Keturah huffed a laugh and then enfolded both girls in her arms. This felt good to her, so good. Hopeful. How long had it been since she felt such hope, since she felt so … alive?
Since before Edward, she was certain. Before her life with him had slowly deadened her heart, piece by piece.
’Tis behind you now, Ket, she told herself, hugging her sisters even tighter. She giggled and laughed with them, each one sharing glances that said, Can we really be doing this? Is it true? Are we mad?
Were they mad? Or brilliant?
Brilliant, she decided. Or at the very least, inspired. And inspiration, after so long feeling anything but, was exhilarating.
Yes. The time of death is over. Ahead is life. Hope!
She was certain of it.
Chapter Two
“You are utterly mad,” Lord Cecil Blankenship, first cousin and self-designated guardian to the Banning women, said. “This blow—your father’s death—has most assuredly led you to this.” He squinted his eyes at Keturah and slowly waved his long oval head back and forth. “You must forget this plan. We shall find another way for you three. A far more suitable way for women of your station. After all,” he sputtered, “as I understand it, the only females who sail alone for the Indies are women of ill repute.”
Ket bristled, but did her best to conceal it. She’d had quite enough of men telling her what to do. Over the last week, the girls’ decision had in turns both terrified and thrilled them. But overall, all three of them had determined that this course was right—her sisters certain the Lord himself encouraged them to do so. Their unity was all the confirmation Ket needed.
Folding her hands in her lap and forcing a genteel smile to her lips, she replied, “I believe we are in our right minds, Cecil, as mad as it might seem. Trust me, I well know it’s a great deal to consider, and on such short notice. But—”
“Short notice!” he burst out, rising and beginning a pacing path about the parlor, clearly meaning to lecture her. “You sent word only yesterday that you intend to embark upon this mad journey, and then today I find out that you intend to do so in the week to come?” He drew up to his full height of six feet, lips trembling with further unspoken words, glowering at her.
Taking a deep breath, Keturah bent, took hold of her teacup, and lifted it to her lips. She sipped slowly, allowing him to recover his composure before answering. “Cecil, as I explained, time is of the essence and the Restoration was the first ship we could secure for the voyage. I found it is not every captain who is willing to accept three unescorted women as passengers, but also their cargo—”
“Cargo? What all do you intend to take? If you must go, can you not simply voyage there, hire this overseer, and return home where you belong?”
“No, Cecil. I do not believe that would help us at all. I believe we must go and be prepared to stay for several years. In that time, I hope to see two strong harvests brought in.”
Her cousin came around the settee and sat next to her, pinching his nose as if to press back a gathering headache. “Keturah, you must think again about allowing me to attend you, or better yet, to go in your stead. Three women alone …” He shook his head, his bulbous eyes blinking rapidly. “I shudder to think what will become of you. Uncle Richard would never have sanctioned such a plan. If you will not listen to me, consider what your father would have advised.”
She glanced to the open doorway, well aware that her sisters might be hovering near, attempting to eavesdrop. “Father left us here in the manor because his intention was to protect us all our lives. But it was all a ruse, dear cousin. The walls are soon to crumble about us. He sent Mr. Abercrombie enough funds each year to keep us in comfort here, but he gambled it all upon the return of this last harvest.” It was her turn to shake her head in frustration. She sighed heavily and reached out a hand to him. He took her smaller hand in his long, bony fingers, hope blooming in his cheeks that she might be softening to his advice.
“You have had the opportunity to review the ledgers yourself, have you not?” she asked gently.
He frowned, giving her a reluctant nod.
Keturah glanced over her shoulder to make certain her sisters were not hovering about. They need not be reminded of their financial predicament. “By my calculations, if we remain here, and if little changes on Nevis, we have but three years’ time. That would be enough to sustain us in coal and food and keep our creditors at bay. But, Cecil, in that same time, Tabletop Plantation has a chance to turn a profit—if I see to it myself. If I remain here, hoping that you or a potential overseer might make it work …”
She leveled a gaze at her cousin. “Forgive me, but I cannot trust our future to anyone’s hands but my own. You may very well never understand that, Cecil, and if that is the case, I am truly sorry. You have been a fine cousin to me. A friend, really, more than kin. But you also know me well enough to know that when I decide to do such a thing, I cannot be dissuaded.”
Cecil sank back on the settee, appearing worn. “There are other options, Ket. You could marry. Or Verity …” he added hurriedly, averting his eyes. It did not require kinship for those in their circle to know how grim her first union had been.
“Given the … difficulties of my first marriage,” she said delicately, “I have no intention of …”
Her words trailed off as Cecil looked to the doorway behind her, his brows rising in recognition. The hair on the back of her neck rose, knowing that they were no longer alone, even as Cecil stood up. She glanced over her shoulder.
And there, leaning against the doorjamb, tricorn in his hands, was Gray Covington. All devilishly handsome, broad-shouldered, long length of him. He casually gestured back toward the front entry. “Primus allowed me in and then was called away. I’d beg your forgiveness for my intrusion, Keturah,” he said, “Cecil,” he added with a nod, stepping forward to shake his hand, “but it appears as if my timing was most fortuitous.”
Cecil frowned, even as he gripped his hand. “How so, old friend?”
Gray glanced down at Keturah, clearly awaiting an invitation. She had an odd memory of him as a child, rudely taking a seat between her and Cecil, shoving them apart, fully confident that they both wanted him near. Stifling a sigh, she motioned for him to sit in the chair beside her own. “Dish of tea?” she asked, forcing herself to be perfectly polite.
“Please,” he said and leaned back in her father’s wing chair, relaxed and yet firmly erect at the same time. If there was one thing her childhood friend had always been able to do, it was to cut a fine figure. Keturah forced herself to look to the teapot, pouring the steaming liquid into the cup and then lifting it toward him. How much had he heard? Inwardly, she congratulated herself for not letting the cup rattle on the saucer as she offered it.
Cecil shifted beside her as Gray took his first sip. “So you said your timing was fortuitous …”
“Indeed,” Gray said, “indeed.” He leaned forward and set the cup on the table between them and glanced from Keturah to Cecil and back again. “I was at the docks today, seeing to the details of my voyage, when I caught wind of the Ladies Banning and their own intent.”
What was this? A voyage? He was off on his own?
“And then I arrived here to learn of this predicament that seems to be causing a most serious rift between two of my old friends.” He grinned at Cecil and then Ket.
Old friends, she mused. But she hadn’t seen Gray for more than a year. They hadn’t had a conversation of any length in what, four, maybe five years? What was it he required?
“You, Keturah—”
“Lady Tomlinson,” she gently corrected, feeling a rising need to distance herself in what he clearly deemed a closing gap.
He paused for the first time, his swaggering smile dimming a tad. “Forgive me. Lady Tomlinson, it seems you are in need. You intend to embark upon a ship that has never welcomed ladies of esteem, unaccompanied by proper escort.” He lifted his hands in excitement. “As it happens, I myself am leavin
g on that very same ship, bent on the very same task.” He grinned and nodded his head. “The very same!”
Keturah’s eyes narrowed. She held her breath.
“Providentially, I have arranged to secure my inheritance in one lump sum rather than as a yearly allowance. My intention is to abide upon Nevis and turn my father’s plantation into the profitable venture it once was for him. Just as you yourself intend to do with Tabletop, I gather.”
Ket blinked slowly. Had he said what she thought he’d said? He, too, was going to … Nevis?
Gray’s smile widened, flashing white teeth and dimples that made debutantes in their circle fairly faint, even as they lamented his poor financial affairs. For some time it was widely discussed how unfair it was that Gray’s elder brother—not nearly as handsome—inherited nearly everything, while his younger brother was all looks and light of purse.
Gray leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking to Cecil. “Keturah and her sisters clearly cannot sail to Nevis alone. ’Tis simply not done.”
Ket bristled and frowned, her heart beginning to thud in rage.
“And so I offer myself as a protector, a counselor, an escort for the Ladies Banning.” He paused, ducked his head as if chagrined. “Doubtless you’ll wonder about my suitability.”
Suitability? Thoughts of his countless conquests over the last years swirled in Ket’s mind. Missy Hedlund. Jacariah Stevenson … more than a score of her friends—or her younger sisters’—could probably admit to Gray stealing a kiss, if not more.
“But I have worked hard over the last year to prepare for this journey, to change my ways and dedicate myself to learning about the Indies, as well as horticulture and finance. Mark me, I intend to make Teller’s Landing one of the grandest plantations on Nevis. Why not assist the Bannings as well?”
Keturah’s breath was coming fast and shallow now. Her eyes narrowed. Teller’s Landing alone? Or did he now have designs on her own Tabletop too? Think that he might woo her? Gain a handsome dowry in taking her hand, that he could invest in Teller’s Landing? Of all the pompous, imperious, assuming …
He shrugged and cast a meaningful grin Ket’s way. “You’re in need of a man. A man to see to you and yours. We are old friends. Why not—?”
“Gray!” Keturah rose on trembling legs.
The men followed her to their feet, both clearly surprised by her tone.
“This is a … most unsuitable course of discussion,” she stammered.
Gray frowned. “Ket …”
“Do not call me that! What gives you the right to assume such familiarity? After all this time? You have no say in my life! Not my present, nor my future. No say! I did not invite you into such intimacies, and I do not need an escort.”
“Ket … Pardon, Lady Tomlinson—”
“No!” she said, lifting a palm in his direction. “No.” Her hand snapped back to her other as she forced herself to take a long, deep breath. She was hyperventilating, and in her corsets liable to faint if she wasn’t mindful. This man has no jurisdiction over you, she told herself. You need not resort to fear.
“Keturah—”
“Lady Tomlinson,” she gritted out, opening her eyes and finding refuge in her old title. Distance. “You have overstepped, Mr. Covington. Severely overstepped, I fear. We were childhood friends, nothing more. And whilst the world sees that I should shelter in a man’s protection, I have no intention of cowering so.” She turned to Cecil. “No intention,” she affirmed.
Chapter Three
She looked back to Gray, golden eyes fairly glinting with resolve. Had he ever seen her this strong, this lovely? This forceful?
“Happenstance does not indicate providence, Mr. Covington. It appears we are to be neighbors on Nevis.” She gave him a thin smile and lifted a brow. “’Twill be a blessing to see a familiar face on that far isle among so many strangers. But that is all we shall require of you,” she said, her tone so hard that each word almost tumbled from her wide, beautiful lips like stones. “Now I must bid you both good day, gentlemen. Cecil, we may resume our conversation, if necessary, after we sup. But mind that I’ve said all I intend. I am firmly decided.”
With a nod to each of them, she grabbed hold of her silk skirts and swept out of the room. Gray stared after her, seeing her exit again and again as if she did so as a circulating spirit. She was so thin, the muscles of her neck and collarbone protruding like he’d never seen before. And yet she was unaccountably stronger than he remembered her, as if something within had turned to iron.
He blinked slowly, rotated his tricorn in his hands, and then looked to Cecil, well aware that an uncommon blush burned at his jawline. “It appears as if I mishandled that in a most grave manner. Forgive me.”
Cecil sighed heavily and shook his head, his shoulders drooping. “Truly, you might have handled it better, Gray.” He lowered his voice, his eyes darting to the empty doorway and back. “But ’tis also true that I am most glad that you happen to have booked passage on the Restoration.” He stepped closer. “May I ask you a favor, man-to-man?”
Gray nodded.
“Might you look after them?” he whispered. “The best you can. Obviously, Ket will not tolerate you meddling in her affairs. But you and I know that men can do much behind the scenes … enter into conversations and learn of matters that ladies of stature might never encounter themselves.”
Gray nodded again, this time with more trepidation. “Indeed.” It was his turn to glance at the empty doorway. “But, Cecil, even if I learn of things that might be in Ket’s best interest, it’s clear that she does not wish for me to interfere.”
“But I do,” Cecil said firmly. “Promise me, Gray, that you shall do your best. Look after Ket—and Verity and Selah too. And in return, I shall honor your efforts.”
Gray lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes. So that was it. Cecil was offering to give him payment. He bit the corner of his cheek, practicing what had taken him so long to learn. A bit of restraint.
“There shall not be any need of honoring such a task, Cecil,” he said, lifting his hat toward him. “Mark me, I shall do as you ask. But solely to honor our friendship, and that which I once shared with Ket. Nothing more. Despite what she thinks of me, I am a man reformed.”
Cecil leaned slightly back, as if taking him in for the first time. Not as a boy, but as a man. “I would be most grateful,” he said slowly.
“Consider it done,” Gray said and reached forward to clasp his hand again. “Come see us in the Indies,” he added with a smile. “Every man should glimpse the tropics for himself at least once in his life.”
“From what I hear, such a view might well cost him his life. Are you quite certain of this course, Gray?”
“Quite.”
“Then God be with you,” he said, still soberly grasping his hand, as if saying farewell to a dead man. “God be with you.”
Gray galloped down the manicured courtyard road of Hartwick Manor, through the towering stone and metal gates, then along the county road for some distance before he eased his gelding into a canter, then a trot, and finally a walk.
Pulling off the road and onto a wooded path, he urged the horse to the top of a knoll, where he slid from the saddle and let the gelding loose to graze. Gray walked to the edge; from this vantage point, he could see back to the Banning estate, and beyond it his own childhood home, the towering Teller Hall. He ran his hands through his hair, aggravated and confused.
What had driven him to such audacity? Such assumption? And yet, had he not meant well? He’d come to Hartwick to rekindle his friendship with Keturah, to share his good pleasure over the fact that God had seen them brought together again after so long apart. He’d been giddy at the thought. Amazed. And eager to discuss all that was ahead of them.
Then he’d somehow managed to so offend her that she might not speak to him before they reached Nevis.
He sat down on a stump and pulled one booted foot upward so he could rest his elbow on his knee. He bit his l
ip, staring down at the elegant stone building that dominated the region. Soon, Keturah and her sisters would be on their way to the Indies, leaving the manor to be run by the servants. There would be no parties or teas, no county gatherings or meetings. The hulking building would remain a ghost of what it once had been when the elder Bannings had been alive.
He remembered Keturah’s longing glances well, when they were little more than children. How Verity and Selah followed him around like ducklings after a goose. But Ket had always held herself apart, too proud to admit she found him attractive. And he’d found some delight in making her jealous, cavorting with countless other beauties of the county. Not that he’d ever wanted her.
Until …
He’d always thought that making her jealous was a bit of sport, a young man’s folly. But he was a grown man now. And the thought of her no longer looking his way … of him somehow repulsing her …
Gray ripped the head off a stalk of grain and idly peeled off the kernels. What was it about her? She certainly wasn’t the prettiest. Too tall for certain—only an inch or two shorter than he. But why was it that her eyes burned into his soul? The color of amber. Tiger eyes, he thought wistfully, with that haunting hint of green.
“You’ve made a mess of things, Covington,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “Cart before the horse,” he could hear his father say. “Counting your chickens before they hatch,” chimed in his mother’s voice. Both were dead and gone now, the estate in his brother’s capable hands. All three of them had seen him for all he wasn’t. All he had yet to be.
Well, he’d show them of what he was made. He’d prove them all wrong. He was not some penniless dandy, as he’d overheard more than one person call him. He laughed mirthlessly. Well, for now, that might be a fair assessment. But he had the deed to his father’s Nevisian plantation and a plan. In three or four years he’d be a man of means, in a position to court a woman and make her his wife, if he so wished.
Keturah Page 2