Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “We’ve talked plenty. Sometimes it’s best to stop talking and act.”

  Aware she had yet to give her promise that she wouldn’t run off, John bent over, took Timothy from his cradle, and clasped him to his shoulder as he straightened. “I’m taking action, Em. Timmy-boy and I’ll be in the other room.”

  A few moments later, the door opened, and Emily emerged from the bedchamber. Lamplight turned her hair to a molten gold and burnished copper combination. She’d gotten over enough of the shock that color now stained her cheeks.

  John admired Emily for her character qualities. On several occasions he’d caught her at prayer or reading her Bible and appreciated the devotion she held for the Lord. Her wit and spunk amused him, too. Many times he’d even considered her hair to be lovely, and the day he’d bought her dress, he’d distinctly thought of what a lovely woman she was…. But at that moment, he looked at her in a completely different light. He couldn’t hope to have a better ally in the troubled days ahead than this beautiful woman.

  Emily crossed the floor and set the lamp on a small table. She knelt on the floor and silently reached up to take possession of the baby. Worried, even frightened as she was, her features softened with love as her fingertips grazed the blanket. She didn’t say a word. Just the way she tilted her head a bit to the side and raised her brows silently invited John to relinquish Timothy.

  Instead, John’s arm curled a bit more tightly around the boy. He reached over with his other hand and slid it over hers, pressing it against the babe. “Em, we’re in this together.”

  She focused on him. Even in the lamplight, he could see her eyes darken. A brave, sad smile fleetingly lifted the corners of her mouth. “If ever God made a fine man, surely ’tis you, John Newcomb.” The smile disappeared, and she continued. “But ’tisn’t right for me to depend on you or anyone else. This is my problem.”

  “Why is it any more your problem than it is mine?”

  “Anna was my sister.” Tears filled her voice and eyes.

  “Aye, and she was a lovely, innocent young girl,” John agreed softly. He curled his fingers to hold her hand more firmly. “But Edward is my brother. His dishonor caused this, so betwixt you and me, I’m more responsible for trying to right this as much as possible.”

  “I’ll be disagreeing with you, John Newcomb. Most certainly I will. Anna gave Timmy into my keeping. He’s mine. We both know full well that I’m far better able to handle this wee babe than you are to manage your brother. I can slip away, land a job, and make a new life. There’s not a thing you could do if he comes here and takes Timmy.”

  “Enough of this.” Her words burned his soul. John broke contact with her and stood. “Toss whatever you need for bedtime and some nappies into a pillow slip. You and Timothy are to be my guests tonight.”

  “Ach! We cannot do that!” She scrambled to her feet. “Have you not been listening? The scoundrel you call a brother is in that very house. I’ll not stay under the same roof with him.”

  “I can be every bit as obstinate as you. Now you have a choice: You come with me, and we’ll settle you in a room along with one of the maids so all proprieties will be observed; or I’ll stay here the whole night long, and though we’ll behave with the morals of pure saints, we’ll scandalize the whole town, and your reputation will be in shreds. Take your pick, Emily O’Brien.”

  She glowered, then marched into the bedchamber. John stood in the doorway and watched as she grabbed a pillow and shook the feathered sack from it with notable temper. As she stuffed a nightdress and the shawl he’d given her into it, she muttered, “Every last angel and saint in heaven is likely blushing at your words, you rogue.”

  John chuckled. “I don’t think they are, but you’ve turned a fetching shade of pink.”

  “I’m thinking you ought to make yourself useful, John Newcomb.” She snapped a diaper in the air, then folded it. “Go fetch some breeches for Duncan.”

  She’d never been in such a grand home. Emily barely set foot in the foyer of John’s place before she turned and bumped into him as she tried to exit.

  “Did you forget something?” He tossed the pillow slip onto the beautiful marble floor.

  “I forgot my wits,” she muttered.

  “You’re never witless.” John chuckled and tried to turn her around, but she didn’t budge.

  “I don’t belong here. I’ll wait outside whilst you send someone to fetch Duncan.”

  “Sir?” A tall man who managed to sound and look dignified in his nightshirt and robe stood by the open door.

  “Goodhew, this is Miss Emily O’Brien. You’ve seen her nephew, Timothy, already. They’re to be our guests tonight.”

  “Very well, sir. Eloise already prepared the blue suite, just in case.” Goodhew shut the front door.

  Emily wanted to moan at the loss of her exit.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emily.” The butler’s tone carried a touch of warmth as he nodded polite acknowledgment of the introduction. He then turned back to John. “I took the liberty of setting a fire in the study so you could warm up, sir. Cook will bring in a light repast for you both as soon as you’re settled.”

  Emily felt stuck. She searched for a way or excuse to leave, but her mind went blank.

  John took her in hand and piloted her into the study as if she were a barge going through rough waters. Once there, she halted on a plush, ornate carpet. “I—I can’t go in here,” she whispered. “I didn’t wipe my feet.”

  “Neither did I. Just step out of your slippers.”

  It wasn’t until then Emily looked down. “Mr. John! You’re—”

  “Just leave the tray by the fire, Cook. Thank you for getting that ready.” John’s words cut Emily’s observation short. He took the baby from her arms.

  “Will you need anything special for the baby, Miss Emily?” Goodhew asked.

  Emily tried not to gawk at him. She wasn’t accustomed to being treated like a society lady. She stammered, “I give him milk and molasses.”

  “There’s no need for that.” Cook took Timothy from John and turned to Emily. “I’ll take him on up to your room and feed him.”

  “Thank you, Cook.” John tugged Emily over to a chair by the roaring fire and said under his breath, “Let her take him upstairs, Em. I don’t expect Edward to come home tonight, but if he does, we’ll want the baby hidden.”

  Goodhew slipped in from a side door and escorted Cook out. Emily stared at them, then turned to look at the ceiling-high bookcases that went around three of the walls.

  John gently pushed Emily into a huge leather chair that nearly swallowed her.

  Satisfied Timothy was in good hands, she then stared back down at John’s bare feet. “If you point me to the kitchen, I’ll get you a kettle of warm water. We’ll wash your feet, and that’ll warm them straight away.”

  “The fire will do.” He eased into a chair and stuck his legs out straight. “I wouldn’t complain if you served me some of that cake. It’s one of Cook’s specialties.”

  Calling upon the memories of the times she’d helped Mama serve guests at Master Reilly’s house, Emily made a plate for him and also prepared his tea according to the preferences she’d already noted he held. Odd, how I know such details about this man.

  After she served him, she perched on the edge of her chair.

  “Emily, eat,” John bade her quietly. “Put extra honey in the tea—it’s good for your shock.”

  “I can’t eat, so it’s silly for me to fill a plate,” she said simply. “It’s not right for me to waste good food.”

  “You’re here tonight. Refusing to eat or sleep won’t help any. We need to be certain you are at your best to deal with things in the morning.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow—in fact, I don’t even know what to do right now!”

  “Let’s have you rest.” He held up his hand to keep her from interrupting him. “You and the boys are perfectly safe here. I can’t even be sure if
Edward will come home at all. If he does, he’ll be in the other wing, so he won’t have any notion at all that you’re here.”

  “So you’d hide us in plain sight?”

  He chuckled softly. “Cleverly put.”

  She watched him eat the cake in a few large bites. The fire crackled and popped, making the vast room seem cozy. Fearing he’d catch her staring at him, Emily looked at the portion of the room the fire illuminated. Master Reilly’s home didn’t begin to compare with the splendor of this place. At first glance everything was imposing, but another look changed her mind. Someone had taken care to add details that made this huge place a welcoming home. Every so often, on the bottom shelves, a child’s toy sat next to the books. Portraits weren’t strictly of stern-faced men and women—there were several of children with pets.

  “See the framed picture to the right of the mantel?” John broke into her musings. “I did that when I was Duncan’s age. I’d taken a mind to help myself to my father’s inkwell and pen.”

  Emily gasped. The result hung there—plain as could be. A sheet of foolscap with a spill of ink and several fingerprints had been framed and displayed as if it were a Flemish master’s work.

  John chuckled. “Oh, the desk was a horrible mess, and my parents were justifiably angry. Grandfather came in just about then and roared with laughter. Without saying a word, he set aside the paper and peeled up the red felt on the blotter. There, on the leather beneath it, was a very old splotch of ink that had faded into a bluish tone. My father had done the selfsame thing when he was a lad, too.”

  Emily flashed him a smile. “So you were a rapscallion?”

  “No more so than any other lad. Grandfather saved my ‘picture’ and hung it here. He told me it was a reminder that whatever trouble a man does, it leaves a blot on his soul. My father’s blot was covered by red felt—and Grandfather chose red instead of green, because he thought it represented how the blood of Christ covers the blots of sin on our souls. It’s a peculiarity in this home—you’ll not see any green felt on the desks. It’s all red.”

  “What a lovely lesson.”

  John nodded and rose. “You’re weary. Let’s get you settled in for what’s left of the night.” He padded over to the serving tray and cut a generous slice of cake. To Emily’s surprise, he shoved the plate into her hands. “You just may want to nibble later. Now come with me.”

  Emily got halfway up the wide, sweeping staircase before she stopped cold. “Oh no!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My Bible!”

  “You can borrow mine for the night.”

  She shook her head. “’Tisn’t just that. The marriage license and the matrimony page are in the Bible. If Edward goes back to the cottage …”

  “I’ll take care of it.” John nudged her up the stairs and stopped outside an open door. “Wait here. I’ll fetch you my Bible.”

  Emily did as he bade. Moments later, John handed her his Bible with the lovely gold leaf pages. “Will you be able to sleep?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t say. My body’s weary, but my heart and soul are doing a jig.”

  John cupped her cheek and looked at her tenderly. “Then read Luke chapter twelve, verses six and seven.”

  Emily looked at him and nodded. With him touching her so kindly, she couldn’t manage to speak.

  “Sweet dreams.” He walked back down the stairs, and Emily knew he’d left to go fetch her Bible.

  His Bible rested heavily in her hands, almost as heavily as the burdens in her heart. She knew she needed to do something quickly to safeguard precious little Timmy. Duncan, too—because she didn’t want him to see Edward Newcomb and know he was the wicked man who had tricked them all.

  Lord, I don’t know what to do. You know how scared I am. I love Timmy, and I’m sore afraid I won’t be able to protect him from Edward. You’ll have to give me a message. I’m not asking for anything grand—just a place I can take my boys and live peacefully. Reveal Your plan to me and calm my fretful heart.

  Cook tucked Timmy into a cradle, then slipped out of the room. Emily sat on the edge of a beautiful four-poster bed and sighed. John hadn’t once mentioned how she’d been shaking. Aye, and she had been—from the moment she heard the noise, clear up till now. It took every shred of her courage to make her voice sound stable, but her hands jittered like a blade of grass in a stiff wind. How kind of John to loan her his Bible.

  Tired as she was, Emily knew she’d not be able to sleep a wink. Memories of Edward surfaced—of his wooing Anna, of how sour he’d been to discover he had a child on the way, of tonight when he’d pulled out that horrifying knife.

  After all that, how can John expect me to sleep? The weight of the Bible in her hands commanded her attention. Since John had recommended a particular passage, she turned to it.

  “Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.”

  Emily stared at the verses and blinked. She’d just told God how scared she was. He’d known it even before she prayed and in His infinite wisdom and love used John to urge her to read these very words for comfort.

  Her pulse slowed, and the weight on her shoulders lifted as she read the words once more. After she set the Bible on the bedside table, a maid came in.

  “Miss Emily, I’m Clara. I’m to spend the night with you and the wee one. I just checked in on Duncan. He’s next door, and he’s sleepin’ heavy as an anchor.”

  They spoke a few minutes; then Emily went behind the screen and changed into her bedgown. Once she came out, she peeped at Timmy, then crept into the huge bed. The feather pillow and comforters enveloped her … just like the little sparrows in God’s hands.

  Chapter 15

  Emily woke the next morning to soft, musical crooning. She opened her eyes slowly and watched as John’s laundress suckled the baby. During the night, Clara had slept in the room on a fainting couch. She’d insisted that Emily sleep, that she had plenty of experience with her younger brothers and sisters. She’d deftly mixed the milk and molasses, so Emily hesitantly agreed, with the caveat that if Timothy got stubborn, she was to be awakened.

  Timmy and the maid must have gotten along famously. In fact, he seemed quite content now with Gracie, too. Emily yawned and blinked.

  Gracie chortled softly. “I’ll wager you’ve not slept more than a few hours at a time. It was that way right after I had my son.”

  “I didn’t even hear you come in!”

  “That’s because you needed the sleep. Mr. John says you’re to laze in bed awhile.”

  “Duncan—”

  “Your little brother scampered down to the stable. Mary went with him. Blackie’s puppies have us all charmed.”

  Emily sat up and stretched. In the morning light, this room looked like a little corner of heaven. The blue walls and the fluffy blue-and-white bedding made her feel as if she were floating on a cloud, and sunbeams coming through the far window made all of the golden accents glow. “Mercy! I was so weary last night that I didn’t even take note of how beautiful this is. Mayhap I ought to see if I sprouted wings during the night, to be waking in such a place as this,” she marveled.

  Gracie laughed as she fastened her bodice. “It’s pretty as can be. You rest on back. Soon as I get downstairs, I’ll tell Teresa to send up your tray.”

  “Tray? Oh no.” Emily hopped out of bed. “I’m no highborn woman to be waited upon.”

  “Mr. John ordered it.”

  Emily grabbed her day gown and slipped behind a dressing screen. “Mr. John’s a fine man, but he’s got the wrong notion. I’ve never been waited on in my life.”

  Gracie chuckled softly. “Mr. John ordered us all to pamper you. You may as well give in graciously.”

  “We both know good and well I have plenty to do today. Sitting about is pure foolishness. Now where is your wee son?”

  “Co
ok has him in the kitchen. He’s gumming a biscuit she made for him. He’ll be in a fine temper if you try to sweep him away before he eats half a dozen. Her own wee one is lying in a box on the table, cooing at her while she kneads bread.”

  Emily came out from behind the screen and started to brush her hair.

  “Oh Miss Emily! Your hair is pretty as can be!”

  “Thank you.” Emily rebraided it with the intent of putting it up into a coronet, but she suddenly stopped short. “Well, mercy. I didn’t think to bring along any hairpins.”

  A tentative knock sounded on the door. Emily startled, then began to cross the room. Gracie called out merrily, “Come on in!”

  Goodhew opened the door and stood at the threshold. “Miss Emily, you’re awake. Mr. John ordered Cook to make you a breakfast tray. I’ll have Teresa bring it right up. After you’re finished, he’d like to meet with you in the study.”

  “There’s no call to be fussing over me. I’ll follow you to the kitchen, if you’d be so kind as to show me the way.”

  “Very well, miss.”

  John heard a baby cry and smiled. He’d arranged everything so Clara and Gracie would shift in and out of Emily’s bedchamber and she could catch up on a bit of sleep. Clearly they’d slipped little Timothy out and brought him down here.

  Upstairs his housekeeper and three of the maids were cleaning the nursery. He’d already inspected it and found it to be satisfactory, but Mrs. Thwaite clucked and tutted about its needing to be dusted and aired. Knowing her, she’d have it so royalty could eat off the windowsill.

  As long as the Cormorant was docked and Edward was in town, John determined to keep Emily, Duncan, and Timothy here. He could come up with no better way to protect them. Emily could spend the days in the sunny nursery with Cook’s and Gracie’s babes and Timothy. A safe place with a crib and toys, the children would fare well there, and Emily would feel securely tucked away. The moment she came downstairs, he’d fill her in on his plan. As for her future—well, he’d broach that subject later.