked with a nonchalant shrug.
“’Cause you can do something for me.”
Reiver felt a shiver of suspicion crawl up his spine. “And what might that be?”
“Niece needs a husband.”
Reiver stared speechlessly at Bickford. When he regained his voice, he said,
“Me? You want me to marry Hannah?”
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“Yup. For the Racebrook land. Can’t give it to you. Sell it for fifty dollars an acre. And Hannah. Take it or leave it.”
Reiver rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Fifty dollars an acre isn’t any bargain.
That’s how much you’d expect to get for it without Hannah.” He smiled. “I need an incentive to marry her, Bickford. A powerful incentive.”
“Forty an acre, then.”
“Ten.”
Bickford turned purple and his small, dark eyes bulged from their sockets.
“Ten! ” he sputtered. “You’re crazy, Shaw! That’s giving it away.”
Reiver shrugged. “If you want me to marry a woman I don’t want, you have to make it worth my while.”
“Twenty, then.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty. Take it or leave it.”
“Seventeen. And that’s my last offer.”
Bickford glared at him, his jaw working. Finally he said, “Deal. Seventeen an acre, and Hannah.”
Reiver wanted that land so badly he felt light-headed. But was it worth marrying a woman he didn’t know to get it?
“What does Hannah think of marrying a stranger?” he asked.
“Doesn’t know yet.”
“You think she’ll agree to the match?”
“Doesn’t matter. She’ll do what she’s told. She’s eighteen. Time she wed.”
Bickford studied him out of those small, dark eyes. “Any objections to her?”
Reiver thought of her delicate ivory features and supple young body so sweetly rounded and inviting. It wouldn’t be a chore to bed her even if he didn’t love her.
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Suddenly a thought occurred to him. “Has one of the boys had her already?”
Bickford shook his head. “Not yet. But boys are boys. If I don’t get her out of the house, no telling what’ll happen to her. You’d be doing her a favor.”
And getting the land he wanted.
But still he hesitated. He thought of Cecelia Layton, the young sea captain’s widow who had been his mistress for the past year. She was the woman he loved and had intended to marry as soon as he established his silk mill. How could he give her up?
With supreme male arrogance, he was confident that he wouldn’t have to.
Cecelia loved him and knew how important his silk mill was to him. She would understand why he had to betray her.
Reiver grinned, rose, and extended his hand. “You’ve got a deal, Bickford.
The Racebrook land for seventeen dollars an acre, and your niece’s hand in marriage.”
Bickford rose and shook Reiver’s hand, a pained expression on his face.
“Hate to lose that land, but I’ve got to do right by my niece.”
“I’ll treat her well.”
But he’d never love her. That wasn’t part of the deal.
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Chapter Two
The following morning after breakfast, when the boys left to pick tobacco and Aunt Naomi went to the cobbler to buy new shoes, Uncle Ezra interrupted Hannah’s dusting and called her into the parlor, where he told her that she was going to marry Reiver Shaw.
Hannah stood there as if rooted to the spot. “You want me to what?”
“You heard me.”
The dustrag slipped from her nerveless fingers and her knees buckled, forcing her to sink down onto the parlor’s hard settee. Her whirling brain tried to reconcile an image of the stocky, forceful man who had rescued her from heat prostration with that of the man who would be her husband, with all the intimacies that state entailed, and failed.
“I can’t marry him. I won’t!”
Ezra’s thin lips hardened into an implacable line. “You will. It’s all arranged.”<
br />
Hannah pressed her hands against her cold cheeks. “But—but I only met Mr.
Shaw several days ago. I know nothing about him. I can’t possibly marry a—a stranger.”
“Happens all the time to girls your age. Don’t need to know him. Marriage’ll take care of that.”
“There must be dozens of women in Coldwater who want to marry him.
Why would he want to marry me?” She didn’t delude herself for an instant that Shaw was smitten with her beauty. “I’m a poor orphan. I have no dowry.”
Lindsay Chase
“You do now.”
Bewildered, Hannah stared at him.
“Shaw wants some land I own. That land’s your dowry. Drove a hard bargain for it, he did.”
Hannah breathed deeply to quell her growing panic and desperation as the room shrank, the walls closing in on her. She rose and crossed the parlor to where her uncle stood before the cold fireplace. Placing a supplicating hand on his scrawny arm, she said. “Please don’t force me to do this. I promise I’ll work harder. I won’t annoy Aunt Naomi. I—”
“No use begging. My mind’s made up.”
“You promised my mother you’d take care of me. Is this how you honor your promises?”
Her uncle glowered at her and brushed her hand away as if she were some troublesome horsefly. “Didn’t promise to take care of you forever.”
Hannah knew it was pointless to argue or try to appeal to her uncle’s finer sensibilities, for he had none. She turned before he could see her eyes fill with helpless tears. She brushed them away and turned to face him again, her head held high. “When am I to wed?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Whenever Shaw wants. Didn’t set a date. He’ll be here this afternoon to talk to you.”
Hannah stood there woodenly, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. She would have to live with Reiver Shaw for the rest of her life, share his bed, and bear his children. She shuddered.
Ezra’s small dark eyes softened with rare compassion. “It’s time you married. You’re not happy here. You tempt Naomi’s boys. Shaw’s father was a no-account, but Reiver’s decent. He’ll treat you good.” Then he walked to the 30
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parlor door, stopped, and turned. “You look peaked. Take some time to get used to the idea. Leave the cleaning for Naomi.”
He hesitated for a moment as if waiting for Hannah to thank him for generously excusing her from her chores, but when she remained rigid and unforgiving, Ezra shrugged his thin shoulders and left her to ponder her fate.
Hannah couldn’t wait until that afternoon to speak to her future husband.
She put on her bonnet, tied the wide ribbons beneath her chin, and left the house at a brisk walk.
Fifteen minutes later she arrived at Mulberry Hill, which separated Shaw land from Uncle Ezra’s. Hannah took a deep breath, lifted her long calico skirts, and started up the gentle slope along the horizontal rows of mulberry trees.
When she was halfway up, she noticed several women in plain black dresses and white aprons standing between the rows and picking leaves as easily as they might pick apples in the fall.
One of them noticed Hannah staring at her and smiled. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Hannah replied, not returning the smile. “Can you tell me where I might find Reiver Shaw?”
The woman laughed. “Mr. Shaw is where he always is, in the rearing shed with his worms.”
Hannah frowned in puzzlement. “His worms?”
“Silkworms. Millions of ’em, eating these leaves we’re picking.” The woman shuddered. “Give me the shivers, those worms do.”
“Where is this rearing shed?” Hannah asked.
“Just over the hill, near the mill.”
Hannah thanked her and kept on walking.
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When she reached the crest of the hill, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath and survey what would soon be her home unless she could convince Reiver Shaw to withdraw his offer of marriage.
At the far end of the sweeping green lawn stood a small white farmhouse half-concealed by several tall oak and maple trees shivering in the gentle morning breeze. To Hannah’s right stood the mill on the banks of a swiftly running stream and a long, low building that must have been the rearing shed sat nearby.
Hannah swallowed hard, squared her shoulders, and started for the shed.
She was halfway there when the door suddenly opened and a lanky young man came out, closing the door gently after him.
He appeared more intent on some strange object he held than on where he was going, and almost walked right into Hannah. He caught himself in time and sprang back, startled.
“Excuse me, miss,” he blurted, his cheeks coloring. “I never watch where I’m going.”
Hannah knew this young man had to be one of the Shaw brothers, for he resembled Reiver faintly, like a blurred image viewed through a cloudy glass. He was handsomer than his older brother, with a less prominent nose and narrower jaw, and an endearing preoccupied air. Straight brown hair fell in a slant across his brow, and his demeanor was somewhat shy.
“I’m Hannah Whitby,” she said, “and I’m looking for Reiver Shaw.”
The young man recognized her name at once, for he colored again. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Whitby.” He extended his hand, noticed it was dirty, and pulled it back with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I never can seem to keep my hands clean.”
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Hannah smiled to put him at ease. “Then you must be James Shaw, the inventor.”
His brows rose and he blushed again. “Inventor is too grand. Tinkerer is a more apt description of what I do.” He glanced back at the rearing shed. “Would you like me to fetch my brother? That is, if I can pull him away from his worms.”
“Please. It’s very important that I speak with him.”
James nodded and went back into the shed. A minute later he emerged, followed by his brother.
The moment Reiver Shaw’s blue eyes held hers, Hannah became acutely aware of the man. When she had first met him in the tobacco field, he was like any other man she had happened to pass on the streets of Coldwater, a presence, but one kept at a distance. Now that he was to be her husband, that distance shrank alarmingly. Hannah wanted it back.
“Good morning, Miss Whitby,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you until this afternoon.”
So he knew why she had come.
Hannah tried to smile, but her face felt stiff and frozen. She managed to force out, “I’d like to speak with you, if I may.”
James said to his brother, “Go ahead. I’ll tend the worms.” He smiled shyly at Hannah and went back into the shed.
Reiver glanced at her. “Let’s walk down by the brook, shall we?”
She fell into step beside him, and they walked in awkward silence like the strangers they were.
Finally Hannah stopped and turned to face him. “My Uncle Ezra told me that you’ve asked for my hand in marriage. May I ask why? You don’t even know me, nor I you.”
“I didn’t ask for your hand in marriage,” he said. “Your uncle offered it.”
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Stunned, Hannah rocked back on her heels. “Uncle Ezra approached you?”
Reiver Shaw nodded. “He told me that it was time you married, that he couldn’t trust Naomi’s boys to keep their hands off you. He thought I’d make you a suitable husband.”
“And you accepted his offer?”
“I did.”
Hannah gave him a sharp, assessing stare. “You must forgive my bluntness, Mr. Shaw, but you don’t strike me as the kind of man who would enter into an arranged marriage without something to gain.”
Her bluntness did surprise him, and he rega
rded her with respect in his eyes.
“I won’t insult your intelligence by claiming that I fell in love with you from the moment we met, Miss Whitby”—his gaze raked her up and down—“though you are a comely young woman. No, I accepted your uncle’s offer because he agreed to give me something I’ve wanted very badly for a long time.” He turned and gazed out beyond the brook. “Some land I’ve coveted.”
The land that Uncle Ezra said was to be her dowry.
Hannah took a. deep, tremulous breath. “Mr. Shaw, I don’t want to marry you.”
He turned back to face her, a smile of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “May I ask why? I’ve been told I’m quite a catch.”
She ignored his teasing tone. “I’m sure you are. But we are strangers who only met several days ago. You have no idea what I’m really like.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
Hannah took a deep breath. “Why, I’m headstrong, rebellious, argumentative—”
“A virtual virago,” he added, suppressing a smile.
“Yes! And I could be a drunkard, for all you know.”
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He froze, his expression hardening. “I know you’re not a drunkard, Miss Whitby.”
“But that is my point; you don’t know.”
“And as for you being rebellious, you seem to obey your Uncle Ezra well enough.”
Hannah didn’t know what to say to that observation.
He grew solemn. “Are you trying to discourage me because there is someone else? One of Naomi’s boys, perhaps?”
Hannah thought of Nate and her lip curled in revulsion. “There is no one else.”
“Ah, now I understand. You were hoping for a love match.”
“Yes, Mr. Shaw, I was. As you know, my own parents’ marriage was not arranged. They loved each other, and were very happy.”
Shaw’s face softened with sympathy, but his words were harsh and unyielding. “I’m afraid you won’t be as fortunate. Your uncle offered me your hand in marriage, and I’ve accepted, whether or not you are a drunkard.”
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