“Where will you go?” she asked, fighting for control.
“Oh—England perhaps.”
She had control of herself now. “You will sell your plantation?”
“Not at first,” he said. “I must first find a place suitable for Essie. Then I will return and sell my plantation.”
Essie. His wife. He could not shuck her off; she must go with him to wherever he was going. And because of her, he could never have a son to bear his name—or claim a daughter, because to do so would be to shame another man’s wife.
Carolina looked up at Sandy Randolph, so elegant, so debonair—so caught in a world not of his own choosing.
“I hope you will find happiness, sir,” she said softly—and in that moment she wished him well with all her heart. “Wherever you go.”
He was surprised and touched. “Will you stroll with me, Mistress Carolina?” he asked wistfully. “After you have been crowned? It seems to me that we have never truly become acquainted.”
Carolina nodded silently. There was a lump in her throat. Over Sandy’s shoulder she could see Ned walking briskly toward her. She could also see her mother studying them, her eyes shadowed beneath her wide sweeping hat. And just beyond, her father—no, not her father, that was the trouble—her foster father glowered.
It was like a weight pressing down on her to know that she was the center of all the trouble between them. Whatever her mother felt for Sandy Randolph now, Carolina did not know and would never dare to ask. But she herself was the living reminder, residing in Fielding Lightfoot’s fine new house like a taunt, reminding him, endlessly reminding him of what had been. . . .
“Mistress Carolina!” Ned’s happy voice interrupted her brooding. “’Tis true there’ll be no great ball tonight where I could crown you properly, but since ’twas an impromptu tourney, ’tis to be an impromptu coronation! I’m to crown you on the lawn and all your maids will fall in behind as we lead you to your throne beneath yon large oak.” He nodded toward one of the big trees that dotted the lawn. “If you’ll excuse us, sir?” And Sandy Randolph gave ground to allow the tourney winner to claim the lady whose colors he had worn to victory.
Carolina gave Sandy Randolph a last look as he disappeared among the colorful crowd drifting toward the oak. Oh, she was right to think of going—-and so was he! Here they could only cause trouble for those they loved!
It had been easy facing Sandy Randolph—for he had suffered too. But—now she had to face the crowd. Knowing what they knew. And nothing would ever be quite the same. For a moment she felt she could not do it and she stared down at the grass, asking herself miserably if she would be forever wondering what people were saying, whether they were talking about her?
Then as swiftly as the thought had come, the courage that she had inherited from both Letitia and Sandy— both of them brave as lions—came to her rescue. Her silver-gold head came up and her dainty jaw set stubbornly. She squared her slender shoulders and her silver eyes threw the world a challenge.
Let them talk! Everyone had always talked about the Lightfoots, about “Bedlam,” let them talk about her too! What did she care what they said? She was in love with a man far across the seas, a man who would take her away from all this!
With her head held high as any queen’s, she forced her features into as bright a smile as she could muster and let Ned proudly escort her to her “place of coronation,” which was in the full glare of sunshine surrounded by the assembled company. Dazzled by the sunshine, shaken by the recent revelations, she still could see—and almost feel, in a detached sort of way—the envy of the other girls, several of whom had hoped to be courted by either Ned or Dick.
Ned was looking straight into her eyes as the circle of roses and ivy was placed upon her shining hair, and she read in his heated stare a determination to have her. She wondered if he had already asked Fielding for her. ... It was so terrible not to know, to have others deciding one’s fate!
Past Ned her gaze strayed to Sandy Randolph, who stood a little apart, watching. At one point she saw her mother turn to smile at him—and then turn crisply back and adjust her expression to one of unruffled calm. How awful to need constantly to mask one’s feelings as her mother must have done all these years!
It was difficult but finally she managed to escape Ned when he fell into a discussion of horse racing with one of the other lads. As he had promised, Sandy Randolph appeared suddenly at her elbow and led her for a stroll beneath the trees.
She wondered if her mother was watching—and if she was, what she would think.
Once she even turned, but her mother’s lavender form was nowhere in sight.
The tension of the afternoon seemed to press in upon her as she walked beside that tall straight figure. He was making courteous small talk but she felt his mind was not upon it.
If he really was her father—and she now felt certain that he was—she would dare to ask him for money. But she did not know him very well and she found it surprisingly hard to do so. They had gone some distance before she could get up her courage.
She took a deep breath and looked up at the tall man in ice gray who strode leisurely beside her.
“I need passage money—to England,” she told him bluntly. “And I dare not ask my mother.”
He broke stride to look down at her keenly. “Is one entitled to ask why you need passage money?”
She gave him a troubled look and tried to choose her words carefully. “Perhaps you who are leaving us can understand what it is like to feel—to feel unwanted in one’s own home.”
A hard line appeared around his attractive mouth as his expression froze. “And who does not want you there?” he asked silkily.
“No one,” she said in panic, for she did not wish to cause a duel between this man and Fielding Lightfoot. They were both good blades—and good shots. They might well kill each other. And what would that do to her mother, caught in a situation from which there was no escape? “I only meant—my presence seems to trigger quarrels between my parents. It would be better for everyone if I were elsewhere.”
“By ‘elsewhere’ can one presume you mean back in London?”
She nodded. “There is a man I love. I am betrothed to him. My mother has just found out about it. She has made inquiries and considers him a rake. She will not let me go to him but intends to marry me off at once to some good safe planter here in the Colonies.”
Sandy Randolph looked down into that beautiful rebellious face so like his own—and looked away. In the blue distance, out beyond the tall old trees, beyond the shining river, he saw another day, another woman. He saw Letitia—his own Letty, age eighteen—fling herself down weeping upon the grass. “They will push me into a ‘safe respectable marriage,’ ” she was crying. “When all the time I love you—and they know I love you. It is because you are married and they are afraid that I will make a scandal of myself.”
He had failed her then. He had gone away. And while he was gone a desperate Letty had run away with Fielding Lightfoot. Returning, he had told himself it was for the best, that Letty should not fritter away her youth on a hopeless love, that she might even—he had winced to think it—come to love Fielding. The young Lightfoots had gone away to Philadelphia. Sandy had not seen Letty, had received no word from her. In time he heard that she had borne two children.
And then she had run away from Fielding. She had run all the way back to Virginia—to Sandy Randolph’s arms. They had met at a nervous Aunt Pet’s. And between them they had contrived that Letitia spend the Christmas season with relatives in Carolina. Her cousin Lysander Randolph would escort her there.
That was a holiday season Sandy would never forget. Letty had spent every moment she dared with him. They had been guests in the same large house and she had stolen down the hall to his bedroom and spent wonderful nights clasped in his arms.
And then with Twelfth Night sanity had come. Letty had put him from her, weeping. She had reminded him that she had two children left in A
unt Pet’s care and a husband back in Philadelphia, and he had a wife back on the James. They must return, they must forget all this had ever happened. To do otherwise would bring calamity upon everyone.
The next day they had parted quite stylishly for Letty was going back to Williamsburg in the company of other guests while Sandy rode south to visit friends at a neighboring plantation.
He had bent down to kiss her a quick goodbye. “If something comes of this, Letty,” he had murmured thickly, “I stand ready to carry you away wherever you desire.”
She had flashed a look upward at him, her mind made up. “If something comes of this, and it is a son, I shall name him Chance,” she told him recklessly. “And if it is a daughter, I shall name her Carolina for the site of our happiness.”
And he had learnt that nine months later in Philadelphia Letitia had been delivered of a daughter—and had named her Carolina. It was as if she had sent him a message. . . .
And now he, who had so carefully stayed away from this fresh lovely young creature who was blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, had been asked by her for passage money to send her winging to her lover.
What would have happened, he asked himself, if Letty had not let herself be shackled to Fielding, if she had struck out for herself? What would have happened if he had left Essie in charge of others and gone away? He and Letty could have lived all these years together in some far place, these lonely years that they had spent apart. The thought tore at him.
“This lad, is he of good family?” he asked abruptly. For someone should ask these questions.
“He is Lord Thomas Angevine of Northampton,” she said. “An old family.”
The name meant nothing to him. “And he desires to marry you?” he pursued.
“Oh, yes! It is his ardent wish.”
His voice hardened, remembering. “And is he free to do so?”
“He is. We were secretly betrothed back in England.”
And sharing a bed, he guessed, for he knew his own hot blood and Letty’s only too well.
“Would you prefer me to intercede with your mother?” he asked gravely.
“Oh, please do not!” Her rising panic showed in her voice. “For she is set against him even though she does not know him. She is even now deciding whether to give me to Ned Shackleford or to Dick Smithfield—and I want neither of them.”
He snorted. Letty must have forgotten her own anguished feelings as a young girl when she had thrown herself on the grass and wailed to him about being forced into a “safe” marriage!
He took out a purse, weighed it in his hand and studied her. “How will you manage it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said unsteadily, “but I will manage it.”
Looking at this daughter of his, he had no doubt she would. Silently he handed her the purse.
“Consider it a wedding gift,” he said softly.
BOOK III
The Beauty and the Buccaneer
The Caribbean night's about to fall
And sweep away restraint from one and all
For under tropic skies one may yield to melting sighs
And a perfumed dusk is stealing over all. . . .
PART ONE
Christabel
* * *
The winds that blow across her heart, the footsteps blazoned there
Are insubstantial as the mist that cloaks the evening air
And yet like chains they bind her to a love she can't forswear
And she has now convinced herself that she will always care!
* * *
ABOARD THE FAIR ALICE
Summer 1688
* * *
Chapter 22
On the deck of the Fair Alice, one week out of Yorktown bound for London, a slim girl in a plain gray linen dress, its wide white collar and cuffs innocent of lace, was combing out her long fair hair. She had washed it in sea water and she was letting it dry in the bright sun. There was an amazing lot of it and it shimmered around her head and shoulders and swung about her slim waist in a manner that attracted the eye. The captain, striding by, could not recall ever having carried such a beauty aboard his vessel, yet there she was, signed onto the passenger list as “C. Willing.” The “C” stood for “Christabel”—for Carolina had decided that since she was going to change her life she might as well change her name as well. The dress she wore belonged to Maudie Tate. Maudie had traded it eagerly for one of Carolina’s ballgowns—although Carolina had warned her that if she wore it in Williamsburg or Yorktown she might have to answer some stern questions from Letitia Lightfoot, who would not be pleased at being outfoxed by her runaway daughter. But Maudie had been glad to make the arrangements and it had all gone off without a hitch. Virgie was left believing that Carolina was off to a rendezvous in Yorktown with a mysterious lover (Carolina had steadfastly refused to name him) and from there would strike out across the Chesapeake for the Eastern Shore and the Marriage Trees. Virgie, Carolina knew cynically, would eventually break down and confess all to Letitia —but by then it would be a cold trail that her mother would have to follow.
And she would be away in England, safe in the arms of Lord Thomas!
There was one small problem: Aside from the dress she was wearing, she had managed to bring with her only a change of undergarments, for she had sped away in the night and when she boarded the Fair Alice, it was assumed that her boxes were already on board.
At first she had been afraid someone on board might recognize her. But Yorktown, though small, was a busy port, with people passing in and out, and this new grown-up Carolina had hardly been seen there. She had gone directly from the Eastern Shore to Level Green and except for one or two brief shopping excursions to Williamsburg her blazing beauty was known only to the plantation set. She had breathed a deep sigh of relief when she had not encountered a familiar face.
Her presence aboard had excited some notice on the part of the other passengers however: an elderly gentleman with a limp who said he was going home to England to die; a plumpish fellow with a bird-boned wife with small bright eyes who had been visiting a married daughter up near the Falls of the James; an assortment of agents and tradesmen off to London to negotiate or buy goods. For servant girls (and such, by her clothing, they presumed Mistress Christabel Willing to be) were more often bound for the Colonies than away from them.
“Did ye not like it in Virginia, lass?” one man had asked her curiously.
“I did, sir, but my father died a few days ago and so I’m on my way back to London to my betrothed.” Carolina had her answer ready.
And in a way it was true, she thought. In some indefinable way, she felt as if Fielding Lightfoot had died. She had been an unwitting thorn in his flesh all along and she had now removed herself. She had found a new father who chose not to claim her. And her mother was interested only in arranging a quick marriage to some “suitable” lad and getting her gone.
But now she was free of them all—free to return to London. To Lord Thomas. She could hardly wait to see him.
But the sea air had cleared her brain. It was coming to her slowly that she had judged the warring Light-foots with the harshness of youth, had seen only the black and white with no grays in between. Now she rested her comb and let the sea wind take her pale hair. She leaned upon the taffrail and realized that there was something, some unseen bond between Fielding and Letitia. Not the breathless magic Letty had known with Sandy Randolph perhaps, but a true fondness sprinkled with passion and filled with frustration and grief.
What lay between them was Another Kind of Love.
She was standing there brooding about her life when she became aware of a sudden flurry of activity going on about her. Seamen were running by, canvas was being piled on, the Fair Alice had come about and was suddenly scudding over the sea in the opposite direction.
Carolina looked about her in bewilderment. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. Could they actually be running back to the Virginia coast?
“What is happening?” she called to the old gentleman who was going home to England to die.
He hesitated, then limped toward her and joined her at the rail. He nodded behind them. “Did ye not see them? Three sails on the horizon. And I’m told the captain has looked through his glass and they fly the flag of Spain.”
Spanish ships! And Spain the foe of England!
Carolina turned and studied the horizon. There they bobbed, those tiny ships. How had the captain made out their flags even with a glass? she wondered.
“What will happen if they catch up?” she asked nervously.
The old gentleman gave her a troubled look. “Our captain is not one to stay and find out.”
Carolina had heard of terrible things the Spanish did when they caught an English ship venturing into “their” seas. Tales of terror and maiming had filtered back to Virginia—of ears cut off, of floggings, and of passengers who were dragged off to Spain to face trial by the dread Inquisition and death by fire—or release to that living death, the galleys.
But she was young and she could not believe they would be so unlucky. And anyway the wind was strong and the Spaniards had advanced only a little through the morning. But they were now close enough that by squinting she could see for herself the Spanish flag flying on their mastheads.
And then the wind failed them.
It seemed to die of a sudden and left the sea in a flat calm, an ocean of glass reflecting the sun like a mirror. The Spanish ships rose and fell upon the horizon, their sails dangling and drooping like those of the Fair Alice.
And then the Spanish ships began to move again. They were galleons, and as the afternoon dragged on, the great sweep of their long oars was steadily closing the gap.
Carolina watched with fascination the slow but inexorable advance of those distant ships. They were very large and their massive gilt foretowers and sterntowers rose high above the water. The sun glinted on that ornate gilt, making their advance a golden sweep. Those distant little ships grew larger and larger until to the watching eyes of the Fair Alice's terrified passengers they seemed to fill the sky. All the stories she had ever heard of Spain’s terrible Inquisition—some of them directly from her friend Ramona, and those at least must be true—coursed through her mind as she waited, along with the others, for the end to come.
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