Robyn Carr Restoration Box Set

by Robyn Carr

  Perry pulled the leather purse from his belt and took out a couple of coins to toss onto the table. “Is she back?” he asked the keeper.

  “She won’t come back here, I warned her of that. I won’t have her.”

  “Who else asks after her?”

  “Don’t recall the name, says he was from the Colonies, he says.” Armand snorted. “The ones that come, they got money, that’s sure. They plop down their gold to ask about her.”

  “Colonies? What does he look like, the other one?”

  “Your age, nearabouts. Lighter hair maybe. Taller, maybe. Can’t recall much. Ordinary sort, but for his clothes.”

  “Nobleman? Merchant? What, man?”

  “Can’t say...” Armand stalled, scratching his chin. Perry pulled another coin from his purse. “He has ships, he says. From the Colonies. Says he’d take her to the Colonies if he could find her. Puts into port here regular and makes it his business to find this wench.”

  “Merchant, then. Did he give any name at all?”

  “No name for himself. Calls his ship the Letty.”

  “Tilden,” Perry said. “Tilden came looking for her.”

  “Maybe her, maybe not. He was looking for a woman he thought was his sister, lost in the wars. Said he knew where to find her.”

  “When she left here, the nobleman who took her: was he light-haired and young? My age or younger, with what some maids think a handsome face?”

  Armand began to laugh. “The man who took her was hardly handsome and he was my age or older. Huge monster of a man with red hair gone thin and gray and arms big around as your legs.”

  “His man Prentiss, the mongrel.”

  Armand shrugged. “I never heard the man’s name, but I let him take the wench. She was no good to me and caused naught but trouble in my tavern. What’s she done?”

  “Done?” Perry asked, rising to leave.

  “Aye. You’re not the first come asking after her. There was that noble from America wanting her.”

  “Bit of dumb luck is all,” Perry replied. “But at least I know where she is.”

  “And you aim to find her, too?” Armand asked, gathering up his coins and counting his money.

  Perry didn’t answer, for in truth he wasn’t sure what he meant to do about the girl. He walked toward the door of the inn.

  “I hope she’s got a few more on the way to ask after her,” the keeper said. “I’ve made a bit more money since she’s gone than I did when she worked. Lazy whores.”

  Perry looked over his shoulder at Armand and raised one noble brow to peer at him.

  “You’re the one,” Armand said in realization. “You’re the one that courted her and made off without paying your keep.”

  Culver first smiled and then laughed loudly, leaving the inn, and he was still laughing as he mounted his horse and rode away.

  FIFTEEN

  Do you have any idea how long you’ve been standing there?” Preston asked.

  Alicia turned to face him. She had been watching the beach as the Letty rocked along the home stretch. The trees that lined the shore seemed to wave in the balmy breezes. Her stomach jumped in anticipation, fear, and hopelessness.

  “Are we very close?” she asked.

  “Our home is farther inland, upriver. It will take us another full day of traveling by barge to get there.”

  She turned back to watch the shoreline with a deep sigh. She had quickly changed her clothes to come and stand at the rail at the first sight of land because she assumed that this shipping family must live right on the ocean. But she saw only unattractive shacks that looked nothing like the houses in England.

  “I want to see the savages and the blackamoors,” she said, a lilt of excitement in her voice. “And the woods and beasts.”

  Preston chuckled. “It’s not the wilderness you’ve been led to believe. We have Negroes and bondservants who do most of the difficult farming and loading for us—and who take care of the house. The Indians trouble us very little and indeed have moved themselves as far from our populated areas as possible. They like the fighting as little as we, I imagine. As for hunting, it differs little from England, except that game is more plentiful here.”

  “Negroes and bondservants,” she thought aloud. “How many?”

  “Only a couple of hundred,” he replied casually.

  Her head came up with a jolt. Geoffrey employed a total of seven servants for their London household.

  “The plantation is so large and the fields so endless that it would be impossible to manage without slaves or indentured convicts.” He shrugged with an air of acceptance. “Without at least two hundred, ours would be considered a modest farm.”

  “You live with the blackamoors and convicts?”

  He laughed a little at what he imagined must be going through her mind. “It takes on a strangely different meaning than in England, love. My father only buys indenture papers on those convicted criminals whose crimes are not atrocious. Murderers, for instance, don’t work on our land, and thieves that steal again simply add more time to serve without pay. The Negroes stay mostly in the fields except for the ones who are bright and quick enough to speak the language well and can work in the house, docks, and warehouses. And they have their own homes, their own villages, away from the big house.”

  Her brow was furrowed in confusion. Servants’ quarters were familiar to her, but special communities for the servants and laborers was something she couldn’t comprehend. “When I worked for Armand, we slept in the attic so that our presence did not cost one space that could be rented to guests.”

  “I suppose it’s something like that. You’ll understand the workings of it in no time. And I imagine your new home will be a busier household than even the Ivy Vine. Nearly as many abide there.”

  She recounted in her mind the names and pecking order of the brothers. Wesley, the oldest, who bore his father’s name, had moved up the James River with his wife, Sarah, and their three children. There they built a mill. Next came Robert, married to another Sarah, and their son, who lived south of the family. Milling was their occupation also. Next came Stephen and Melanie and a daughter, living in the city. John and Sylvia lived in the family home, as did Preston and his wife. Both women were expecting babies soon.

  Preston watched her counting off on her fingers, her lips silently moving with the names. He had explained that even though the three eldest lived away, when they visited they stayed for days at a time. And the house could accommodate them all and would stretch for more. She finally shook her head in dismay at the size of this family.

  “Father has always been accused of being overzealous in his undertakings. The size of his family bears that out.”

  “I’ll never remember the names when it comes time to meet them.”

  “Anxious?” he asked.

  She nodded with a nervous smile. “I’m a little afraid.”

  “You needn’t be.”

  “Preston, what if—” She stopped and thought hard for a minute. And then very weakly she let her question out. “What if they don’t like me at all?”

  “They are good people, Alicia. If you give them a chance to be your family, I think you will be glad you did.” But still he saw her worried face looking past him, her thoughts serious and troubled. “You can tell them honestly about your past if you choose to.”

  “You gave me your word…”

  “Aye, and I won’t break my promise. But if you change your mind, it will be all right.”

  “I won’t,” she said with finality.

  Preston leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “Tell me what you want, Alicia, and I will provide it. Shall I bring the rogue to his knees? Shall I command the pirate from England to right the wrongs against you and make honorable his misuses—”

  “Cease to speak of him, if you can,” she interrupted quietly.

  The cool seriousness in her eyes held him from any jesting. What abided behind those steeled, concealing eyes was a pain tha
t she would not share and could not cast aside. “All right, darling,” he said. “But I’ll warrant this bargain you’ve struck is far from over.”

  She turned back to the rail, looking over the new land. “You are wrong,” she insisted. And Preston noticed that she gripped the rail so tightly that her knuckles became bone white and the veins in her delicate hands stood out.

  He stood there behind her for a long time, looking with her at the shoreline. He realized she had just cause for her grief, and he thought she dealt with her misfortune with courage and daring.

  But he knew something of Geoffrey as well. He knew that it was not the man’s way to deal dishonorably with women and that lies were impossible for him to bear gracefully. He surmised, once he knew the game, that Geoffrey had found himself in love with a tavern wench and had imagined himself face to face with a monster he’d never before challenged: true passion. Preston recognized it because he had struggled with that demon himself; and finally, after much confusion, had put the demon to rest by settling himself in marriage with the woman he loved.

  Geoffrey, apparently, had not been able to wrestle his demon to submission in time. And his game had fled.

  “If you ever find you’ve changed your mind and wish me to get in touch with Geoffrey, you have but to ask—”

  “Never,” she insisted, and again her pale, porcelainlike hands gripped the rail.

  The Letty dropped anchor outside of Hampton, not venturing upriver in the dark. The shallowness of the water and the many sandbars made an adventure a bit too risky for Preston, especially with his precious cargo. Even though they were all ready to feel solid ground under their feet again, Preston insisted on another night on board.

  Early in the morning the mate was sent to procure a barge while the ship was docked and unloaded. The personal belongings of the captain and his passengers were then loaded onto the smaller vessel, and after a quick breakfast at a dockside inn in the wee hours of daybreak, they were moving along again. This time Alicia’s attention was more rapt than before, taking in the very breath of the land. The river gradually narrowed and was flanked by trees that formed a canopy over the shore. Every few miles a huge brick mansion rose out of the earth, and the land had been cleared to the shore.

  The barge crept into a spacious dock and she could see another mansion, some distance from the river, settled back into the trees. Her breath caught at the sight; this was their home.

  A Negro ran from the wooded beach to the shore and began to ring a huge bell. More people appeared as the barge moved sluggishly into its port and all hands threw ropes to tie up the little boat.

  Preston presented his arm to help Alicia move across a narrow but sturdy plank and finally onto solid ground. An exquisite barouche pulled down the road through the trees, the driver jumping down without a word to help Alicia into it.

  “Send a cart down for our things. We’ll go straight to the house,” Preston directed.

  Alicia was silent and speculative, her eyes taking in the land, the road, and the looming house before her. Her heart pounded mercilessly within her breast as she tried to steady herself to face them: her family.

  It was only moments before the barouche came to stop before the huge brick house, which had a vast porch stretching the length of the house on the front. Large polished oaken doors marked its entry and a tremendous circular drive wound up to the front of the house. It appeared as rich a structure as any English country manor she had seen. Little black faces peeked around the sides of the building to see who had arrived. Alicia looked at them queerly. She had seen a blackamoor before, but never so many at once.

  She turned to look at Preston and found that he was not moving to get out and he was frowning. “It surprises me that no one has come out to meet us,” he said. “At least Etta should be here.”

  “Etta?” That was a name she hadn’t heard.

  “The housekeeper,” he explained as he climbed past her out of the coach. “She rarely leaves the house and is the first one to know who’s come to call.”

  Alicia stepped onto the porch on shaky legs, holding her trembling hands together in front of her. She worried over her appearance. She had tried to select a conservative, high-necked gown, something she imagined a daughter would wear. She’d let her hair fall loosely over her shoulders, hoping she looked innocent.

  Preston held open the door and she meekly walked through, finding herself in an entry hall from which there stretched a long, high staircase to a second floor. Preston looked around the entry. Something was different from the picture she had painted for herself. This was not a busy, bustling household filled with many people, but was morbidly quiet.

  She jumped in surprise as a woman of about fifty came flying around the comer with an armful of linens. “Preston!” she gasped.

  “Madam,” he smiled with a half bow.

  “You barely made it in time,” she said, resuming her quick pace to the stairs. “It’s Brianna...”

  “Her time?” he asked, astonished.

  “In moments,” she said, heading up the stairs so swiftly that Preston took them two at a time behind her. Alicia was certain she had not even been seen, though she stood directly beside her brother. She heard a door open and close above her and found herself to be completely alone in the large entryway.

  There were two straight-backed chairs and a table in the generous hall. She walked slowly over to one of the chairs and took a seat. She was curious about the house, but didn’t dare look around without at least an introduction. The woman, she thought, might be Etta...but then Preston would not call Etta madam. She must be Marguerite: her mother.

  It seemed a very long time before the door opened and closed again and she heard the sound of footsteps coming back down the stairs. Alicia felt herself stiffen and her heart pounded anew.

  As Marguerite descended, she pulled down her rolled-up sleeves and buttoned them at the wrists. Her hair, a mousy, brownish gray, was pulled back in a tight bun, but wisps of it fell down her cheeks and back. She looked as if she had worked hard. And she was smiling.

  “There,” she said in a breath. “A fine boy. A fine welcome-home present.”

  Alicia nodded and watched her face.

  “I hadn’t forgotten about you, dear. Preston brought you?”

  Again she nodded. Words failed her completely.

  “Did he bring any others?” she asked.

  Alicia was confused and her brow wrinkled. She responded, though she didn’t understand the purpose of the question. “No, madam. I don’t think so.”

  “Well,” Marguerite continued, her voice businesslike but warm, “I don’t know how you got here and we don’t have to talk about that immediately, but I can briefly tell you the rules of the household.”

  “Yes, madam,” Alicia said as politely as possible. My goodness, she thought, there certainly will be no wondering about my place.

  “You’re very polite. I like that. And young. Perhaps we can find some things in the house for you; you look a bit too frail for fieldwork.”

  “I wouldn’t mind, madam,” Alicia said, eager to please. “I like being out of doors.”

  “That’s very nice of you, dear, but we do need help in the house. Lord, the family grows out of all reality.” She laughed lightly. “It’s a blessing I like a large family. I certainly have one!”

  “I’m glad you do, madam. And I’ll do anything in the house you ask of me.”

  Marguerite looked at her queerly. She was not accustomed to new servants speaking to her. They were usually a little more frightened, and it had become Marguerite’s job to allay their fears and show them they would be treated kindly and fairly in return for good service.

  “I think you should know one thing,” Marguerite said. “I’ll give you a chance to settle yourself into our household and make some new friends without pressure from Mr. Tilden and me, but in due time you’ll be expected to give us the personal details of your past. I have to know where my girls have been and wha
t they’ve been through if I’m to help them start—”

  She stopped abruptly at the sound of a slamming door in the back of the house and turned to smile at the large, bearded man who entered. His linen shirt was wet with perspiration and his riding boots were caked with mud. His hair was graying, his cheeks were pink from the sun, and there was an anxious look in his eyes.

  “A boy, Wesley,” she said to him, smiling. “And Brianna is fine. She’s a strong woman.”

  Without a word, the man turned and looked at Alicia. Marguerite followed his gaze.

  “And Preston is back! He arrived just in time for his son’s birth and is upstairs with Brianna now.”

  Wesley’s eyes appeared slightly glazed as he looked at Alicia. She felt the penetrating warmth and understanding coming from him. He could not remove his eyes from her face, nor could he seem to close his mouth.

  “Preston’s brought this girl and I was explaining the rules of our household just as you—Wesley, I think it impolite to stare so—”

  He looked back at Marguerite and then again at Alicia.

  “Preston’s brought her?”

  “Aye, and I told her we’d keep her in the house. She seems a bit slight to be working outside, though she’s content with any—”

  “Marguerite,” he said, his voice slow and tender, “have you looked at her?”

  Marguerite sensed nothing amiss. She smiled with sincerity at Alicia. “Yes. You are lovely, my dear.”

  “Marguerite, Preston brought her. Have you asked her name?”

  “My heavens,” she said, aghast at her own bad manners. “I’m sorry! The birth and all the excitement and Preston’s return—”

  “Your name?” Wesley interrupted, slipping a strong arm about his wife’s waist and waiting expectantly.

  Alicia looked past them and saw Preston slowly making his way down the stairs, obviously having heard the very last of this conversation.

  “Alicia,” she replied very quietly.

  “Oh, my,” Marguerite said. “Why that was our daughter’s—” And then she stopped short and covered her mouth. She looked at Wesley, who had finally managed a smile of recognition, and back to Alicia. Preston came quickly to his mother’s other side. “Alicia?” she questioned in a weak, disbelieving voice.