The Copeland Bride

by Justine Cole

  "He didn't marry her, Highness," Quinn finally said. "Not until a few hours before she died. She was his slave until the end."

  "He didn't marry her!" Noelle exclaimed. "What reason could he have had?"

  "You should know the answer to that better than anyone. She wasn't a suitable Copeland bride. No family, no education." He stared into the depths of his glass and muttered, "Nothing but a loving heart."

  Then he told her how he had overheard the brief, hushed ceremony, trying not to let himself understand what it meant but knowing, without question, that, at the age of twelve, his world had come to an end. Later, when his mother called him to her, she sensed that he had discovered the truth.

  "She told me that I mustn't blame him. Said it hadn't been important to her. But I've never been able to forgive him. It was only the threat of having her die leaving me a bastard forever that finally forced him to marry her."

  He stood up and walked over to the fireplace, staring down into the dying embers. "After the funeral, I ran away to the Cherokees."

  "Did Simon come after you?"

  Quinn nodded. "But it took him over a year to find me, and then I was so filled with hatred that he couldn't trust me in the same house with him. That's when he decided to send me to England to stay with the Peales and go to school."

  A silence fell between them that Noelle finally broke. "I'm sorry, Quinn," she said simply.

  Brusquely he rejected the pity in her voice. "I'm leaving at first light tomorrow for Milledgeville. Wasidan asked me to try to make the governor see reason."

  "But you told me there was no hope, that the Cherokee removal to the west was inevitable."

  "It's a fool's errand, Highness. But I can't say no to him."

  Sleep eluded her that night, and she was still awake at dawn when she heard Quinn riding off. She threw herself from the bed and pulled on her riding habit remembering his words as she did.

  "We poison each other," he had said, and he was right.

  The bricks were still wet with dew as she cantered down the drive toward the road. Her thoughts turned to Simon. She sensed that he had suffered more than Quinn wanted to recognize and that he was a wiser man now. Instinctively she understood that Amanda had forgiven him even if Quinn hadn't. She wondered if Quinn was capable of forgiveness, tortured as he was by the past, torn by the two conflicting halves of his nature—the proud Cherokee and the master shipbuilder.

  Simon . . . Amanda . . . Quinn . . . They had managed to snare her in the tangled web of their lives and make her part of them.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  After that morning, Noelle had little time to indulge in introspection, for following Emily Lester's example, her new neighbors began to arrive at the door. She soon found that between returning their calls and making frequent visits to the shipyard, she was no longer able to supervise the house and the servants by herself. As had become her habit, she turned to Dainty Jones.

  " 'Spect I'd better see if I can find Nathan Davis. Used to work for Miz Burgess 'fore she died. He's the man for the job all right."

  And so Nathan Davis was installed as majordomo of the household to double as Quinn's valet when he returned. A gentle man with chocolate skin and a trace of a limp in his left leg, he commanded the respect of the rest of the servants without ever lifting his voice.

  Quinn's abrupt departure meant that he could no longer take her to Savannah, and for this Noelle was grateful. The intimacy of a journey together was more than she could have borne. Still, with the main body of the house nearing completion and a wardrobe that desperately needed to be supplemented with dresses more suitable to the Georgia climate, she had to make the trip. When she discovered that Copeland and Peale's own sloops made regular runs to Savannah for supplies, she announced that she was going along and invited Emily to accompany her.

  The trip to Savannah helped Noelle temporarily put aside her unhappiness. With Emily companionably beside her, she bought upholstery and drapery fabrics to take back with her, as well as lightweight cambrics and muslins for her dresses. She returned to Televea to find that Quinn was back from Milledgeville, his trip as unsuccessful as he had predicted. Life progressed as usual.

  Luke Baker was convicted of arson and sent to the state prison. Quinn immersed himself in his work at the shipyard. The weeks passed and Noelle's bedroom door remained firmly closed. Slowly she was discovering that the longing of her own body was the most formidable enemy she had ever faced.

  Even though she had been warned, Noelle was unprepared for the first onslaught of summer. The Georgia sun burned saffron in the sky, and the air was heavy with heat. She discarded all but one of her petticoats and began wearing the new pastel muslin dresses Grace had finished. Nathan hung the beds with mosquito netting and set out lemonade and iced tea in sweating pitchers that puddled the silver trays that held them.

  Emily, whose body was now proudly swollen, laughed when Noelle complained. "Honey, you'll be looking back on this as a cool spell when August comes."

  Noelle grew to appreciate Televea more than ever when she discovered how much more comfortable it was than the homes of her neighbors. Not only was it exceptionally well shaded, but it had been built on a slight rise to catch the breeze. Why was it, then, that it was becoming more and more difficult for her to fall asleep, even though her bedroom was cool? Why was it that she paced the floor each night, back and forth, until exhaustion overcame her?

  One morning she was sitting in the kitchen, reading a cheerful letter from Constance and eating her second slice of fresh bread heaped with the damson plum preserves that Georgina Sinclair had brought with her when she had come by earlier that afternoon.

  "You gonna end up plump as Miz Sinclair if you don't watch yourself," Dainty scolded. With her sleeve, she wiped away the faint beads of perspiration that had formed on her upper lip. "First she brings you them pecan pies, then that lemon pound cake, now it's damson preserves. All outta jealousy, if you ask me. She wants you to end up like her!"

  "You just don't like her because she said your hickory nut cake was heavier than hers." Noelle laughed, licking a spot of jam from her fingers.

  "Go on and laugh. But you jes' watch. I'll bet my great grampa's britches that next week she'll show up with somethin' else." Drying her hands on the tea towel she kept tucked in the side of her apron, she leaned back against the sink. "Still, I guess there's no need to fret. Except for me, I never knowed anybody could eat as much food as you and still stay so thin. You ain't breedin', are you?"

  "No, I'm not, Dainty Jones! And when are you going to learn that servants aren't supposed to ask such personal questions?"

  "It's all part of my job," Dainty sniffed, not the slightest bit cowed by Noelle's reprimand. "Women who are breedin' need special food to strengthen their blood."

  Noelle could clearly see that a lecture on the feeding of pregnant women was forthcoming, and to forestall it, she said, "Dainty, I've decided to have a dinner party. Televea is almost finished, and I think it's time we showed it off. What do you think? Can you manage it?"

  Dainty pursed her lips, clearly offended by the question. "I may not be one of your fancy-dancy Frenchified cooks, but I reckon I know a thing or two about puttin' on a dinner party!"

  Noelle suppressed a smile. "Fine. I'll leave it to you. Let's say two weeks from Saturday. Plan on eight couples."

  Her gown was the color of the inside of a seashell shot through with silver. Somehow, it seemed just right for this special night, which was, she knew, not hers but Televea's. The weather had even been kind that day, and the breeze coming into the house was cool and fragrant from the afternoon's thundershowers.

  She straightened one of the curls that teased the corners of her eyebrows and then, as the clock chimed a quarter before the hour, hesitantly went to the door of Quinn's room and knocked. Hearing nothing but silence from within, she opened the door. A lamp was burning, his evening clothes were laid neatly on the bed, but the room was empty. Their guests we
re scheduled to arrive at any moment, and Quinn wasn't home from the shipyard!

  Furiously she stomped down the stairs into the drawing room. She had left a note on his desk last evening, reminding him he must be ready by nine o'clock. Was it too much to ask that this once he could come home before midnight? How humiliating for her to receive their first guests alone.

  Just then she heard the front door slam, and she rushed out to see Quinn mounting the steps two at a time, muttering a vile oath under his breath while he yanked his neckcloth loose with one hand and unbuttoned his shirt with the other. Shaking his head, Nathan followed at a slower pace.

  She shut the door and sank down into one of the newly upholstered drawing-room chairs, relieved that Quinn was home but still angry with him. To distract herself, she took inventory of the refurbished drawing room.

  The pale yellow love seats and bright green carpeting reminded her of lemon sherbets resting on a bed of mint. To accent the lighter green cast of the marble in the mantelpiece, she had selected a paper for the walls with spiraling stripes of the same shade. It was a satisfying room, formal but comfortable, and cool even on the hottest of days.

  Nervously her eyes traveled above the mantelpiece. Just that morning she had made the decision, but now she was beginning to have second thoughts. Perhaps on this one issue, she should have consulted him.

  It was not long before the doors burst open and Quinn, resplendent in black and white evening attire, entered. His eyes found the portrait of his mother immediately and then darkened ominously as his gaze moved to his wife.

  Noelle thrust up her chin defiantly. "This was her home, Quinn. She belongs here."

  The sound of voices in the hallway prevented his response.

  "Noelle, you found it!" Emily exclaimed as she and Julian stepped into the room with her brother and his wife following closely behind. "Edwin, look! Amanda's back."

  Edwin Darcy gazed at the painting over the fireplace. "So she is. That's a portrait of Quinn's mother," he explained to his wife, Madeline. "She was a remarkable woman."

  "Do you remember the time she helped us build that raft?" Julian laughed.

  Quinn smiled, and Noelle saw that the tension had ebbed from his face. "My first attempt at designing a boat. We had a little trouble keeping her off the banks as I remember, but she was sturdy."

  More couples arrived, and their reminiscences were cut short. Soon Nathan appeared at the door to announce dinner. The house glowed with beeswax and candlelight, and Noelle felt a surge of pride as she and Quinn led the way to the dining room and the couples took their places around the lavishly set table. She had discovered that of all their guests only Julian and Emily Lester; Emily's brother, Edwin Darcy; and Wheeler and Thea Talbot remembered Televea when Amanda had been its mistress. The rest had either not known the Copeland family well or arrived after Amanda's death.

  The wives who had watched the transformation of Televea taking place described it to their husbands, and the men who were seeing it for the first time were lavish in their praises of what Noelle had done. Quinn looked about as if he, too, were seeing it all with fresh eyes, and when Noelle glanced his way, he lifted his glass and, to her discomfiture, silently toasted her.

  Dainty Jones had clearly made up her mind that no one would forget her meal. There were oysters on the half shell, a salad filled with watercress and hearts of palmetto, roast suckling pig, and wild duck stuffed with apples. Biscuits and breads appeared with sweet potato soufflés, onions in cream, and baked celery laced with almonds. Each course had its own wine, and the servants saw to it that all the glasses were kept well filled.

  "Steam, Quinn. That's the future. Not sail." The voice of Ralston Witt, president of Cape Crosse's only bank, rose above the other conversations at the table. "Copeland and Peale's going to fall behind if you're not careful."

  "We've built several steamships in London already, and we're building another one now," Quinn said, "but the fuel for an ocean voyage takes up so much room, there's no space left for cargo. It's just not profitable yet. Besides, the engines need a lot of improvement before they'll be practical for longer runs."

  Witt looked skeptical.

  "It's true, Ralston," Julian said. "They're not really that reliable yet."

  "Nonsense!" Witt insisted. "Steamships have been making river voyages for years."

  Setting down her fork, Noelle smiled politely at her quarrelsome guest. "As I see it, steam is fine for river traffic or coastal voyages, Mr. Witt, where the boats can stop and take on fuel. But it'll be years before a steamship can make the China run competitively. When that does happen, Copeland and Peale will be ready. But until then, my husband will keep building faster sailing ships." She picked up her wineglass and sipped, not unaware of Quinn's faint look of admiration.

  "My, my, Noelle!" Georgina Sinclair exclaimed. " 'Deed I had no idea you were such an authority. The rumor I heard must be true."

  "What rumor?"

  "Why, that you've been spending your spare time at the shipyard."

  "I do try to spend one or two afternoons there every week."

  "Mercy! Whatever for?"

  "I like it. I think women need to take more interest in business."

  "Well, whatever do you do?" asked Thea Talbot, clearly astonished. "Are you helping the clerks with their correspondence or working on the accounts?"

  "Hardly." Julian laughed. "Last week she was in the shop, rolling oakum with old Tim Mahoney. The week before that she bullied Ned MacLaughiin into letting her climb into the rigging of the Polly Shay."

  Quinn dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter that sounded to Noelle like an explosion, but which no one else seemed to have noticed.

  "Oh, Noelle. you didn't!" Madeline Darcy emitted an approving tinkle of laughter. "Quinn Copeland, I do believe you've finally met a woman who's more than a match for you!"

  Protected by the presence of their guests, Noelle lifted her head and bestowed a grin on him that was so full of mischief that against his will Quinn laughed.

  "You may be right, Madeline. But I wouldn't put any money on it just yet."

  The heat slowed down work at the shipyard, and at Quinn's request Noelle began to accept many of the invitations they received. She grew fond of the Darcys and Talbots, but it was with Emily and Julian Lester that she was the most comfortable, and the two couples spent an increasing amount of time together. Emily was now large enough to be self-conscious about appearing in public, so the couples restricted themselves to informal picnics and quiet dinners at each other's homes. They talked about books and politics, shipbuilding and roadbuilding, teased each other and laughed about unimportant things.

  When they were all together, the Lesters provided a buffer between Quinn and Noelle so that for the first time they could enjoy each other without having to be perpetually on guard. Noelle learned that her husband liked horseracing and dogs, that he disliked cockfighting. Quinn grew more and more fascinated with his wife's quick intelligence and lively wit. If the Lesters noticed that their friends were often curiously formal with each other and never touched except by accident, they kept their observations to themselves.

  In July, Julian and Emily's baby was born. They named her Lydia Mae and asked Quinn and Noelle to be godparents at the christening that was planned for the end of August.

  Wasidan was frequently at Televea that summer, and Noelle grew to look forward to his visits. It had not taken them long to overcome the awkwardness of their first encounter, and they had since become friends. From him, Noelle learned much of the customs of the Cherokee people as well as of their present struggles. She also discovered that it was Wasidan Quinn had rescued from Luke Baker and his brother.

  The Bakers and several of their cronies had seen him one day as he fished in the stream that ran near Televea. They were drunk and began taunting him. Despite the fact that he was unarmed and outnumbered, Wasidan fought them, but the man overpowered him and strung him to a tree. They were torturing him with th
eir knives when Quinn came upon them.

  The summer advanced, and the heat settled heavily over Cape Crosse. Each day Noelle pushed the limits of her strong young body—swimming in a small pond she had discovered in the woods behind the house, riding, walking for miles, hoping that exhaustion would drive away the demons that seemed to have taken possession of her at night. It had been five months since the angry night Quinn had last made love to her, and all she could think of as she lay sleepless in her bed were his strong hands on her starved flesh. She began nourishing her old hatred of him, letting it grow along with her need.

  Hour after hour, her footsteps traced the perimeters of her quiet room. Sometimes she imagined she heard another set of footsteps echoing from the other side of the connecting door, but she knew only too well that it was her imagination. She had learned enough by now about Kate Malloy and her infamous establishment to be certain that all of her husband's late nights were not being spent at the shipyard.

  When Quinn did not come home, she began slipping from the house to the dark stables and taking her mare out with only the moonlight to guide her through the now familiar countryside. Each time she rode, she seemed to find her way past the lane that led to Kate Malloy's.

  And if he is there, who do you have to blame but yourself? she thought torturously. You've made it clear that the only way he can have you is to rape you. But Quinn is as proud as you are, and unless you torment him to it, he's not going to touch you.

  She knew there was another way. She could go to him, give herself freely, but her pride would not let her. At least now she had his respect even if she had nothing else. If only, she wished, there were a way she could go to him and still keep her pride.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  "Lydia Mae Lester, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost."