Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  An unfamiliar maid ushered them into the hall. "Are you expected, ma'am?" she asked shyly. "Master Randall is in mourning."

  "Tell your master that Mistress Ashley Morgan of Morgan's Fancy will see him immediately," Kelt said.

  "Yes, sir."

  The girl hurried away, and Kelt winked at Ashley. "Chin up, lass," he said softly. "Nicholas Randall willna use a riding crop on you today."

  A doorknob turned behind them and Ashley turned to stare at the woman in the doorway. "Cicely?" Her face whitened and she took a step back. "Cicely?"

  "Ashley."

  Even in mourning black, the woman was stunning. The startling blue eyes shone like gems against the canvas of the classical profile and the flawless English complexion.

  Kelt bowed. "Mistress Randall." Whatever the explanation, this woman had to be Ashley's mother. There could not be two such beauties on the James. "Your servant, ma'am."

  Colored sparks circled before Ashley's eyes and she dug her nails into the palm of her hand. "I thought you were dead," she said slowly. "The wreath."

  An expression of sorrow passed over the beautiful face. "The funeral was your..." Her voice caught in her throat. "Your brother Robert. He was killed... three days ago."

  Ashley gazed at her mother in disbelief. "Robert? But how? A riding accident?"

  Cicely raised a handkerchief to her lips, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's... it's very difficult." She brushed her daughter's cheek with a cool kiss. "I know this is a shock to you." She sighed. "It was to all of us. He was shot in a duel over a woman. Nicholas is taking it hard."

  "I don't understand. Robert sent me a message that you were ill—dying. That's why we came." Ashley looked from her mother to Kelt in confusion. "Excuse me, Cicely. This is Master Kelt Saxon, my overseer."

  "Pleased to meet you, sir," Cicely said. "There must have been some mistake. I had a touch of fever after Christmas, but nothing serious. I can't imagine Robert writing you such a thing."

  "It wasn't a letter. Captain Philip Fraser of the Merry Kate brought word. He insisted it was from Robert."

  "What are you doing here? I don't remember inviting you to Rosewood, Ashley." A middle-aged gentleman in a dressing gown and turban stepped into the hall.

  Ashley whirled to face her stepfather.

  "Now, Nicholas, don't make a fuss," Cicely soothed. "It's only natural that Ashley would come. Robert was her brother, too."

  "Her half brother," Nicholas said coldly.

  Ashley flushed with anger. She had expected as much. When would she learn to ignore the venom of her stepfather's tongue? "I came to see my mother," she retorted. "I'll not impose on your precious hospitality long."

  "You've picked a poor time for visiting," Nicholas glanced at Kelt. "And who might you be?"

  "This is Ashley's overseer," Cicely explained. "Master Saxon."

  "Since when have we begun to receive hired help in the hall of Rosewood?" he demanded scornfully. "Wait outside for your mistress, Saxon. She'll not be long, I assure you."

  "'Tis nae for the likes of you to tell me to come or go." Kelt bristled. His gray eyes narrowed ominously and he moved to stand between Ashley and her stepfather.

  Nicholas flushed as the Scot's arrogant gaze swept over him, lingering on his thickening waistline beneath the striped silk banyan, then moving insolently up to the pale, fleshy jowls and bloodshot eyes. "I gave you an order," Nicholas snapped.

  "It's all right," Ashley conceded. "You can wait in the cart for me." She turned to her mother. "If we're not welcome here—"

  "But you are," Cicely insisted. "Nicholas, please..." She laid a hand on his robe. "I want her to stay. It's been months since we've seen each other."

  "Come along, mistress," Kelt said.

  Ashley was not deceived by the soft burr. Another minute and he'd have the master of Rosewood by the throat—or another infinitely more sensitive part of his anatomy. She shook her head. "No, I'll be all right, Kelt. Just wait for me outside." She threw him a pleading look. With a scowl he turned toward the door. Ashley held her breath until the door closed behind him, then glanced back at her mother. "I would like to talk with you before I leave."

  "There is no place for my wife's illegitimate offspring in my house," Nicholas said harshly. "I've just buried my heir! Or have you forgotten?"

  "You acrimonious bastard!" Ashley cried. "I should have let Kelt have you!" Her hands knotted into tight fists at her side, and she fought the all-too-familiar waves of hate. Her stomach churned as sickness rose in her throat. She had killed men when she stood beside Kelt on the bloodstained deck of the Snow Princess, but she had taken those lives to protect her own. She'd been afraid of the buccaneers, but she'd borne them no hate. This man she hated, and the hate ran so deep it terrified her.

  Tears of rage formed in Ashley's eyes and she dashed them away. "I'll go, Cicely," she whispered. "I'm sorry about Robert."

  "You won't go!" Cicely turned fiercely on her husband. "You forget whose money bought this house, Nicholas. Ashley will stay until she's ready to leave and you will treat her with respect while she's here. If you don't..."

  "If I don't? What then, my spitting lynx?" Nicholas shrugged. "Have her here if you must, but I want her out of my way." He twisted the heavy gold ring on his right hand unconsciously. "And, of course, I'll not have her"—he chuckled beneath his breath—"her man on Rosewood. She can have all the lovers she wants on her own plantation, but I won't have the Randall name besmirched by her indiscriminate rutting."

  Ashley made a strangled sound as Nicholas dismissed her with a malignant glance and walked stiffly from the room. "I can't stay here," Ashley whispered. "I can't."

  "Nonsense," Cicely replied firmly. "If you leave, you're just letting him scare you off, and you know what a bully he is. It will only make him worse." She motioned for her daughter to follow her. "Come up to my chambers. I'll have Mona brew a pot of tea and we'll talk in private." She paused with one dainty slippered foot on the bottom step of the ornate hanging staircase and smiled. "But perhaps you'd better send your big Scot away first. He may think we've locked you away in a dungeon and come charging to your rescue." Cicely sighed deeply. "How very like your father you look when you scowl so. Quincy's eyes always darkened to that exact shade when he was in a rage."

  Ashley stared with numb incredibility at her mother. "How can you speak of him so openly? In this house? With his spies..." She indicated the kitchen wing. "You know they carry every word you utter to him."

  Cicely gave a brittle laugh. "I say whatever I like. It doesn't matter. If they have nothing to report, they make up something. He believes what he wants to believe. According to Nicholas, I meet secretly with your father all the time." A ripple of regret passed over her flawless countenance. "Would that it were true," she mused. Moisture glistened in the china-blue eyes and she smiled. "Don't fret yourself about me, Ashley. Come along and tell me all your adventures. Who knows when we will have the chance to visit again?"

  Ashley took a long time to answer. "All right," she said finally. "Let me tell Kelt to return for me in a few hours." She threw her mother a beseeching look. "I can't sleep under his roof, but perhaps I can impose upon Lady Pade's hospitality for a few days." Ashley went to the door, then turned to look at Cicely. Beneath the jewels and satin, beneath the impeccable facade of a Virginia lady, was it possible that she might find some trace of the headstrong Cicely who had risked everything for love?

  "Why?" Ashley demanded. "Why do you endure it? Why do you stay with Nicholas?"

  "Sometimes I ask myself that very question."

  * * *

  Ashley looked about her mother's private chambers. Other than the cherry highboy from the cabinet shop of a new craftsman in Philadelphia and a richly colored Oriental rug before the fireplace, little had changed since she had last been in this room. With its beautiful furniture, charming personal effects, and rare imported fabrics, Cicely's chambers remained a shrine of understated elegance.
/>   Ashley crossed to the familiar mahogany writing desk and reached down to toy idly with the silver inkwell. From where she stood, she had a magnificent view of rolling lawns running down to the James River. Horses grazed in the far paddock and here and there a cloud of white sheep was visible.

  "Lovely, isn't it?" Cicely said from her longue by the fireplace. She held out her hands to catch the warmth of the crackling fire. "Sometimes I stand there for hours and I've never seen the same sight twice. Much nicer than a picture. Paintings are so boring. Always the same."

  "Cicely... Mother." Ashley turned back toward her. "I don't want to talk about the view from your window. We need to talk about us... about what's wrong between us. And..." She twisted her hands nervously. "I need to know about Robert. Why would he have sent word for me to come here? You know he hated me."

  "Nonsense. Robert was too lazy to hate anyone." Cicely sighed deeply and motioned to her daughter. "Come over here and sit where I can see you. You know everything more than ten feet away is a blur. Why must you always be so angry?" A genuine smile spread over her face, illuminating the bright blue eyes. "That's the first time you've called me Mother in years."

  Obediently Ashley moved to a straight-backed chair across from her mother. "Someone's been trying to kill me."

  "Now I know you have too much of your father in you," Cicely replied calmly. "Why would anyone wish to do away with you—unless it's for your horrible cooking? And that's not a killing offense." She shook her head. "You're imagining things. What you need is to find a nice gentleman and marry him. I could introduce you to several eligible men."

  "No matchmaking, Cicely," Ashley snapped. "I should think you'd be the last one to recommend marriage. I'm not taking a husband—ever. I can spend my own money, thank you."

  "And I can manage my own life without constant criticisms from my children." A stubbornness settled into Cicely's eyes. "I may not be the best of mothers, but I don't believe I've done badly by you."

  Ashley leaned forward. "You sent me away," she accused softly.

  "Of course I sent you away, you ninny! Would you have preferred living with Nicholas?" Cicely took up her embroidery hoop and began to stitch at the delicate pattern. "I knew your grandfather would spoil you unmercifully, and up there"—she waved in the general direction of the upper Chesapeake—"who would care if your birth was somewhat..." She paused, nibbling at her lower lip. "If your birth was irregular."

  "Irregular, hell! I'm a bastard!"

  "There's no need to use such vulgar speech, Ashley. That's one improvement I'd have made if you were under my wing." She looked up mildly. "I've never thought of you as being illegitimate. I've simply considered Quincy my first husband. He is the only man I've ever loved. We intended to be wed—we exchanged private vows. I can't believe that God would hold it against me because unfortunate circumstances parted us before the actual legal ceremony."

  "You exchanged vows?" Ashley rose to her feet. "You never told me that. Were there any witnesses?"

  "Ouch!" Cicely stuck her finger in her mouth. "Don't leap about so, girl. You've made me stick myself." She laid the embroidery on the cushion beside her. "Yes, there were witnesses—my maid and Quincy's friend Harrison Knight."

  "Then you were married under the law," Ashley said. "I'm not illegitimate."

  "Probably not, but Harrison sailed with Quincy. He drowned off the Carolinas, and my maid died in childhood ten years ago." She shrugged. "No one would believe me then and they certainly won't believe me now."

  "But Quincy knows the truth."

  Cicely laughed. "You're such an innocent, Ashley. If your father were to appear in court, the authorities would have him clapped in irons and strung up before sunset." The blue eyes twinkled. "Besides, if you're legitimate, your half brother Richard and Henry aren't. Do you want your mother brought to trial for bigamy?"

  Ashley dropped back into the chair, letting her hands fall limply in her lap. "Why did you let me believe I was a bastard all my life?"

  Cicely shifted uneasily. "I was sixteen, Ashley, no more than a child myself. Your grandfather was so angry, he wanted to kill Quincy. I believe he would have, too, if he'd returned then. Old Ash had a terrible temper. He told me I would be ruined if I persisted in my story that we had exchanged vows; he knew my maid would have lied for me if I'd asked her. Nicholas promised he would give my unborn child his name and protection." She arched an eyebrow. "Should I have told him after we were married? After his son and heir was born?" She shook her head firmly. "No. I believed Quincy was dead. I made the best of a bad situation. And by the time he came back to the Tidewater, I had the boys and a life here. Should I have given up this"—she made a sweeping gesture—"to be a pirate's consort?"

  "But all these years... you never told me. Why, Mother? Why couldn't you have told me?" Ashley begged.

  "Could you have held your tongue? Can you now?" She sniffed and reached for a lace handkerchief. "If you repeat what I've said, I'll deny it. My life with Nicholas is difficult enough already. I don't want him to find out he's been living in sin all these years and that his precious sons are bastards."

  "You don't have to stay with him. You can come home to Morgan's Fancy with me."

  "That again?" Cicely pursed her lips and reached for the embroidery hoop, bending over it for a long time before she spoke. Finally she said, "I've made my bed, girl, and I'll lie in it. Alone, and that's a blessing. It's been years since Nicholas has demanded his rights. He prefers more earthy women—the younger the better. I rarely see my esteemed husband, except at dinner." Her eyes sought Ashley's. "What you must understand is that I'm making the best of life as it is. I enjoy being the mistress of Rosewood, for what it's worth, and I have no intention of coming to live with you in the wilderness of Maryland and being someone's grandmother."

  Ashley went to the window. "Just remember," she said, "if you change your mind, you're always welcome."

  "Tell me you're not secretly relieved?"

  "I guess I can't," Ashley said frankly. A flush stained her cheeks. "I—"

  "Nicholas was right, wasn't he?" her mother interrupted. "That brawny Scotsman is your lover."

  Ashley stared out at the muddy river. "I saw Quincy," she riposted. "He doesn't look a day older. He took the Snow Princess on the upper Chesapeake."

  "Did he ask for me?" Cicely's mouth trembled.

  "Doesn't he always?"

  Chapter 15

  "You are so very kind to offer your hospitality, Lady Pade," Ashley said. Except for the hovering servants, Ashley, Lady Pade, and her son, Lord Pade, were alone at the vast table in the formal dining room of Bantree. "As you know, the relationship between my stepfather and—"

  "Tut tut," Lady Pade interrupted. "There's no need for you to say a single word. James and I are all alone in this great house. It's so pleasant to visit with you and hear the news from the Maryland Colony. Winter is so dull."

  Lady Pade, a tall, spare woman with gray eyes and an overlong nose, was known up and down the James River for her bountiful hospitality, her forthright speech, and her unwillingness to permit her only son and heir to live his own life.

  "Our sincerest regrets on the untimely death of your brother," James offered between bites of the excellent quail and rice dish. "God rest his soul."

  Ashley murmured something appropriate and regarded James stealthily from under lowered lashes. The years had been good to him, she decided. He looked as he always bad—a thin, balding, scholarly man with his mother's features and a bittersweet smile.

  "James tells me he has heard wonderful things about your plantation," Lady Pade said. "A neighbor of ours purchased one of your horses. A work animal, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. I expect to have several more for sale by summer. I have a marvelous stallion..." Ashley chatted on, speaking easily with the Pades about horses and crops. Lady Pade shared her interest in the details of plantation life. Unlike those who lived off the land without loving it, these two were as much an active part of the J
ames River country as the earliest settlers. Lady Pade was only too willing to discuss the radical theory of crop rotation and of planting corn and beans in the same spot in the Indian manner.

  The large room was lit now by candles and heated by a fireplace and charcoal braziers under the table. In good weather, the wide windows would be thrown open to catch the breeze off the river.

  A pity Kelt hadn't been invited to share their meal, Ashley thought. He would have appreciated the heavy table and matching chairs, the Irish crystal goblets and candelabra, not to mention the wide array of deliciously prepared food.

  Kelt was taking his supper with the overseer of Bantree. On the James, at least at Lady Pade's table, one did not dine with the hired help, even if that hired help was for all intents and purposes a gentleman.

  Lady Pade cleared her throat. What was it she had said? Gambling, Ashley shook her head no.

  "But you must," the older woman insisted. "You've only just arrived. I won't hear of anything less."

  "Now, Mother," James admonished. "I'm certain Ashley feels she has a duty to her people. Her overseer is here. Who is left on Morgan's Fancy with authority?" His pale eyes rested on Ashley, making clear his admiration. "It's not as though she had a husband to share the responsibility."

  "Exactly," Ashley smiled gratefully at James. "I would like to visit my brother's grave and see my mother again tomorrow. But we must find a vessel to carry us north as soon after that as possible. I mustn't be away from the plantation a day longer than necessary." She sipped the delicate French wine. "If I could impose on you to make the arrangements..." Ashley looked beseechingly at James. "It must be an armed ship. I couldn't bear a repetition of—"

  "James will tend to it," Lady Pade assured her. "You're not to trouble yourself about it another moment. You've been through a terrible experience. Thank God you were able to persuade the pirates to set you ashore."

  "They robbed us of our money. I believe the captain wanted to hold me for ransom but thought better of it. The murder of innocent ship's passengers in the upper bay would have brought swift and certain retribution." Ashley forced her voice to a faint quaver. "It was an experience I'll carry to my grave."