That night they once again made love into the wee hours of the morning. When both were sated, they held one another until sleep overtook them.
~*~
Up again at seven a.m., they made their way downstairs to the breakfast room where the kitchen staff had prepared Spanish omelets with mushroom sauce, raspberry crepes, and coffee.
Finishing the last of his crepes, David said, “This was very good. You must give my compliments to your cook.” Wiping his mouth, he put his napkin aside. “Now what’s first on our schedule for today?”
Cecilia pushed her chair back and rose from the table. “I’ve decided we’ll leave straight for Carlton. There’s a lot to see there, and I want to arrive before lunch. John has the car loaded. Let’s get going.”
After finishing their preparations, they headed twenty-five miles northwest, up Hwy 61, the Ashley River Road, into the heart of Lowcountry. The trip from Charleston to Carlton Plantation was beautiful. Winding roads lined with Carolina Pines and live oaks draped in Spanish moss created an enjoyable drive as they exited the city. The cabbage palmetto palm, South Carolina’s state tree, grew wild everywhere, and the clear blue sky was gorgeous cast against the deep green of the conifer trees in the open countryside.
When they finally came upon the massive lands of Carlton Plantation, David observed the landscape as they turned onto Lawton River Road. Cypress knees peeked through the murky water in the marshes where an occasional turtle dropped into the river from a snagged log, and willow oaks hung over the riverbank. Alligators sunned themselves on the sunny banks while gulls flew overhead and cranes waded in the swamp waters.
“Well, this is it. This is the beginning of Carlton Plantation, one of only two rice plantations still in operation in South Carolina. About a mile and a half more, and the first glimpse of the house will come into view. What do you think so far?”
“It’s huge. Far bigger than I expected, and it’s beautiful. What’s the name of the other rice plantation and who owns it?”
“The other plantation is Whispering Winds, and it’s owned by my godfather, Daniel Russell. It’s located down in Beaufort County.”
They followed a winding road lined with huge trees draped in grey-green tendrils as it snaked its way around to the entrance of the massive house of Carlton Plantation.
“Carlton House is designed in the antebellum architectural style of the 1820s when it was originally built. It replaced the original house built in 1710. Very stately, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes it is, and the grounds are magnificent.” David glanced around. There were ancient magnolias, wisterias, mimosas, crape myrtles, pecan trees, and gardens of fragrant gardenias and jasmine, along with azaleas, which at this time of year were not in bloom, although the camellias, hibiscus, roses, and chrysanthemums were.
Turning to Cecilia, David asked. “How did it come by the name of Carlton House—not after the Prince Regent, surely?”
“No,” she laughed, “John Francis Carlton was the original landowner, but it passed to his grandson, Franklin Lawton, in 1735 when Carlton’s only son died at sea. The Carlton rice plantation and the Lawton indigo dye plantation bordered one another, and subsequently, they combined when Franklin took possession of his inheritance.”
“I see.” David nodded.
As they pulled around to the front entrance, Cecilia gestured with her hand. “Well, this is it. We’ll put our things in the master suite, have lunch, and then we’ll go to the stables and have two horses saddled, if you’d like. I’m assuming you do ride since you are an English gentleman,” she said, giving him a mischievous look as she popped the hatch and exited the car.
“I ride, probably as well as you do,” he chuckled, “provided it’s an English saddle.”
“Is there any other?” She arched one eyebrow.”
As they took their things up the steps, an older black man looked up and greeted them as he came through the door. “Miss Cecilia,” he said with a broad smile. “What a pleasure to have you home.”
“Uncle Reuben!” Cecilia stepped forward and gave the old man a warm hug and a kiss. “How are you and how is everything going?”
The old man laughed. “Things couldn’t be better. With the rice harvest complete, we will soon be preparing the fields for spring, and I was about to go and see about your mare up at Blue Willow Farms.”
“Good. When you return, I want to talk with you, and give Solomon and Miss Evelyn my best regards.”
“I’ll do that, and you best get in the house and see Ruby. She and Tuwanda have been up since dawn cookin’ up a storm. She’s been askin’ about you ever since you called, tellin’ her you were comin’ up.”
“Well, before you go, I’d like to introduce a friend and business associate, David Darcy from Derbyshire, England. David, this is my overseer and manager of Carlton Plantation, Reuben Chaplin. Reuben sits on the board of the Carolina Gold Research Institute and Development Foundation,” she said with a smile.
Reuben stepped forward. “I’m always pleased to meet any of Miss Lawton’s associates.”
As David took the proffered hand, he responded, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chaplin. Miss Lawton has spoken very highly of you, and I’m honored to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, Mr. Darcy,” he said, “but I best get on. As much as I’d like to, I can’t stay and talk. I should have been there by now, so if you all will excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
As Reuben left, Cecilia and David entered the house where a stout, older woman greeted them in the foyer. “Lord have mercy, Miss Cecilia. I heard Reuben out front and thought it might be you. Now you come right in here to your old Aunt Ruby, and let me have a good look at you,” she said as she pulled Cecilia into a hug. “You ain’t been getting none too much to eat I can see, but I’ll remedy that.” Ruby turned and said, “Now, who do you have here.” She eyed David carefully. “He sure is a handsome beau.”
Cecilia laughed. “Ruby, this is my good friend, David Darcy from England.”
David, amused by the woman’s curious stare, stepped forward. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Chaplin,” he said as he took the housekeeper’s hand in his.
“Well, any friend of Miss Cecilia’s is a friend of mine. You just call me Aunt Ruby. Everyone else does, so don’t you go being any different,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, giving David her approval.
Ruby gestured for a servant to come and take their luggage as she gave him instructions on where to place it. Then she turned back to Cecilia. “I best head back to the kitchen and get your lunch served up. Tuwanda’s got a hardy stew with homemade bread all made ready for lunch, and we’re havin’ a roasted lamb’s leg with squash casserole, Carolina Gold rice, corn pie, fried okra, purple hull peas, and peach iced tea for supper, and don’t you think Aunt Ruby forgot dessert. No, ma’am. I personally fixed your favorite—cherry pie. Now, I best get to the kitchen and see about things. You go on and get yourselves ready. Aunt Ruby will have lunch quick as a flash.” With that, Ruby slipped through a doorway and disappeared.
As the housekeeper left, David chuckled to himself and looked around. He was impressed by all that he saw of the house. A massive staircase, splitting into two sections leading to separate wings of the house, occupied the center of the large entryway. It was much more formal than the townhouse or the Lawton Hotel and rivaled Pemberley House in its style and elegance.
As he canvassed the house, Cecilia tapped his shoulder. “David, let’s wash up and eat.”
After lunch, they walked to the stable and saddled their horses, then set out to see the plantation.
“I’ll take you to the rice fields first and then to the wooded area,” Cecilia said. “The rice fields are in the lowlands, and it’s marshy towards the river, so we can’t get too close.”
She kicked her horse in the side and they were off, clearing the first fence and out into open pasture. Cecilia took him as close to the river as they dared. When they
came to a stop, David looked out over the fields. “How many acres of rice do you grow?”
“Only a thousand at the present, but I plan to change that. Carolina Gold is considered the world’s best rice. It’s a research project my father started in conjunction with the University of South Carolina.”
“Tell me about it. It sounds interesting.”
She glanced at him thoughtfully as the horses trotted along the edge of the fields. “It’s a culmination of twenty years of work. South Carolina was once famed for its rice and cotton production. In fact, we produced the best in the world of both the Carolina Gold Rice and our Sea Island Extra Long Staple Cotton. As I told you, between the war and reconstruction, our agricultural economy was virtually destroyed. Many of the rice plantations that had survived no longer had the money to pay for help, and those that did were wiped out by hurricanes, disease, and pestilence. By 1913, it became unprofitable to continue.”
As he gazed out over the fields, David could tell this was very much a part of who Cecilia Lawton was.
She turned to David with a smile. “It grieved my father to see the barren wastelands of what was once a booming part of our economy and history, so he embarked on a project to return South Carolina to its former glory,” she said, looking out into the distance. “Scattered here and there, various old families, ours included, still had the heirloom seed rice. So he and several others, Whispering Winds among them, formed the Carolina Gold Research Institute and Development Foundation for the sole purpose of the development and restoration of Carolina Gold, and thus the project began. It’s my goal to return all six thousand acres of our plantation back into a thriving agricultural estate. I have a unique product which is in high demand, and I have every bit of the drive and determination my father had to see this project succeed.”
“Does Daniel have any children? I don’t recall hearing you mention whether he did or not.”
“No, he and Miss Ellen were never blessed in that way. Whispering Winds will pass to Robert’s children when Daniel passes on.”
“I see.” David nodded. “Now, tell me the history of the rice. It’s not native to America. Where did it come from?”
She laughed. “I’m glad you asked. It came from West Africa along with the slaves. In fact, they not only brought it with them, but they taught us how to grow it. They had been growing it on the coast of West Africa for hundreds of years. And until the slaves taught them, the English had been unsuccessful in their attempts at rice farming. Africans have taught the Europeans much, of which the cultivation of rice is but one small thing. When we get back to the house, I’ll give you some of our booklets and newsletters to take with you, if you’re interested. I think there’s a book or two, as well. You ought to read Black Rice by Judith Carney. Ms. Carney did an excellent job researching the history of rice cultivation in both Africa and America.”
“I’d love that.”
Cecilia patted her mare’s neck. “The only thing I’m not proud of is that our wealth was built upon the backs of slaves.” She sighed. “It’s getting up in the afternoon, so let’s go from here.”
Taking him back from the river to open pasture, they gave the horses a good run. Before heading back to the house, she showed him the wooded area, the pasturelands where the cows and horses were grazing, and the open hay fields of alfalfa bordered by a tributary stream that flowed through the broad expanse into the Ashley River. Cecilia laughed and talked as they walked back from the stables. It was clear to David that she loved Carlton Plantation as much as he loved Pemberley.
While they walked, Cecilia slipped her arm around his waist. “This place is beautiful this time of year, but miserable in the summer. There’s no breeze coming in off the ocean like there is in town. That’s why planters kept a townhouse for the family to escape to during the summertime—that and to flee the malaria-ridden swamps.”
Strolling along, he slid his hand into the back pocket of her jeans. “I can see why you love Carlton. It’s very beautiful…and peaceful. The grounds have a natural beauty all of their own with the moss hanging down from the trees as it does, and the velvet-green swamp water. It looks like a lush carpet. Very beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.” She gave him an affectionate squeeze. “You see things as I do. I’m glad you like it,” she said, smiling as they walked up the steps to the front door.
~*~
After dinner, Cecilia approached David. “Now let me give you a tour of the house.”
“I was wondering when you would mention it. I really would like to see it.”
She smiled and reached for his hand. “Follow me, and we’ll start with the downstairs.”
Cecilia was obviously proud of her home as she showed it to him, beginning with the drawing rooms. “This is the room where my mother entertained friends and guests with teas and formal parties. It’s the largest of our three drawing rooms.”
David glanced around the room. It was furnished similarly to the townhouse, except it was more elegant with higher ceilings and large bay windows on two sides that overlooked the wraparound porch. A large ornate fireplace covered the back wall.
Across from the first drawing room was a massive library. Stepping into the room, Cecilia said, “This room is not only the main library of all our homes, but it was my father’s research study.” She walked to the back corner and opened a door. “In this small room is where all of our technical papers and documentation for the plantation are kept.”
David followed and peered into the neatly organized study. Four walls of bookcases filled with scientific periodicals, the plantation’s history journals and research materials dominated the room.
“David, here are the books, newsletters, and progress reports and field documentation I told you about.” She picked up a stack of papers and then went to the bookcase and pulled out three books, handing everything to him, Black Rice among them.
“Thanks, I’ll be sure and read these when I’m on my way to Asia.” He smiled as he took the materials from her hand.
Exiting the study, he looked around the library. His lips curled into an impetuous smile. There were floor-to-ceiling oak cases filled with books on three sides, only broken by equally tall windows interspersed between them. A large, round table with two chairs sat in front of the far window. This must have been where Mr. Lawton worked on his project, David thought. As it was in the first drawing room, a large fireplace occupied one wall. Sofas and tables with lamps sat back from the bookcases. A wingback chair with a smoking stand was strategically placed in front of the fireplace. And a sheepskin rug with a worn spot lay in front of the hearth.
Cecilia smiled. “I see you eyeing the rug. My father kept his coonhound in the house. That’s where Bessie slept while Daddy read, sipping his whiskey and smoking his pipe.”
David grinned, glancing from the rug to Cecilia. “What breed of hound did he have?”
“A Treeing Walker, of course, also known as an American Foxhound—a descendant of your foxhound.”
David’s lips curled. “Your father had good taste, then.”
“Yes, he did. Come on. Let’s finish the tour.”
She took him to the smaller drawing room and then to the dining rooms he’d seen earlier—one large and formal and the other smaller and modest. They were separated by a large double fireplace between them. Impressed with what he saw, David complimented her on the fireplace. Walking through the dining rooms, they entered the kitchen, which in itself was the size of the smaller dining room. Off to the side of the kitchen, jutted another room.
As they walked into the room, she said, “This room is used as a breakfast room now, but it was once the kitchen staff’s room where they slept and ate. We’ll be eating breakfast in this room tomorrow morning. We only have a few rooms left to go, and then we will tour the upstairs.”
She took him to the ballroom, the game room, the master study, the bathrooms, and the third drawing room where her family once spent much of their time before her mother’s de
ath. David gave her a pleased smile. All of the rooms were richly furnished, but not overly done.
Walking up the staircase, she began with the east wing where the guest quarters were located. Then they proceeded to the west wing, which was kept for the family. There were several bathrooms in each wing, along with the bedrooms and sitting rooms, but in the family wing there was a nursery connected to a study and a library that had once been the children’s schoolroom long ago. The schoolroom opened onto a large piazza used for a sitting and reading area for the children in the autumn and spring of the year, but it had not been used for that purpose since the 1850s. Wallace Lawton’s only surviving child, John, had had the room converted into an upstairs library in the early 20th century. They ended their tour on the upstairs piazza outside the library, overlooking the beautiful moonlit gardens where the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine and the sounds of the nighttime filled the air, creating a peaceful mood. David took Cecilia’s hand in his as they looked out into the evening.
“Cecilia, it is a beautiful home. Do you spend much time here?”
“No, I haven’t lived here since I was eight. It’s too lonely for just me alone. It was meant for a family, and the last family to occupy the house as it should be was my ancestor, Samuel Lawton, in the days before the war,” she said with a tinge of sadness. “There seemed to be some sort of a curse on us after that. From Wallace to me, only one child has survived to adulthood.”
A shadow of concern crept over David. “Tell me about your family, Cecilia. What happened to your mother?”
Despondency overcame Cecilia’s features. Leaning against the rails, she softly spoke. “My mother was a Savannah, Georgia socialite and only child. The Bouchards, my mother’s family, were from old money, but very little of it remained after the war. So, consequently, Mother wasn’t in my father’s class. People said she was a social climber, and many of the bluebloods never accepted her. Even my grandparents didn’t like her. They died when I was very young, but I think their dislike was because my mother’s family wasn’t of English descent. They were French. My parents didn’t have the same religious background, either. You see, my father was Episcopalian, and Mother was Catholic. They couldn’t agree on anything from church to family life—and that was the beginning of their many problems. But then it could have just as easily have been my mother’s attitude. She had a duty and a responsibility, and she spurned it.”
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