by Robyn Carr
“You could not see her resemblance to you?” Preston asked.
“Fortunately I saw it,” Wesley said, “before Marguerite had her waxing floors and chopping vegetables.”
Marguerite still could not smile, nor could she move closer. She stood shaking her head and staring. Alicia sensed that her mother’s discomfort was even greater than her own and she rose from her seat. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, her voice quiet and tense.
“Pleased to...” Marguerite mimicked, shaking her head in wonder. Finally the smile and the tears came and she carefully embraced her daughter with trembling arms. “Fifteen years of thinking you dead,” she cried. “And you are pleased to meet me...”
“And I’ll be glad to do any work you—”
“Hush,” Marguerite said, embracing her more fiercely. “I’ve waited for years just to hold you again.” But she let go suddenly and looked at her son. “Preston, are you sure?” she asked cautiously.
“Positively. You have only to look at her.”
And it was true, Alicia greatly resembled her mother. It was what had stopped Wesley short in his tracks. Alicia could have been brought out of the past and been the twin of his bride.
“I cannot believe you’re alive,” Marguerite breathed.
Alicia could not speak; she felt awkward and was fighting her own tears.
“Alive, well, and returned,” Wesley said. “Well, mother, let’s feed her, show her the house, and give her her list of chores.”
Preston explained that the house was always under construction because as the family expanded additional rooms were needed. No such addition was necessary for Alicia, however. There was a single bedroom, generous in size, that was immediately allotted to her. And for the remainder of that first day she was with her parents, Marguerite was especially reluctant to leave her side. In fact, she insisted on tucking her into bed that night, as if she had her little girl again.
“Fifteen years,” Marguerite sighed. “And you realize, when Wesley’s couriers could find no trace of you, I was forced to accept your death.”
“And I had to accept yours,” Alicia reminded her.
“Of course, you did. I just don’t know how you’ve survived it all—family after family, working you to death in a tavern. Why, I hardly know you at all. Alicia, before you left England, were there gentlemen calling?”
“Madam?” she asked.
“Had you been thinking of your marriage? Is there a young man in England whom you love?”
Alicia sighed heavily. “Oh, madam, I’ve talked so much of my life already, I can scarce think of another thing to tell you. No, there were no gentlemen.”
“Surely someone courted you.”
“I had no dowry, madam.” Alicia suspected that would end the subject.
“Well, you have one now. And you will see, darling. There will be gentlemen.”
And she kissed her daughter’s forehead and blew out the candle in her bedroom. The only thing Alicia thought about before drifting to sleep was that it would be most unfair for her to accept a dowry. She still possessed, carefully tucked away in her belongings, a hundred pounds. She felt she had well earned every farthing.
The Sunday after her arrival was the first day that the entire family was pulled together, for a lavish dinner party. She met all her brothers and their wives and children. They approached her carefully at first, but gradually they—the women especially—found her stories about the many families she had lived with and her work in a country tavern to sound wildly adventurous. “I promise you, it was not adventurous,” Alicia proclaimed. “If Preston had not found me, I would be married to a poor old farmer now; my only usefulness would be in my ability to clean and cook for him and produce many children.”
As that statement left her lips, she caught sight of Preston out of the comer of her eye. He raised one brow, smiled knowingly, and rose to leave the room lest he laugh out loud.
“I am surprised it didn’t happen already,” Marguerite said. “You are much older than most country girls are when they marry.”
Alicia made no comment, but she was aware that it was the second time Marguerite had referred to her marriageability and the absence of suitors.
Alicia’s mind was in a whirl over the activity in the house when just the family was together; when Wesley announced that invitations had been sent to neighbors and friends for a party at which Alicia could be introduced to the entire community, her head began to spin. And so the wives and children of her older brothers stayed on in the big house and helped with all the preparations, while the men rode off to oversee their mills and crops, intending to return for the festivities.
Under the heat of a summer sun, carriages and barges full of guests converged on the Tilden home. Pits were set to roasting pigs and beef, and chickens were boiled, stuffed, and baked. Long tables of food were set up on the lawns, and Wesley Tilden put out some of his best and closely protected home brew. Neighbor after neighbor paused before Alicia for introductions, and it did not even occur to her until the sun was nearly setting that she’d met many more single men than single women. And she might never have realized the reason if Preston hadn’t told her.
“Are there not many women of my age in Virginia?” she asked.
“Of course, there are many: the daughters of plantation owners and visiting cousins and friends and—there,” he said pointing. “Gloria; have you met her?”
Alicia followed his finger. “No,” she replied, looking toward the pretty young woman standing with a young man under a tree, a parasol over her head.
“Well, I don’t doubt it. I imagine the women are a trifle jealous. They’ll come around.”
And bearing that in mind when she looked, she spotted several other pretty young women who were keeping their distance. Some of them she had met, but on recollection she remembered them to be somewhat cool toward her. But the men had not.
“Alicia, at last you’re unprotected,” Bryson Warner said. “And I can have a minute of your time.”
“Of course, Bryson,” she said sweetly. Alicia did not even pretend to dislike the attention. She looked over her shoulder toward her mother. Marguerite sat with a group of women who were straining toward their needlework in the setting sun. She watched her daughter. And gave a slight nod.
“I think since we’re neighbors, we should see more of each other,” Bryson said solicitously. “There’s a dance next Saturday, and I’d like to take you.”
Bryson had taken her arm and began walking with her. She went along because it seemed the natural thing to do. “I should discuss that with my parents,” she said. “And I think I should tell you, I’ve never been to a dance—”
Bryson laughed and assured her she’d be the most beautiful there. He was a tall, good-looking man in his early twenties, and of the several she’d met that day, he was the most aggressive. “I have my own home, my own farm, and over a hundred Negroes,” he was saying, listing his assets. “That’s very nice, Bryson,” she commented. “And I’ve invested heavily in some Tilden ships—but of course, they would be Tilden ships...”
“You must be very wealthy,” she sighed, somewhat bored with his monologue.
“Not rich, mind you, but I’m capable of getting mighty rich someday. And with the right woman at my side...” And he went on and on and on. Alicia knew that what she was hearing was a downright good bid for the Tilden dowry that would be laid on her head. She knew how she would have felt had she been present when King Charles put the Bellamy inheritance on the block. But she could not encourage Bryson. It would be a very long time before she would have the courage to pass herself off as a bride to any of these young settlers.
“The truth is, Alicia,” he said, stopping her under a tree well away from the close scrutiny of the other guests, “I think you’re the most beautiful woman in Virginia—and mind you, I’ve seen them all. I’d be honored if you’d allow me to call and—”
“Bryson, you’re sweet to be so kind to me
, but I don’t think you should make any plans. I’m new and—”
“Alicia, I won’t let you put me off. I won’t wait in line behind all the bungling fops that will come begging for your favors. I’m the richest bachelor for hundreds of miles, and if anyone is going to court you, it’s going to be me.”
“I’ve only been here a short time!” she snapped. She was not at all ready for a rush of suitors.
He maneuvered her so that her back was against the tree, and he placed his hands on her waist. When she looked into his dark, earnest eyes, she could clearly see that he was serious about wanting her. And he was kind and handsome, but she was not the least bit moved.
“I know that, darling, and I’ll give you time, honestly I will. But I won’t back away and let the other men trample you in their ardent courtship.”
“Courtship?” she questioned. “Are women to court so scarce here?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughed. “You are precious...”
She frowned as he stole a kiss on her cheek. She was anything but innocent, she knew that. And she resented his solicitous behavior. It would be different if she felt any attraction to him.
But apparently the feeling of her flesh on his lips had inflamed him, for he pulled away from her cheek looking slightly flushed and glassy eyed. “Alicia, I must see you again. Soon.”
“I’m not sure that—”
She was stopped in her response by his lips on hers, seeking some passionate kiss that she did not have the energy or desire to give him. She tested the lips, opening cautiously for a deeper kiss, but she felt nothing. She was a little repulsed and pushed at him, but he refused to release her.
“There is a better way to control you,” came the memory of Geoffrey’s voice beating in her mind. And the feelings within her when she was scooped into his unyielding embrace and had tasted of his passion threatened to come back to her. She gave Bryson a hefty shove, unlocking their kiss.
“I want you never to do that again!” she insisted loudly.
“I’m sorry, Alicia. You made me forget myself.”
“I will not fight you for long, Alicia. And I will win!”
She looked at the young man, his head down and his apology sincere; and he was completely unattractive in his submission. “You take a great deal for granted, sir, and I’ll thank you to mind your manners better!” And with that she picked up her skirts and huffed into the house.
The inside was as busy as the outside, and she passed through the hall as swiftly and silently as she could, making for the stairs to find the solace she needed in her room. She locked the door and sat heavily on the bed.
“Go where you will!” The words would not stop. She could hear his voice and feel his presence. It had worsened tenfold with Bryson’s kiss. She feared she would never again feel what Geoffrey made her feel. Her stubbornness, his strength, the way he played her body against her will...she thought she would surely die if those feelings never came to her again.
I am shameless, she thought. He cast me aside and I long for him still. How can I be such a fool?
She felt a tear wetting her cheek and brushed it away impatiently. She could not fathom the reason for her surly mood. In all the excitement of her reunion she should be wild with joy, but instead she felt a sullen tugging at her heart.
There was a tapping at her door and she asked who was there.
“It’s Etta, honey,” she replied. “You all right, honey?”
Alicia felt herself nearly smile. Etta had come to Virginia as a bondslave and had worked out her indenture long ago. She had managed the Tilden home—indeed, she had managed the Tildens—for the past many years. And now she was doing what the entire family had predicted she would: she was making Alicia’s settling in, her own personal affair.
Alicia opened the door for her. The huge woman’s appearance had at first been almost frightening, she was so imposing and her face so stem. But it had taken only a couple of days to become aware of Etta’s gentleness. “Did that Bryson hurt you, girl?”
“No, Etta, he was really very polite.”
“I saw him lookin’ you over, lass. He’ll mind his good breedin’ here or…”
“He wasn’t out of line, honestly. I don’t know why I’m so moody. I’m sorry.”
Etta patted her head. “Does something ail you, lass?”
Alicia nodded and felt another tear in her eye. “I should be happy, but I seem to feel like crying.”
“Ah, missy, you just let it come,” Etta said, holding her and patting her back. “There’s ever so much goin’ on in this house and maybe it’s yer time...”
“Yes, maybe,” she sniveled.
“You lay down, missy. Lay down and rest yerself a mite.”
Alicia nodded and moved slowly to her bed. She flopped down on it and heard Etta softly close the door behind her. And then she wondered; her breasts were tender and her moods were up and down: maybe it was time for her menses.
But she couldn’t remember the last time—it was long ago—before she left England. She sat up with a start and her hand went instinctively to her flat, firm tummy. It was before Geoffrey.
It was certainly before they spent the night at Bellerose. And that was more than two months ago, nearly three. “It couldn’t be,” she told herself. “It’s only the traveling, the excitement...”
She had an hour or so to lie in the peacefulness of her room before her mother came to see about her. She entered quietly and sat gently on the edge of the bed.
“Is all this too much for you, Alicia?” Marguerite asked.
“No, madam. I just needed a—a moment. That’s all.”
“Is there any need for your father to take a young man to task?”
“No, madam,” she replied listlessly. “Bryson was very well mannered. He’s just more—more interested than I am, that’s all.”
“Alicia, you’ve told me about the families, about the inn: is there anything else you want to confide to me?”
Alicia thought for a moment. She knew her mother loved her and would do nearly anything to protect and keep her now, after all these years. But she wasn’t sure she would still be accepted here if they knew everything about her.
“There’s nothing, madam. Truly. I’m just a little tired.”
“Well, if you need me, Alicia, I am here.”
Marguerite left her daughter and returned to the guests. At the bottom of the stairs, she nearly collided with Preston because her thoughts preoccupied her and she had not been watching.
“There, madam, you’re in some dreamland.”
“Excuse me, dear,” she said in a distant voice, and then changed her mind about passing him in the hall. “Preston, does something we don’t know of trouble your sister?”
“Beg pardon, madam?”
“Won’t you tell me what you learned of her before you found her? Something that can help me understand her now?”
“Don’t worry about her, madam. She’ll make the adjustment in time. This is all very new.”
“Preston, dear, did your sister leave a man she loved to come here?”
“Mother,” he said with seriousness, “Alicia will confide in you what she wants you to know.”
“You will not help me?”
“I cannot, madam. Alicia’s life has been her own for many years. She must be the one to tell you about it.”
“I find myself badly confused about my own daughter’s life.”
“I think you are no more confused than she,” Preston laughed. “But fear not, madam, Alicia is beautiful and bright, and a handsome man of good breeding will come for her and she will be powerless to refuse him.” He shrugged and smiled. “Now what else could happen?”
“You speak more as a prophet than her brother.” She frowned.
“Do I, now?” he asked playfully. His mother sighed and went back toward the lawns and her guests. Preston laughed to himself again. “Do I, indeed.”
SIXTEEN
While Alicia may have fant
asized a quiet new start to a quiet new life on a country manor in Virginia, she couldn’t have been more inaccurate. It was anything but. There was more of a demand on her time than ever before in her life. The Tildens were an active, involved clan whose doors were always open to guests and whose family members were constantly on the run.
Wesley handled farming and shipping and financial management with his sons. The men were either riding out to the fields; or taking trips to Hampton, sometimes staying for days to complete loading, warehousing, and other duties, and always bringing some business acquaintance to the house for dinner. There would be a merchant from the north, a sea captain from another port, or a banker from out of town. At least once a week there was a party, social, or dance at one of the plantations. Locals sought out Wesley Tilden to ask for loans, jobs, or advice. Wealthier friends were constantly interested in joint investment ventures. The dinner table was almost always the scene of some hefty discussion and plenty of gossip.
On one such evening, Bryson had wangled an invitation to join them. Marguerite passed him in her carriage on the way to visit one of her neighbors, and he bemoaned his lack of good company and expressed his desire to call on her daughter again. She was quick to decipher his ploy. “Then you’ll join us for dinner tonight, Bryson, and I won’t be refused.”
Alicia was not very surprised to see him there, and even less surprised to find he was seated next to her. There were more gentlemen asking to call and requesting a dance and offering their services, but Bryson was the only one to make clear to her parents his desire to be in her company.
Among other guests were Captain Horatio Pelt, a merchant from England; Reverend Jody from the church, and his wife, Beatrice; and Carlisle Brandon, a merchant banker.
Several conversations seemed to be going at once, and Alicia listened with half an ear to all of them.