The Promise of Breeze Hill

by Pam Hillman

  “That could be fixed.”

  Connor glanced up to find William leaning against a corner post, looking pale as if the short walk from the house out to the sawmill had almost been more than he could handle.

  “There’s probably enough left to make a good one-man saw. Too short for the pit, though.”

  Connor reached for a chair, plunked it down beside him. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you look like you’re about to pass out. Maybe you should sit.”

  One hand hugging his bandage-wrapped waist, Wainwright lowered himself to the chair, stretched out one leg, and rested his head against the cabin wall. “Please, don’t sir me. After all we’ve been through, I’m more your equal than your better.”

  “Old habits are hard to break.” Connor shrugged. “And some might not see things the same as you do.”

  “’Tis true enough.” Wainwright shifted, then winced.

  Connor jerked his head toward the big house, the gabled peak of Isabella’s second-story rooms barely visible above the tree line. “Does Martha know you’ve escaped?”

  Isabella would probably be worried as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about her, let alone bring her into the conversation intentionally.

  “Martha has better things to do right now than to worry about me.” William skewered him with a look. “The babe should make an appearance any time.”

  “All is well?”

  “Yes.” William looked toward the house, concern written in the lines of his face. “For the time being. I couldn’t stand waiting around any longer, watching the women run back and forth, shaking their heads every time I asked about Leah or the babe. And besides, I wanted to talk to you.” He straightened, groaning with the effort. “I didn’t realize I was still so weak.”

  “Your actions saved the lives of three women. Being housebound for a few days is a small price to pay.”

  “While I can’t take credit for saving anyone, I’ll suffer gladly knowing they’re all safe.” Wainwright’s gaze met his. “You should take credit where credit is due. If it hadn’t been for you, Isabella wouldn’t be here. Bartholomew owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  “And you, Master William? Do you owe me a debt of gratitude as well?”

  “Of course. We’re all glad to have Isabella back safe and sound.” A frown pulled Wainwright’s brows together in a deep V. “Are you implying more?”

  Connor moved to the edge of the porch, staring across the treetops toward the house. The trip to Natchez, the attack, and rescuing Isabella had unraveled the carefully woven fabric of his and her lives. “I’m leaving. Mr. Bartholomew released me from our agreement. I’m free t’ go.”

  Go where? He doubted he could find work in Natchez. Better to head north and let everyone believe that he’d left without marrying Isabella, instead of that she’d refused to accept him.

  “Why’d he release you? Surely he doesn’t believe that rot about you and Isabella?”

  Connor flinched. Even William was clueless to the truth. “It doesn’t matter what he believes if others believe it.”

  “You’re going to leave Bartholomew to face this alone, then?”

  “Pardon?” Connor jerked his head up.

  Wainwright leaned forward, then clutched his side. “Blast this injury.” He fixed Connor with a glare. “I’m afraid someone really is after the Bartholomew estate. Jonathan’s death, Bartholomew’s injuries, the fire—all of it is a calculated ploy to destroy this family. Someone needs to marry Isabella to protect her from this threat.”

  “Then marry her and that will solve your problem,” Connor growled.

  William assessed Connor. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  “Are you daft, man? Would I be handing her to you if I were?”

  “I didn’t get the impression you were handing her to me as much as trying to make sure she was properly cared for when you’re gone.” William leaned back in the chair. “But it doesn’t matter. My heart belongs to another, and when the time is right, I’ll court her proper.”

  So Mr. Bartholomew had been right. “You’re speaking of Miss Leah. Do you think Mr. Bartholomew will accept your suit, knowing that someone is after Breeze Hill?”

  William grinned. “He’s already agreed. When we were in Natchez, I had Bloomfield draw up papers stating that in the event of my marriage to Leah Bartholomew, I relinquish all claims to Breeze Hill, leaving it to her child should he be a boy. If it’s a girl, then Isabella inherits the property.”

  “Why haven’t you pressed your suit before now?”

  “Leah is still in love with Jonathan. And what of you? You didn’t declare your intentions to Isabella?”

  Connor clenched his jaw. “I have no intentions.”

  “Rubbish. I may be half-dead from a stabbing and a gunshot, but I’m not blind.”

  “She won’t have me.”

  “I can’t believe that. She—”

  “I agreed to marry her to save her reputation—with her father’s blessing, I might add. She refused.”

  William stared at him, then burst out laughing. He winced, clutching his side. “Oh, don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

  Connor scowled. “I fail to see what’s so funny.”

  “No wonder she refused. I doubt she wanted to marry a man who was forced into it.”

  “I wasn’t being forced.”

  “Sounded like it to me.” William shrugged. “Did you tell her that you wanted to marry her because you couldn’t live without her or that you were doing it because it was the honorable thing to do?”

  The accusation hit too close to home. She was the one who’d refused. Not him.

  His jaw tightened. “She made her choice.”

  “Even if her choice means marrying Nolan Braxton? He paid a call earlier today.” Wainwright eyed him. “What if he’s the very threat the Bartholomews are trying to avoid? Or even Samuel Hartford. Although I doubt Hartford could summon enough energy to be devious.”

  Connor shook his head. “Neither of them have any reason to get rid of the Bartholomews. Braxton has his own plantation and Hartford is in line to inherit Hartford Hall.”

  “That may be true, but both properties adjoin Breeze Hill. Any plantation owner worth his salt is always looking to expand his holdings.”

  “Even you?”

  “Think what you will.” William’s jaw clenched. “My intentions are noble, and I will honor Jonathan’s memory. His son—should Leah have a boy—will inherit Breeze Hill, and that will be the end of it.”

  “Which means that your piece of paper leaving Breeze Hill to the male heir puts the child in even more danger than before.”

  William froze, his gaze narrowed as he pondered Connor’s words.

  “Connor! Mr. William!”

  They glanced up as Lizzy raced down the dirt road toward the mill, her pigtails flying. William stood. “What news, girl?”

  Lizzy glanced from one to the other, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear.

  “It’s here.”

  “And Miss Leah?”

  “Fair to middling, according to Miss Martha.”

  “And the child? Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “Boy.”

  Connor sucked in a breath. If Bartholomew and Wainwright were correct, the Bartholomew family’s troubles were far from over.

  Isabella held the babe close, unable to tear her gaze away.

  Her nephew was perfect.

  Ten tiny toes, ten fingers that wrapped around hers and held on tight, a head full of dark hair, the spitting image of his papa.

  “Welcome to the world, Jonathan William Bartholomew,” she whispered, her heart full to overflowing.

  Susan appeared at her side, a soft smile gracing her face. She cupped little Jon’s head with her palm. “God’s precious gift.”

  Tears burned Isabella’s eyes. “Yes. Jonathan would be so proud.”

  “No tears, Miss Isabella. Today is a day of rejoicing.”

  �
�You’re right.” Isabella sniffed. “I’ll try not to be too maudlin.”

  They both glanced up at the sound of a soft knock at the door. Susan patted her shoulder and hurried to open the door. William stood there. His attention shifted, landed on the baby, a look of wonder in his eyes. “May I?”

  “Please, come in.” Isabella nodded, turned the baby so that he could see.

  He gazed at the peaceful sleeping face of little Jon, then reached out and touched his cheek. His face clouded, and he expelled a long, slow breath.

  Isabella frowned. “What’s that for?”

  A tiny smile kicked up one corner of his mouth. With a glance at Susan, he gave a small shake of his head. “Nothing.”

  “Would you like to know his name?”

  “Jonathan, I’m sure.”

  “Yes. Jonathan William Bartholomew II.”

  “William?” A pleased look crossed his face.

  “It was Jonathan’s middle name.”

  “Ah, yes. I had forgotten.”

  “Fitting, though, don’t you think?” Isabella grinned at him.

  A flush stole over William’s face, but he didn’t acknowledge her teasing. Little Jon woke and stretched, a frown pulling at his tiny bow mouth. He let out a squall and turned his face toward Isabella. She snuggled him against the hollow of her throat, but still he fretted, rooting at her neck.

  “Susan.” Isabella stood and handed the babe off to the nurse. “Why don’t you take little Jon to Leah? I think he needs his mother.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After they’d gone, she returned to the settee. “Papa told me you asked for permission to court Leah.”

  William sat, his hands dangling between his knees. “Do I still have your blessing?”

  “Of course. You and Leah are perfectly suited to one another.”

  “Let’s hope Leah feels the same way.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised. Yes, she misses Jonathan, and she’s been afraid for the babe. Now that he’s here, I think she’ll be more open to your suit. But it might take some time.”

  “Time is the one thing we don’t have.” William cleared his throat. “Did your father tell you that I forfeited all claim to Breeze Hill if Jonathan’s child was a boy?”

  “Yes.” Isabella blinked back tears. “William, you couldn’t have given my family a better gift than that. Thank you.”

  “Well . . .” William shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I’m worried that my actions may cause more harm than good.”

  “What do you mean? If Papa is right and someone is after Breeze Hill, then—”

  “But that’s just it. What if my actions put the child in even more danger?”

  Isabella’s heart leapt to her throat. “No. Nobody would be that cruel, that—” her voice broke—“heartless, to hurt a child.”

  William took her hands. “We have to consider it. If someone killed Jonathan, tried to burn the house down, and even tried to kill you on the Natchez Trace, then they might not stop at trying to harm Leah and the babe. I thought I’d figured out a solution by removing Leah from harm’s way and leaving the land to the baby, but Connor—”

  “Connor? What’s he got to do with this?”

  “Nothing.” William searched her gaze, then shrugged. “Everything. I know that he offered for you.”

  “He offered because Papa gave him his freedom in exchange for marrying me. I won’t be bartered like a side of beef.”

  “You’ll not change your mind, then? He’ll be gone by morning if the weather clears.”

  She’d spent the day hoping and praying he’d come to her, make things right, declare his love, but she hadn’t seen him. And she wouldn’t go to him.

  “No, I won’t beg him to stay.” She lifted her chin. “He made his choice, and his choice was to leave.”

  William chuckled. “Funny, that’s the same thing he said about you.”

  Chapter 30

  CONNOR CLOSED THE DOOR on the sawmill one last time, shouldered his pack, and walked down the lane toward the house. He stopped on the front lawn and stared up at Isabella’s rooms.

  The wind whipped the tops of the cedars, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Fitting.

  A rainstorm had blown in the day he was sold to Breeze Hill and another on the day he was leaving. Gray clouds hovered over the house, giving it a dark, dreary look in the early morning light.

  But even now the front of the house had an elegant appearance that belied the burned and razed wing in the back. Eventually Bartholomew would find someone to rebuild, and it would be as good as new.

  He turned away, hoping to make it to Mount Locust before the next wave of rain hit. Hopefully, there would be a caravan he could join, going north or south. It didn’t matter which. Any direction was fine, as long as it took him away from Breeze Hill.

  The front door slammed open and William called out to him. He hurried down the steps, his face contorted with worry. “Isabella’s gone. She left a note with Martha saying she was going to Braxton’s. I’m afraid she’s in danger.”

  Connor’s heart twisted with the need to see her, to rush to her rescue once again, but he slammed a lid on the yearning. What Isabella did or didn’t do was no longer his concern, and the sooner he put distance between the two of them, the better off he’d be. Someday he might convince his heart to distance itself as well.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’ll take shelter at Braxton’s until the weather clears.” His words came out stiff and cold, blown away by the blustery wind whipping the cedars.

  William scowled at him. “I’m not talking about the weather, but from Braxton himself. Captain Minor stopped by last night, and he was asking questions about Nolan Braxton. Word has come from England questioning his ownership of Braxton Hall. Seems there’s no record of the elder Braxton having a son. From all accounts, he had no heirs. None at all.”

  “This isn’t the first time that an inheritance has come into question. Won’t be the last.”

  “I’m not the least bit concerned about whether Braxton is the legal heir to Braxton Hall. The governor can sort that out. But until then, Isabella needs to stay away from him, because if he’s not a Braxton, who is he? Leah’s beside herself with worry, and Mr. Bartholomew threatened to go after her himself.” William walked away, toward the stables. “I promised I’d find her.”

  Connor followed. “You’re not in any condition to be traveling.”

  “I’m going, regardless. I don’t trust Braxton. Never have.”

  Connor caught up to him, motioning toward the heavy, dark clouds. “Look at those clouds. You’ll catch your death if you go out in a rainstorm.”

  William’s attention whipped southward, his jaw firming. “We might be in store for more than just a bit of rain this time. Look how those trees are twisting in the wind. If I don’t miss my guess, this squall is coming off the ocean. It has the taste, the smell of a hurricane.”

  “A hurricane? This far inland?”

  “Yes, sometimes. All the more reason I need to find Isabella and bring her home. I’ll take Toby or Jim with me if it makes you feel better.”

  The stables were empty, and William insisted on saddling his own horse instead of taking the time to find one of the boys. His face grew pasty white as he struggled to lift the saddle into place, but he gritted his teeth and hoisted it onto the back of his mount. After watching him struggle to saddle his horse, Connor unlatched a stall and led out another mare.

  In the shape he was in, Wainwright would be passed out on the road between here and Braxton Hall, and no one would be the wiser. Connor might be wiping the dust of Breeze Hill from the soles of his boots, but in good conscience, he couldn’t abandon a man he’d come to call friend.

  He ignored the bittersweet realization that he’d have an excuse to see Isabella one last time. He hefted a saddle and threw it across the horse’s back. “Master William, but you’re a stubborn one, for sure.”

  Alone in Nolan’
s parlor, Isabella twisted her fingers in her lap.

  Was she doing the right thing?

  She didn’t know, but she’d sat in the rocker in Leah’s sitting room in the darkest hours of the night, wrestling over little Jon’s future. There was one man who was powerful enough and close enough to Breeze Hill to offer protection for her nephew. And that man was Nolan Braxton.

  And in spite of the scandal attached to her name, Nolan still wanted to marry her. She’d accept his proposal with the stipulation that Jon would inherit Breeze Hill. Nolan and William could both be trusted to keep their agreements secret until Jon was old enough to take over the plantation himself.

  She jumped when a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows. What was keeping Nolan?

  His housekeeper—wide, frightened eyes darting to the huge oaks bending and twisting in the wind—had said that he was indisposed. Isabella asked to wait out the storm, and the woman had shown her to the parlor, then quickly disappeared, muttering about devil winds and the cellar.

  As the wind picked up, Isabella stood, moved to the windows, and pulled the heavy drapes back. The sky toward New Orleans had turned a sickly blue-gray in the hour she’d waited, and the trees whipped back and forth in a frenzy. The storm was worsening at a frightening rate.

  She bit her lip. Should she attempt to go home or wait out the storm? Sighing, she turned away, but movement on the road caught her attention. Ah, maybe Nolan had arrived after all. A fresh wave of uncertainty that had nothing to do with the weather flitted through her stomach. Could she pledge herself to a man she didn’t love, even as her heart ached for Connor?

  Yes, she could. Just as Connor had predicted, she’d do what it took to protect Jonathan’s child.

  Three horses came racing through the yard toward the stables. Two men dismounted and urged their horses inside before she could tell if Nolan was one of them. But just before the barn door closed, the wind snatched the third man’s hat away. As he bent down to retrieve it, she recognized the man who’d kidnapped her.

  With a gasp, she let go of the curtain as if she’d been burned, then backed away from the window.