Tender (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Time Travel Romance Book 1)

by Anne Meredith

  The next day passed in a terrible promenade of decorum. They arrived at the Trelawney home for Jennie’s funeral, and black bunting adorned the home. Thomas remained in a state of indifference. Rachel knew it was his mind’s way of dealing with the unthinkable, but the revulsion he felt for his newborn son frightened her. Would she and Grey raise the baby who was his half-brother?

  At last, Jennie was buried in the small, enclosed garden she had loved, and Emily wept pitifully. “But she didn’t want to live with the angels, Papa! She said I was her very own angel!”

  Grey took the sobbing child away, and tears streamed down Rachel’s face. Ambrose slept in her arms, blissfully unaware that his mother was forever gone and that he would never know her.

  She found purpose in caring for the child Jennie had loved. She knew she was coming to love the small boy as her own, and she welcomed him into her heart.

  The morning after Jennie was buried dawned slate-gray. No rain had fallen for weeks—in fact, since she’d first arrived—and they needed it. They ate lunch on the lawn, and Emily played peek-a-boo with Ambrose, hiding her locket behind her back, then flashing it before his eyes. He blinked, his eyes following the shiny silver trinket.

  “I’m going to hide the locket so you can’t find it, you little angel,” Emily whispered in the baby’s ear.

  Ambrose turned toward her, as if in mild interest. Emily darted into the grove of young oak trees nearby.

  They heard the sound of wheels rolling down the drive, and Grey walked to an opening in the hedges. “It’s my father.” He disappeared around the side of the house.

  A few minutes later, the men appeared at the back steps. Rachel smiled uncertainly at Thomas as he looked toward her. He slowly walked down the steps, with Grey just behind him.

  “Grandfather!”

  Emily’s excited trill caught his attention, and she raced from the nearby oak grove toward Thomas. Alarm rose within Rachel; what if the grieving man rejected the little girl who adored him?

  Her fears were dashed as a joyful agony crossed his face. He knelt to catch Emily in his arms, crushing her to him in a desperate embrace. “Dear child, how I’ve missed you.”

  She nodded, patting his cheek with childish grace. Her face was woebegone. “I miss Jennie.”

  His face fell. “I miss her, too, darling.”

  “But I love my little uncle. He smells so sweet. And his fingernails are clean, and so tiny! Come and see, Grandfather!”

  “Emily,” Grey interrupted, “why don’t you fetch your new frock to show your grandfather?”

  Her face lit up at the prospect. “Why, I shall!”

  With Emily gone, Thomas straightened and stared bleakly at the child in Rachel’s arms. After a long moment, he turned toward the river, and he laughed shortly, an unhappy sound. “Every image I’ve ever had of that babe is wreathed in memories of Jennie. Seeing you so, Rachel, brings each of them to mind.

  “Jennie blessed my life with more love than I’d ever known. No woman had a greater talent for love.”

  Rachel ached at the lost expression on his face as he turned, as his eyes roved over the baby. “She wanted, more than anything, a boy. She wanted to give me the chance—” The muscle in his jaw clenched as he looked at the ground. “She saw Grey and she knew my regret. She saw me yearning to reach out to a boy whose heart had long ago been irreparably damaged at my own hand. She gave me the hope that someday, I might find the chance to love him again. And until then, she wanted to give me what no human being can give another. A chance to begin again. To be the father I never was with Grey.”

  Thomas looked at Grey with tears in his eyes. “Grey, the night after you first came to me, after I’d come to accept the truth, I went back over the life you might’ve had. I imagined holding you in my arms and whispering in your ear the name I gave you. Did you know your mother named you after my father? She gave me an honor I little deserved. Since then, not a day has gone by that I haven’t prayed my most earnest prayer for you. I loved you with my whole heart then—and I love you with my whole heart now. I have lived seven years yearning for the sound of the word Father on your lips, knowing I never deserved to hear it. All I can ask of you now, my dearest son, is your forgiveness.”

  Rachel saw the bittersweet longing in Grey’s eyes, and something else. Redemption. Thomas reached out one quivering hand, and Grey took it. The men embraced without awkwardness, with nothing between them but thirty years of remorse. And Rachel heard it, quiet but unmistakable. A single word Grey had longed to say to this man since he was old enough to form words.

  “Father.”

  Presently they separated, and Thomas wiped at his eyes. “Now, there’s the child of a woman I deeply love. And she knew me too well. She made me swear to love him.”

  Rachel rose, lifting the child in her arms. He stood beside her, staring at the baby who looked up at him drowsily before letting his eyes close for his nap. She saw the pain spear through him, and his words were a pained whisper. “He has her eyes.”

  She carefully handed him into Thomas’s waiting hands, and his eyes fluttered closed as he placed his cheek against the baby’s. “I do love you so, my son.”

  Rachel’s eyes met Grey’s, and she saw his happiness.

  “Dear God, he’s as soft as satin,” he whispered. “What have you been calling him?”

  “Ambrose. It’s what Jennie wanted to name him.”

  “Papa!” Emily’s plaintive cry interrupted them, and she arrived in the gardens. “There’s a rip in my pink gown.”

  Grey patted Emily’s shoulder. “Shh.”

  Thomas brushed a finger against the baby’s nose, and the child stirred in his sleep. “Then that shall be a second name.”

  “Second name?” Grey asked.

  “He shall be called Bronson, in honor of Jennie’s brother.”

  “Jennie has a brother named Bronson?”

  “She never told you?”

  “No.”

  Thomas frowned. “Bronson died last year, just before his thirtieth birthday.”

  The air was still and warm, yet Rachel felt a sudden chill in the afternoon. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, and before she could speak, the sound of a rider on the dusty drive commanded their attention. Presently, the rider approached the gardens, and he swiftly dismounted. It was Stephen Clancy. “Something most unfortunate has happened. I fear you all may be in danger.”

  “What is it?” Grey demanded.

  “It’s James Manning. He’s escaped.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Rachel hurried toward the cabins, with Grey in close pursuit. “Rachel, I tell you he won’t come within a mile of Rosalie. He knows it would mean certain death. I’ve men posted at all—”

  “Grey! The whole estate’s blanketed by woods. Do you really think he wouldn’t find his way here? Camisha humiliated him! He’ll be here, if he isn’t already.”

  She turned to the last cabin and knocked urgently on the door.

  The door opened, and Malcolm emerged. Camisha stood behind him.

  “You’ve got to come up to the house. Manning’s escaped.” Only then did Rachel see the traces of tears on her face. “What’s wrong?”

  She swallowed, and her lips went tight with the effort to contain tears. Her dark, liquid eyes darted to Malcolm, who seemed to understand her grief.

  Rachel glanced at Grey, and he nodded and joined Malcolm a few feet away. She moved inside the cabin with Camisha and closed the door.

  “Rachel, we’re going away.”

  “Going away?”

  Camisha nodded. “To Ashanti’s home, in Boston.”

  Rachel shook her head. “Boston’s too far away. We need to stay together.” She gave a short, exasperated snort. “This isn’t a different country you can just decide to settle in, because you like the people—”

  “You think I like the life I know I’ll live?”

  “Does Malcolm know this?”

  Her lips pressed together
briefly, and she gave a quick nod. “Yep. He knows.”

  “What if—what if he can’t find you, once you’re there, when it’s time to go home?”

  “A man who can travel in time can’t find me in Boston? Please.” Camisha smiled. Her voice was soft, and she shook her head. “I’ll miss the hell out of you, girl.”

  “Stop it! Have you forgotten who you are?”

  Camisha’s eyes glittered with tears. “No. I’ve remembered. Same way you have.”

  Rachel grew frustrated at her stubbornness. Damn it, she was the one with the common sense; she was the one who’d always kept Rachel straight. How could she get through to her? “This isn’t your life! You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Camisha’s hand was gentle as it rested on Rachel’s face. “You go on, now. Be with him, while you can.”

  “If something happens to you—if Manning finds you—”

  “Daniel was right, Rachel. God will be with us.” She smiled that smile, like a sunburst exploding on her face. After a moment, she went on softly, “Remember that time in our senior year that Max grounded you for stealing his Jack Daniel’s?”

  Rachel laughed. “Yeah. It was after he yelled at me for going to church with you. He had me seeing the therapist for six months about my closet alcoholism.”

  “And you’d never touched the stuff in your life.”

  “The therapist still thinks I was repressing it.”

  “Remember how Max’s aquarium of barracudas died the next week?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Jack and Saltwater, mm-mmm.” Her eyes twinkled. “Tell him those fish went out laughing.”

  A sudden crack of thunder startled them, and Camisha sobered. “Rachel, you take care of yourself.”

  How could she begrudge Camisha the hope she clung to—that she could find happiness with the man she loved? Then how might she herself still hope? Instead, she thanked God for this woman, and the friendship that had spanned their lives.

  “We’ll see each other again. Boston isn’t far away.”

  Camisha hugged her hard for another moment, and tears stood in her eyes when she withdrew. “Don’t ever forget, Rachel. The past makes us who we are. But we make the future what it is.”

  Rachel half-smiled and patted her face fondly. “You and your closing arguments. Watch out for Manning, I mean it. He’s crazy.”

  “You don’t worry. Ashanti can take care of me.”

  A gust of wind caught the door as Rachel opened it, and Grey stood there with Ashanti, Daniel, and Hastings.

  “Where’s Malcolm?”

  “He said he had business to attend to.”

  “Rachel.”

  She glanced at Hastings.

  He hesitated. And then he did a peculiar thing. He walked forward and hugged her. “Take care, my child.”

  “Are you going with them?”

  “I’ll see them safely to the bay, then return.”

  “Then you take care.” She gave him an impulsive kiss. Her great-grandfather. She hugged him again, holding him close. “I forgot to say, earlier … Thank you so much, sir. For everything. I’ll see you soon.”

  He held her a moment longer, then released her.

  Then Grey did something she had never seen him do. He reached out to shake Hastings’ hand. “Thank you, Hastings. I can never repay you—”

  The older man put his other hand over Grey’s. “Thank you, sir. Do take care of her for me.”

  Thunder crashed through the atmosphere, and she shivered at the temperature drop.

  “We’ll have to hurry to stay ahead of the storm.” This, from Grey. “Finish your goodbyes.”

  She looked back once and saw Camisha. The wind whipped at her homespun skirts, and Ashanti stood stalwart beside her. She smiled and raised her hand. “Good-bye, Rachel.”

  “See you soon!” A faint sense of foreboding about the goodbyes niggled at her. But even in the eighteenth century, Boston wasn’t far; and Grey had his own ship. Hastings would be back from the Chesapeake Bay by that night. “Please be careful!” she called after them as they started off. Then she dismissed the worry; it was simply the thunder.

  The rain started just before they reached Rosalie. “I’m worried about them, Grey. They have so little. If Manning finds them—”

  “He won’t. The Swallow is waiting at the dock, to take them down the James to Norfolk. The ship is a snow, Rachel—she’s heavily armed. Ashanti missed his home, so I offered my escort.”

  “Papa! I’m so glad you’re home!” Emily arrived in a flurry. Thomas was close behind.

  “Did you see them safely off?”

  “Hastings is escorting them. They’ll be all right. Let me put Emily to bed, and I’ll join you in the drawing room.”

  Weary from the day’s emotion, Rachel changed out of her wet clothes and into a nightgown and robe, then ventured downstairs and joined the men in the drawing room, where Thomas was speaking with a quiet fondness of Jennie.

  “She was just a sweet girl from a good family,” he murmured, staring into his wine. “I think I quite frightened her. She and her brother were always close, and he didn’t trust strangers. Bronson trusted few people at all, to tell the truth. A … curse had followed his family, if one believes in such things. Jennie didn’t even know about it. She was raised by a spinster aunt, and the woman was quite no-nonsense, a woman after my own heart. When I asked the lady for Jennie’s hand, she told me about the legend in jest. Of course, I never mentioned it to Jennie. While I don’t believe in such nonsense, I do believe that one can bring on such accidents by worrying too much about them. But I admit, the coincidences are rather eerie. For the past two generations, the men have never lived beyond their thirtieth birthday.”

  “What happened to Jennie’s parents?” Grey asked.

  Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Died in a carriage accident—and in answer to what you’re thinking, yes, it occurred not long before her father’s thirtieth birthday.”

  His words stopped Rachel where she stood in the doorway.

  “Hello, darling.” Grey rose with his father as she entered. “Is something amiss?”

  She shook her head. “No, everything’s fine.” She sat beside him on a couch as he poured a glass of wine for her. “Go on, Mr. Trelawney.”

  “From what they say, it goes back to the turn of the century. In 1699, one of the Dandridges killed a man deep in the Virginia countryside. It would’ve been around where Richmond was settled.

  “His widow was a superstitious sort, and she placed a curse upon the Dandridge family. To this day they call it the Miller curse, for the man who was killed. Robert Miller.”

  Rachel looked at Grey, and she saw the seriousness in his gaze. Still, there was more than even Thomas said. And Grey knew whatever it was.

  “Rachel.”

  She turned her head, listening. Had someone called her name?

  Thomas went on speaking. He’d apparently heard nothing.

  There it was again. A faint, distinctly distressed call, the sound of her name.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Grey asked.

  “Surely you heard it. You’re sitting right beside me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Maybe Emily’s calling me. Let me check on her real quick.”

  She climbed the stairs. Two candles burned in Emily’s room, and her sewing kit lay in the midst of her bed, but the child was gone. Rachel noticed the smell of wood burning. Odd; in the summer heat, the fireplaces were all cold. No one would be burning trash this late.

  “Emily,” she called. As she walked past her room, she noticed the window was ajar, and rain drenched the rug nearby. She moved toward the window to close it.

  “Rachel, help me! I can’t find it anywhere!”

  Rachel stopped breathing. Emily stood beneath her window in the torrential rain. Cascades of blonde hair hung dripping around her shoulders, and huge blue eyes blinked up at Rachel imploringly. She wrapped
her arms around her body, as if to ward off a chill. She wore a pale pink satin dress, covered with a mud-stained white apron. A shiver stole up Rachel’s spine.

  “Please?”

  Exactly as it had been, that first night.

  What could it mean?

  Exactly as it had been, that is, except tonight, Manning might well be out there. And that knowledge eclipsed her dread over the recurring thunderstorm chase.

  “Emily,” Rachel whispered, then found her voice. “For God’s sake, stay right there. I’ll be right down.” She hurried down the staircase on trembling legs. “Grey, Emily’s out in the storm.”

  She knew there was no time to lose, and she rushed outside. Emily obediently waited beneath the window, but she darted away as soon as she saw Rachel, waving at her. “Hurry! Papa will be so unhappy if he finds I’ve slipped out of bed!”

  Rachel hurried after her, oblivious to the heavy rain, to the crash of thunder that battered the night sky. The child ran swiftly, calling over her shoulder as she ran. “I left it—beneath a tree this afternoon, you know. Oh, do hurry—”

  “Emily, stop!” Rachel shouted, and the sound was lost in the wind and the storm. “Darling, please come back!”

  “I’m over here! Hurry, we must find it! Oh, they’ll be ruined—”

  She disappeared in a thicket of trees, and Rachel’s heart pounded madly as she raced into the woods. The wet underbrush ripped at her feet, but she raced on uncertainly, having lost sight of Emily. It was too gruesomely familiar. She heard Grey’s shout, and she stopped while he caught up with her.

  “Emily’s in the woods,” Rachel said, grabbing his arm.

  “Oh, God.” Grey’s anguished whisper was nearly lost in the noise of the storm. They shouted her name as they found their way through the trees, but the wind and rain swallowed the sound. Grey was frantic with fear. “If Manning should find her—”

  “Grey!” Thomas’s shout caught their notice, and they found their way to the clearing. Rachel cried out in astonishment.

  Rosalie was engulfed in flames. In the violent tempest of the storm, the fire raged unquenched. The windows of the third floor exploded as the fire rushed through, and flames appeared at the second floor windows as she stared, horrified. Rachel gripped Grey fearfully, and only then, as she remembered smelling woodsmoke, did it occur to her. Emily had saved them all, by rushing out into the storm.