Bittersweet Endeavors

by Tamara Ternie

  “You—” She twisted the covers in her fists and held the blanket near her chest. She sat upright in the bed too fast and Myra grabbed her head. The pain that shot through her by the sudden movement must have overcame her anger, Seth surmised. Her hold on the coverlet lessened when she cradled her head. In turn, the covers slipped to reveal her naked, rounded breasts. A true gentleman should turn away, he thought.

  Seth didn’t.

  When Myra realized the result of her hasty movement, she quickly corrected the error. She snugged the quilt beneath her chin and returned her hands to caress her temples, a blush tainted her cheeks.

  “Here,” he said softly as he gave her more water, but this time with the physician’s powder. He took her hand comfortingly into his and placed it at her side. “Lay back. The powders shall soon start working and you’ll not even know you have a head,” he teased.

  Thick, ebony hair entwined between his fingers as he massaged her temples in circular successions. He sat on the edge of the bed and her eyes began to close. His hands continued their leisurely strokes and her head relaxed on the pillow.

  Myra opened her eyes and arched a brow. She closed her eyes again. “How long have you been here?”

  “Many days. You’ve been out for almost a fortnight.”

  She didn’t say anything for a few moments, but several emotions played on her face, and Seth knew the question she quietly assessed.

  “Why?” she finally asked.

  Why, indeed, he thought. How could he explain when he didn’t know the answer himself? His heart convinced himself that he stayed with her out of love, but his mind compelled him to believe otherwise. Could he actually be in love with Myra? Infatuation? Pity? What possible excuse would she accept for his constant care of her?

  “No one else wanted to do it.”

  One eye opened lazily, hazed over by the powders that quickly gained its full effect. A lopsided smile emerged. She struggled and opened her eyes but the medicinal tonic was too powerful and she closed them again. A little giggle escaped her mouth.

  “Thank you, Seth,” she said, her words breathy and barely above a whisper as she neared the edge of sleep. “Perhaps, Charles shalt not hang you after all,” she murmured. She nuzzled deeper within the coves of her pillow.

  Seth smiled when realizing that even in slumber she woolgathered about being of royal blood. “I give thanks for the reprieve, milady.”

  “Nay,” she whined sleepily. “Lady Myra…Lady of Brunnington…a…Lady,” she groggily repeated. “Nay…Tis impersonal,” she sighed. “Myra shall do,” she finally said.

  Although her words were not much more than a whisper, they made their mark on his mind.

  * * *

  “Did he really stay here all those days?” Myra couldn’t believe her ears. Seth Preston, the man who equally criticized inasmuch as trifled with her came and cared for her. “Why?” Myra asked.

  “I think he fancies you.” Lucia covered her mouth and giggled. “Nay, I know he fancies you,” she amended.

  She shook her head. “Surely, he doesn’t.”

  “Oh, he was fraught when you took a turn for the worse.” Lucia nodded her head and the smile left her face. “When he risked his own life by going into town to retrieve the physician, I thought Mister Preston would surely disown him. In fact, he said he would!”

  Myra grabbed Lucia by the arm and whirled her around so she’d face her. “He didn’t, did he?”

  “Nay, he didn’t, but they’ve not spoken since he forbade him to ever to see you again.” With an impish grin Lucia’s eyes widened.

  “What?”

  “He told his father that he’d not avoid you.”

  “He didn’t!”

  “He did!”

  “What shall I do now?”

  “Well, do you have affection for him?”

  She couldn’t think of much other than Seth Preston since she had arrived in Jamestown. His presence helped divert from the painful memories she left back in England. Despite all the hate and violence she saw by the hand of her uncle, she was relieved to know there was something good and pure left in the world, even if it couldn’t flourish into anything more than a friendship. “Perhaps,” she teased.

  “Oh, Myra, you said we are friends …confidants! Tell me true. You know I’ll keep your secret.” Lucia held her hands in front of her and bobbed excitedly on her feet.

  “Well, if you must know the truth,” Myra smiled. In a dramatic gesture, Myra raised her hand to her chin and playfully tapped her finger in thought. She laughed when Lucia’s bottom lip extended into an overdramatized pout. “Aye, I think Seth Preston is the most handsome man I’ve ever met! Behind all that gruffness he displays, there’s truly a man of sweet sincerity.”

  “So, what shall you do about it?”

  Myra’s spirits fell. What could she do about it? After hearing about Anvil Preston’s reaction toward Seth at the cause of herself, there was naught to be done. She couldn’t come between him and his father. She couldn’t be the cause of discord within their household. Having a close bond with one’s family was too important. Myra learned that lesson all too well when her family ties were severed by the hands of her uncle. At the price of her heart, she’d castoff her feelings for Seth Preston.

  “I shall not do anything,” she finally said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “She is quite lovely, isn’t she?”

  Margaret beamed with delight, but she wasn’t alone. Everyone in town gained better spirits by the new day. The break in weather brought forth sunshine and warmth. It made Seth eager for spring so he could tend the tobacco fields. Seth believed it’d be a good season and bring forth many riches. If he was right, his father would be most definitely pleased.

  Margaret reached for another bolt of cloth while in the General Store. Seth stood at her side and had grown more bored by each moment passed. Beneath the brim of her lace mantilla, Margaret looked at Myra who waited by the door. His sister nudged him in the ribs and offered an ornery smile. “She’s so graceful and regal appearing, isn’t she?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d believe you are playing a go-between, my dear sister.” Seth arched a warning brow, but relented with a smile.

  “Oh, I’m doing no such thing,” she said, and her eyes widened as she exaggerated surprise. “I’m simply making a statement. Tis of no use, though,” she sighed. “We both know father shall never allow it.”

  Seth frowned and lowered his head. All of his family knew about his interest in Myra, but Margaret was the only one bold enough to speak aloud about it.

  “What do you make of this rumor about her being King Charles’ cousin? Do you think there’s any truth behind it?” By the excitement in her voice, Margaret hoped it was true. As their father, Margaret also dreamed of prestige and wealth, as well as title. Although it couldn’t be obtained by their blood lines, Margaret could easily find happiness by living vicariously through Myra. And that, if only the rumor proved true. Seth assumed the tales were what brought forth his sister’s interest in Myra from the start.

  “Nay, tis not true. Tis a game between Myra and that servant girl to pass the time.” Although, he almost believed the rumor himself, it was a fabrication. Lucia assured him of it when he questioned her about Myra’s past after he heard her declaration while under the effects of the tonics.

  Margaret gave a lady-like snort and waved her hand in the air. “Lucia? She’s the servant you are referring?”

  Seth nodded. Of all his sisters who took harshly to Lucia, Margaret’s anger surpassed the rest. Their father's indiscretion with the servant's mother was a personal insult in Margaret's mind, especially since her and Lucia’s births came so close together, a mere sennight apart. Having a darky as a blood relative served polite society a good reason for dishing their blather. It only worsened matters by Lucia’s beauty, something none of his sisters possessed, particularly Margaret.

  “We should really separate those two. Myra is much to
o kind and well-mannered to be mixed with that girl.”

  “Myra shall be mother’s maid soon and that’ll shorten their time together. She’s not caused any trouble and I think father mayhap be agreeable now.”

  “Oh, Seth,” Margaret whispered excitedly when the bell above the store’s entrance rang out. “There's Mister Frederickson.” She nearly purred out his name. She quickly smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on her dress and checked for any hair strands that strayed out from her mantilla. A blush tinted his sister's cheeks and he smiled at her timidity. However, his eyes narrowed when he turned and watched Zachary Frederickson sweep a long, slow inspection of Myra as he entered the front door. He’d seen that look before in men's eyes, but this time, the man’s aim was at Myra…his Myra.

  “Good day, Mister. Preston,” Zachary said in a cool, but respectable tone as he approached. Frederickson looked at Margaret but she lowered her chin in her bashfulness. Zachary's hand reached for his Tricorne, and in a gesture of grandeur, lowered the hat near his trim, muscular waist. Plumes whizzed through the air and Seth believed the motion was for the purpose of showing off his new hat. “And Margaret, you look lovely as ever. Is that a new frock? I must say tis quite comely on you.”

  Margaret breathed heavily and Seth thought she might swoon. For some foolish reason, Margaret fancied herself in love with Mister Frederickson, ever since he arrived the previous year. Although much older in years than his sister, Frederickson’s ebony hair mixed with many gray strands came off as distinguished and not aged. The wrinkles that creased at the side of his gray eyes displayed him as wise and not a man who’d seen at least five and fifty years. Many women well past half his age fancied him, and Seth understood their reasoning, but Frederickson's reported reputation was outweighed by more bad than good. Right off the reel, Seth didn’t like him, even aside from the rumor that his wealth was due to his liaisons with freebooters.

  “Mister Frederickson, it’s so good to see you again,” Margaret finally said. “It’s been ages since we saw you last. You must come and pay us a visit, and soon. They’ve completed the construction to our home and tis absolutely lovely! You must view it for yourself. Tis the grandest in Jamestown!”

  “It’d be my pleasure, Miss Margaret. I’ve missed your company as well, and have eagerly waited to see the new Preston Manor since your father showed me the designs.”

  “I’ll get the carriage ready,” Seth said, making his excuses.

  “Please hurry with your shopping, sister.” Seth walked away and tersely nodded toward Frederickson before he left. “Good day, Mister Frederickson,” he added.

  “Watch them,” Seth warned as he passed Myra by the door. “I don’t trust him.”

  * * *

  Myra edged her way closer toward Margaret, but she kept her distance and tried to look more interested in the store’s wares and less in them.

  “I’ve really missed you, Zachary,” Margaret whispered, and grinned mischievously at the man who stood beside her, whom Myra recalled, was to be Margaret’s future husband.

  “And I missed you, Margaret dear.”

  “I’ve been thinking about having a picnic out by Parker's Lake. Just the two of us,” she murmured.

  “You know we cannot do that. Your reputation would be in ruins if anyone should catch us.” He nodded toward Myra, and lowered his voice, but Myra still easily heard them. Myra smiled over what little care they showed for discretion. Certainly anyone in the store clearly heard them speak, despite their attempt at being inconspicuous. “Why not bring your maid with you?” Zachary announced. “Then, it’ll be all proper like and respectful.”

  “Oh, that is a splendid idea!”

  She took the man by his arm and led him to the back of the store. She glanced at Myra, but this time, her voice lowered considerably. Although with strained difficulty, Myra still heard their conversation.

  “What do you think of our new servant, Zachary?” Margaret asked. “Her name is Myra and the rumor is that she’s King Charles’s cousin. Certainly she’s shamming it, though,” she added.

  “The King's cousin is your maid?” he asked incredulously. “I think not, my dearest.”

  “The Lady of Brunningham, Brunninglore, Brunnington or something or other,” she continued as she waved her hand. “Of course, tis unlikely true, but one never knows in these times since the crown’s restoration, do we?”

  It felt like someone hit Myra in the pit of her stomach. Myra forced the bile back as it rose into her throat. She felt queasy and faint from Margaret’s declaration. How did Margaret learn her secret?

  “I wonder, Zachary. Perhaps tis true and she’s not aware the crown has been restored?”

  Zachary stiffened. His face turned grim and he nervously fidgeted with his cravat. “Political affairs are not a lady’s concern, Margaret,” he said, as if correcting a child.

  “Of course, you’re right.” Margaret lowered her lashes and chin simultaneously in submission. “I’ve overstepped, and I do apologize.”

  “Now, what about that picnic?” The smile returned once he realized that Margaret felt duly regrettable after his reprimand.

  “Why not later today?” Whether at the prospect of having a picnic with him, or Frederickson’s forgiveness, Margaret’s excitement was quickly restored. “I’ll have a meal prepared once I return home and I’ll meet you posthaste.”

  “Splendid!”

  “Perhaps then we shall discuss about you asking my father for my hand,” she shyly added.

  He didn’t respond and Margaret attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite hit its mark. She then fluttered her lashes and Myra winced at the poor display she made in an attempt to beguile him.

  “Until then,” he bowed. “And don’t forget,” he sternly added. “Make sure you bring your maid, Myra, with you…to make it proper.”

  “Of course, anything you wish.

  After Mister Frederickson made his exit, Margaret grabbed Myra by the arm and led her outside where Seth waited impatiently.

  “We’re going on a picnic today at Parker’s Lake, Myra,” she informed her. “Surely they can hold off from needing you in the kitchens for one afternoon.”

  “Myra has duties that need tended,” Seth interrupted. “Going off alone for a picnic isn’t wise. You know there have been sightings of Injuns near Parker’s Lake. Tis not safe for either of you to be out there alone.”

  “Oh, don't spoil my pleasure, Seth!” Margaret pouted.

  Myra watched as Margaret tapped her foot on the ground, and a frown—childlike and exaggerated—creased her finely carved thin lips. An incredibly spoiled girl, but Seth would agree with whatever she wanted, no doubt.

  A heavy sigh wisped through Seth’s mouth. “If you persist on pouting that way, then I must insist I take you.”

  Aye, very spoiled, Myra deduced.

  Margaret swallowed hard and nervously fidgeted with her fingers. Myra didn’t think she looked half as pleased as she should. In fact, she looked outright put out by the offer. But of course she would be, Myra thought. A clandestine meeting wasn’t near as pleasurable if spoiled by an older brother chaperoning.

  “That doesn't please you?” he laughed. “I thought you were excited about going on a picnic today. Tis not that the impression you received, too, Myra?” Something caught his eye, and he digressed. “I shall return shortly,” Seth interrupted, and he looked down the road. “There’s Mister Smith,” he said, and pointed toward the blacksmith’s shack. “I have business with him before we return home.”

  The moment Seth moved out of earshot range, Margaret pulled Myra close. “I beseech you. You must help me. Seth cannot go.”

  “What is wrong, Margaret? Why can’t Seth take you?”

  “Well, tis a secret, but I am meeting a certain gentleman there.”

  “Oh,” Myra replied. She knew the reason why, of course, but she couldn’t reveal that she eavesdropped on her entire conversation. If she could, she’d ask her where she learned the infor
mation about her past and about her true identity. At least Margaret wavered on the facts and believed the statements false, and for that, she was thankful.

  “Please, Myra, help me keep Seth at home.”

  “Seth is right. Going out there alone isn’t safe, Margaret.”

  “But Mister Frederickson,” she confessed. “He’ll keep us safe. In fact, he was once an important general to our former king, or so rumor says.” She raised a fine lined eyebrow. “Mayhap you know him?”

  “Oh, I know naught of royalty or their kind,” she lied. Although careful, Myra figured someone overheard her and Lucia speaking about her past or perhaps Seth repeated what he had heard. Lucia wouldn’t have betrayed her. Fortunately, with Seth’s help, most wouldn’t believe the chatter. Most believed her nothing more than a storyteller, with the exception of Margaret who was yet undecided about her past. And that only because of her being a naive child who easily took a whimsy to fairytales.

  “Is that so?” She hummed out the words and Myra knew she didn’t believe her.

  “So,” Seth said when he returned. “Shall we have that picnic, Margaret?”

  “Oh, very well, Seth,” she stammered out. “But I must tell you true.” She sighed in resignation. “You must promise not to tell father, though.”

  “Not tell father, what?” Seth narrowed his eyes and looked down at her.

  “Oh, it is naught of great import, Seth, just something slight,” Margaret assured. “No need to give such looks of despair!”

  “And what would this secret be?”

  “Mister Frederickson shall be joining us,” she said reluctantly.

  “Nay.” Seth started walking away, and Margaret gave Myra a pleading look.

  “What shall it hurt, Seth?” Myra defended, although it was against her better judgment to interfere.

  “You don’t know that man, Myra. He is a scoundrel, and if rumor is true, he is worse.”

  “Then ‘twould be best if you were there and chaperoned, would it not? If you refuse her this, she may go off and meet him alone the next time.” He couldn’t argue that, and after he pierced her with a dark stare, he forced a smile.