by Robyn Carr
“Well, he thinks he’s found her, that’s clear,” Geoffrey said: “I don’t know what he thinks that will get him, but I think if we stay close to Alicia we may find our man.”
“Rodney, find the local magistrate and inform him of what’s happening. You stay here and keep a close eye out for our friend.”
“Preston, we’ll return to your father’s house immediately, and whether or not Alicia is ready to hear me and consider my protection, she shall have it. I’m going to tell your father today what’s taken place over the Bellamy inheritance and how Alicia came to be my wife.”
“That should take his supply of good liquor down a quart.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “If the king can forgive my transgressions, Wesley Tilden can. And you can thank your friend Prentiss for telling me where Alicia went and who she turned out to be. I only hope Alicia is as civil as the king was. He seemed to understand my plight—enough so to levy a respectable fine against me and legitimate the marriage. But he’s none too happy with the corpse that was buried at Bellerose, and has a special distaste for a man who would murder women.”
“I suppose if you can corner Alicia just long enough to tell her—”
“Tell her that she has no legal right to choose any husband other than the one the king endorses. She is my legal wife. And she will accept that now. Her play at fighting me will no longer interfere with her safety. The wait is over.”
“I’m for getting home,” Preston said. “I don’t like learning what I’ve learned and having Alicia there without our protection.”
Geoffrey clapped a hand on Preston’s shoulder. “She will have me at her side from now on, day and night, whether she likes it or not. The lass has had her way about this long enough.”
The afternoon sun grew hotter and the days shorter. Busy black maids polished the Tilden home from top to bottom; the men in the fields loaded bails of tobacco and cotton onto carts to be stored or sold at the end of the harvest.
Marguerite had gone early in the morning to a neighbor’s house where a baby was being born. Brianna sat in the sitting room stitching away at monograms on Preston’s handkerchiefs, a chore Alicia hoped would never be expected of her, for she was far too restless for stitchery. Etta fluttered through every room, overseeing the maids at work. The men of the family were all either at the wharves, in the fields, or busily watching the warehousing of their goods.
Alicia sat with Brianna for a time, growing tired of that quickly. Then she followed Etta from room to room, but there were no little chores she could do; no vegetables to pare, no dough to knead, and no one to talk to.
She sat on the veranda with a fan, mulling over in her mind what she would say to Geoffrey when he returned. She wanted to fight him, but she wanted to yield. In truth, she wished to be his wife.
There are some things that cannot be changed, she thought. The fact that I love him will never change, and if he can leave behind our problems, so can I. And that this is his child cannot be denied any longer, for the sake of us all.
A rider came up the long drive that led to the main road and the river, and Alicia watched him come closer. Not many traveled by horseback in the spring and summer, but now the river was lower and the barges slower. A small black boy at the edge of the veranda saw the rider and jumped up to do his chore of ringing the bell to announce to the household that company had come.
As he drew in on the house, Alicia began to rise slowly. The brim of his hat partially covered his face, but her worst fears were realized as she recognized Culver Perry.
He tied up his horse and dismounted, taking his hat off and stepping up onto the porch. He bowed briefly before her. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever, Alicia,” he said suavely, his white teeth gleaming.
Etta was on the porch instantly, like a mother lion protecting her cubs. When the master and mistress were out, this was her house. “Sir,” she greeted, “who do ye call upon?”
“Samuel Tyler,” he said, again bowing briefly before her and smiling very easily. “I’ve come from England, where it was my pleasure to make the acquaintance of Miss Tilden. I promised her I would visit when I had the opportunity to come to Virginia, and it was much sooner than I dared hope.”
Etta looked at Alicia sharply. “Do you know this man, mum?”
Alicia straggled to maintain some sense of calm. She knew Perry’s antics well, and it was safe to assume he had come all this way for the purpose of blackmail. If she could pretend to satisfy him until Geoffrey returned, he would know what to do.
“Yes, Etta. He is an old friend.”
“Would you have me stay here with you, lass?” Etta asked.
Alicia laughed softly, her attempt at taking the situation lightly not convincing to the old woman at all. “Of course not, Etta. Go about your work.”
Etta looked the man over one more time and then huffed back into the house. She stuck her head out and called to the little boy on the edge of the porch. “Boy, come here. I have some chores for you.”
The little boy looked perplexed, for ringing the bell was his chore, but he obediently rose and went into the house. Etta grabbed him by the neck and dragged him nearly to the other end of the house, through the hall, dining room, and kitchen to the back door. “Boy, you go and find your master. You tell him to come quickly; tell him there’s a mite o’ trouble at the house.”
“Somebody sick, Etta?”
“Quick, now! And don’t dally as ye go, you hear me? Be quick and spare yerself a lashin’.”
Etta crept back to the front of the house and stood just inside the door, but she could not make out their conversation, for both spoke quietly.
“What do you want of me now, Lord Perry?” Alicia asked brittlely.
“I’m just the curious sort, madam. You’ve inched your way into so many inheritances that I wonder who taught you to act?”
“This is my family, sir, in all truth.”
Perry laughed loudly. “I imagine it was a simple move for you, what with Tilden hanging about Seavers’s ships all day and spending his free time with you. When you heard he was looking for his lost sister, why, you could be she.”
Alicia stiffened slightly, but would not defend her legitimacy to him.
“And the great Tilden family knows what you’ve done, of course .”
“They don’t seem to care what my past has been.”
“They know that you cheated the king out of an inheritance by lying and pretending to be Charlotte Bellamy.”
“They do not ask me.”
He looked over the length of her, his eyes glittering with mischief. “It occurred to me long ago that I could use someone like you, but that was before I learned that Seavers still broods over you.”
Alicia allowed a small superior smile. “He is here, Lord Perry,” she informed him.
Perry was taken aback by the news. In all his questioning, he had not thought to ask after Seavers. He assumed Alicia had been abandoned when her job was done. It was the way he would have handled it. “Here? In the house?”
“Ah—yes,” she stumbled.
Perry smirked and raised one brow. “It amazes me, Alicia, how divine you are at lying on the one hand, and perfectly miserable on the other.”
“Tell me what you want, Culver,” she said, her voice steely.
“Tyler, madam. Samuel Tyler. I, too, have adopted a new identity. So tell me, Alicia, what will you pay me to hold silent on your clever scheme with Seavers?”
She watched him closely and reminded herself to hold him at bay until she could ask Geoffrey what to do about him.
“What do you want? I haven’t much money.”
Perry laughed loudly. “You have an entire fortune under you! But for now, dear Alicia, I would only request that you walk with me for a time and tell me how you’ve come to acquire so much.”
“I don’t want to go with you.”
“Now, now, dear, let’s do be friends. I can earn my living either way: by keeping your secret from
your ‘family,’ or by keeping their secret from the king. Whichever, when it’s out, you’ll be in trouble.”
Alicia tried to look bored, but within, her heart pounded ferociously. “Your secrets didn’t get much attention in London.”
“Ah, but that was London! These good people are not soured and jaded with simple gossip. They already wonder loudly at your lack of a husband. The Tildens will be hard pressed to maintain their glory in Virginia once the truth is known about where their daughter’s been and what she’s been about.”
She stared in silence, and slowly it occurred to her that this might be the man Geoffrey was looking for. She struggled to remember a part of the conversation she had overheard in the study. “The letters do not convict him, but call for his return to England, where he will be tried and very likely hanged…”
“Charlotte Bellamy,” she started, feeling weak. “Where is she now?”
“Died of the plague, poor lass.”
“Plague?”
“Aye. I paid handsomely to have her carted away with the other corpses. Our Charlotte went off on a cart of the dead with no name.”
“You murdered her!”
“How hardened you’ve become, Alicia,” he said, scanning the area with his eyes. “Come along, I want to move away from the house.”
“And Andrea, your betrothed. You killed her as well!”
Her voice had risen considerably, fear growing wild within her, but on the last word, the door to the house opened and Etta stepped onto the porch.
Perry looked between the two women and he took a step closer to Alicia. “Lay one hand to the lass, blackguard, and you’ll live to regret it—if you live,” Etta threatened.
Ignoring the housekeeper, Perry’s hand came out and grabbed Alicia around the wrist, pulling her down the steps toward his horse. Etta was close on his trail. She threw herself between them, her large, muscular arms pushing and struggling with Perry, doing all she could to prevent him from holding Alicia. Perry let his fist fly and the old woman went sprawling into the dust.
Alicia took up the fight, her hands flailing wildly at his face and chest. If he thought to grab her around the waist and carry her away on his horse, he was biting off more than he could chew, for her punching hands, his grunts, and her screams made it impossible to grab any part of her.
Alicia fought so desperately that she did not hear the pounding of horses’ hooves, and it was not until Perry jerked his head in the direction of the approaching horses that she turned to notice Geoffrey and Preston coming down the road in a cloud of dust.
Perry looked at her in contempt. “Bitch,” he growled, flinging her away from him.
He mounted his horse and was trying to ride away from his pursuers, when Wesley Tilden came riding around the comer of the great house, a look of fury etched in his weathered face. His thick white mane rode the wind, and he wielded a huge stick. He had seen Alicia struggle to escape the man on horseback, and needed to know no more.
He brought himself up alongside Perry with ease and struck hard. One devastating thump knocked Perry off his horse and threw him to the ground. His animal escaped, but Perry did not. He lay either unconscious or dead, his face in the dust.
Wesley looked toward the porch and saw Alicia helping Etta to her feet, brushing her off. Neither appeared to be hurt, so he dismounted to examine the man he had just felled. Just as he rolled him over, Geoffrey and Preston arrived and jumped off their horses.
“Who is this bastard?” Wesley demanded.
“You don’t recognize him, Father? Culver Perry is his name.”
“Perry? Lord Perry?”
“The earl is his brother, this man no longer has lordship. He was betrothed to Andrea, just prior to her death.”
“I have papers calling for his imprisonment, sir. If you’ll have him tied I’ll see him taken away.” Geoffrey did not stay a moment longer to discuss or explain the situation, but bolted to where Alicia stood.
“What the hell was he doing with my daughter?” Wesley demanded.
Preston sighed and took off his hat, striking it against his thigh to beat off the dust. “I think he would have taken her and demanded ransom, Father. But I’m not sure if he would have called for money from you or Geoffrey. It’s a very long story.”
A low moan came from Perry and he rolled his head, leaving a little trail of blood on the dirt. Wesley looked over toward the porch and saw Geoffrey run up to Alicia, grab her by the arms, and talk to her in some rapid, intense fashion, the substance of which he could not hear or guess.
Geoffrey assured himself that Alicia was not hurt, though tears of pure fright coursed down her cheeks.
“It’s over, Alicia. You are my wife and will be under my care from now on.”
“Geoffrey, he’ll tell them everything,” she sobbed. “He killed Charlotte, he killed your sister, and before he is through he will—”
“Hush, Alicia, it’s over. Before I came here I told the king the truth: I rode to Salisbury, where the court had moved from Hampton, to confess and accept punishment. Charles has fined me and given me documents to legitimate our marriage. My marriage to Alicia Tilden.”
Her wide eyes watched him carefully as he spoke.
“It is over, Alicia. Culver Perry cannot hurt us and he will be punished in England for his crimes.”
“Legitimated our marriage?” she asked quietly.
Geoffrey nodded and smiled. “I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t live apart from you another day...and that decision was made long before I knew who you actually were.”
“But Geoffrey,” she said, “you didn’t ask me.”
Geoffrey threw back his head and laughed loudly, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her up the steps, across the veranda, and into the house.
When Wesley Tilden saw from a considerable distance his daughter being swept away a second time, he left the unconscious Perry where he lay and took long strides in the direction of the house.
“Father,” Preston attempted, trying to halt him, but failing.
Wesley stomped on, cursing under his breath and still holding his large stick. When he reached the veranda, he found himself staring into Etta’s eyes, her arms folded across her chest and her expression commanding. “If you want to come inside this house, milord, you’ll have to come through me.”
“What the hell’s going on here?” he demanded.
“From what they just said, plenty. And none of it your concern, milord.”
Wesley turned and looked at Preston, who wore a look of frustration and confusion himself. All he could do was nod.
“But she won’t give him the time of day!” Wesley insisted.
Preston shrugged and gave his father a lame, apologetic smile. “In all actuality, Father, they are married and expecting a child.”
He looked at his youngest son with a scowl on his face. “I want the story now, and it better be good!”
Preston laughed a bit uncomfortably, knowing he’d been left to do all the explaining. “It’s good, sir. Let’s go in the study and get a drink while Etta gets some men to tie and hold Perry.”
Brick and timber were stacked on the land that had been given by grant to Geoffrey Seavers, but building in earnest would wait until the warmth of spring. In a house that seemed to expand to accommodate the family faster than ever, Seavers stacked his belongings beside his wife’s. It pained him not at all to live under another man’s roof for now, provided he could enjoy the luxury of holding his wife in his arms again.
When other members of the Tilden family spent their evenings in the study testing Wesley’s stock, or in the sitting room with the children, Geoffrey found his pleasure in closing the door to Alicia’s room and relishing the comfort of her presence.
“I will build you a house bigger than this,” he told her often. “I regret that it will not be ready before the child arrives.”
She laughed lightly and encircled his neck with her arms. “For a long time I searched for a way to
tell you that a cabin in the wood was all I needed for eternal happiness, if I could only be there with you. Whatever you build, only promise you’ll share it with me.”
His hand caressed her swelling middle. The child within her grew rapidly. It seemed as though the moment they could lay their troubled past aside, Alicia blossomed with their child. “I had hoped for a son, cherie, and now I think perhaps I would favor a daughter: one with your devil’s locks and bright eyes. Ah, but she’d be hell to protect from the men!”
She tilted her head to kiss him. “Even when I thought I hated you, Geoffrey, I longed to hold our child in my arms. I confess I was frightened of bearing a child without a husband, but in my heart I was glad our love proved fruitful.”
“Whether it be a young lord or lady...” he soothed.
“And what name shall we choose?” she asked sleepily, basking in the warmth of his arms.
His lips brushed her brow, the question far from his mind. “I love you,” he whispered.
“Whatever the name,” she said softly, “let’s be very certain she needs only one for her lifetime.”
“Only one,” he promised her.
Chelynne
Robyn Carr
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Published by
Liza Dawson Associates
Copyright © 1980 by Robyn Carr
***
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This novel is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to non-historical figures are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such non-historical incidents, places or figures to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.