A Whisper Of Destiny

by Monica Barrie

  First, she would try to see Aunt Emily and enlist her as an ally against Uncle James. At the same time, she would search for an eligible man and would marry him. The marriage would free her from the bonds of her father’s supposed will, and would restore Haven and her father’s shipping business into her own hands. This plan was really not so farfetched. Yet, all could be lost without a man avaricious enough to fit her needs. The only problems, conceded Kira, would be in hiding any romance from Uncle James and in finding a man not under his control.

  During Kira’s second week, Aunt Emily finally consented to speak with her. Since her return from Jonathan Cornwall’s funeral, she had hidden herself in her rooms, and had spoken to no one. All of Kira’s attempts had met with failure.

  Each day since her arrival, she had gone to her aunt’s rooms, knocked softly and waited. Each time, Aunt Emily’s personal maid had sent her away, explaining that her aunt simply was not feeling well enough for company.

  Finally, Kira sent a note to her aunt, writing from her heart that she needed Aunt Emily’s support and company now in this time of mutual grief. Several hours later, she was delighted when Aunt Emily’s maid came to find her while she was walking in the garden. In her hand was an envelope, which she handed to Kira.

  Kira ripped it open quickly, almost tearing it apart as her nail sliced the seal. She unfolded it and rapidly scanned its contents.

  “Trudy, tell Mistress Emily that I would be delighted to dine with her tonight.” The slave nodded and hurried away. Kira felt her heart soar with hope. At last, she would have her chance to break Aunt Emily’s silence. To offer herself to replace the loss of her son. It would also spare her another night of Uncle James’ drunken dinners. She was so tired of listening to his monologues on the country’s economy. Also, Kira found that, when he was drunk, she had to defend herself against his advances.

  When Kira was dressing for dinner, Ruth confided to her that word was circulating among the slaves about her aunt.

  “They say she’s crazy. Ever since her son was killed she speaks to nobody except Trudy. She stays in her rooms and knits things for a little baby.” Ruth shook her head sadly. “She makes baby clothes and blankets, and tells Trudy that they are for her son, Benjamin.”

  “I can hardly believe it.”

  “It’s true, though. Trudy says your aunt thinks that Benjamin is going to come back to her as a little baby. She wants to have everything ready.” Ruth was silent for a moment. “At night, they say it’s the worst. The slaves say that Emily screams all night long.”

  “I’ve never heard her scream,” exclaimed Kira, disturbed by this gossip.

  “She screams into her pillow so that Master Cornwall doesn’t hear. She screams and screams that her son is dead.” Ruth dropped her voice, taking Kira’s hand in hers. “Please, Kira, I don’t think you should go there. Don’t have dinner with your aunt tonight.”

  Kira looked at her slave, the only friend she had. “I have to. It may be our only hope.”

  She stood then, waiting patiently for Ruth to adjust the bodice of her dress. When she had finished, Kira turned to face her with a smile of reassurance before going to join Aunt Emily in her rooms. As she walked through the hallway, she surrounded herself in an aura of confidence. The rumors could not be true, she was positive.

  Kira’s knock was promptly answered; not by Trudy, but by Emily Cornwall herself. She smiled warmly at her niece.

  “Come in, my dear,” she said, stepping back to allow Kira room to pass. Kira fought hard not to allow the shock at her aunt’s appearance to show on her face as she smiled and entered. Emily Cornwall’s white pallor was not hidden in the least by her ineffective use of cosmetics. In fact, the excessive use of rouges and powders made her aunt’s face appear ghastly. She’d lost a great deal of weight and was a caricature of her former self. Her dress hung sloppily on her shoulders and fell in ragged folds at her hips; the bodice was bunched up to accommodate her thin chest.

  Kira’s heart went out to her aunt, but she refrained from words of sympathy.

  “I’m so glad to see you, my dear,” said Emily. “Please sit.”

  Kira’s earlier confidence was ebbing, and she was anxious about saying the wrong thing. She wanted to help her aunt almost as much as she wanted her own freedom, but she realized that she did not know where to begin.

  Kira was thankful for the interruption when Trudy poured wine into their glasses and served the first course. Both Kira and Aunt Emily ate silently, neither consuming the full amount on their plates. When the slave removed the small, eggshell-white dishes, Emily smiled at Kira again.

  “Truly delicious,” she declared. “It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a meal. It does make the food more enjoyable.” Aunt Emily stared at Kira for a moment. Then, the older woman’s eyes took on a vacant look.

  “I’m so glad I thought to invite you to dinner,” murmured Emily. She shook her head at Kira. “But I don’t understand, my dear, why you haven’t stopped by since your arrival at New Windsor.”

  Kira quickly bit back her reply. How could Emily be ignorant of the fact that I’d come by daily to speak with her? Kira glanced at Trudy, and the slave’s eyes and face told her that her aunt had known.

  Trudy served the next course, a roast chicken redolent with spices and seasonings. Kira cut a piece of the chicken and began to eat. The food tasted wonderful and she truly enjoyed this meal; it was the best she’d had since her arrival.

  But as she glanced at her aunt, she noticed that Emily was only going through the motions of eating. She would cut a piece and lift it to her mouth, but then she would drop her hand and replace the fork on the dish. Then she would push the piece of chicken around aimlessly until it shredded and fell from the fork. Finally, she would repeat the whole process with another piece of food.

  “It’s really delicious, Aunt Emily.”

  “I have no appetite any longer,” replied her aunt, sitting back in her chair and watching Kira eat.

  The rest of the meal was finished in silence and, when it was over, Emily and Kira moved to the window seat. The seat had been built into the wall, just a few inches below the windowsill, and was framed by cream-colored gauze curtains, which hung in elegant folds around the window and the seat. This seat afforded one of the loveliest views of the Cooper River.

  “Are you adjusting well?” asked Aunt Emily, looking closely at Kira’s face. Kira felt, rather than saw, a subtle change come over her aunt, but she shrugged it away.

  “I’m trying,” she answered truthfully, “but it’s hard. I’ve had to give up everything I know.” Kira searched for the right words. “I want to fit in. I want to be a part of your family. I want to help you, Aunt Emily.” Kira hoped that the words would make an impression on her aunt, but Emily didn’t reply. Suddenly, a strange look came over her. Kira noticed Emily’s hands making the same wandering movements she had seen at her father’s funeral. The silence thickened in the room, and Kira hunted for a way to reach her aunt. She looked around the room and, for the first time that night, noticed several partially knitted blankets sitting on the corner of a settee. She went over and picked one up to admire it. “You do such fine work, Aunt. You always did. I remember when Benjamin and I were both children, you—” but she never got to finish the thought. Her aunt’s eyes were staring wide, piercing Kira to the core.

  “How dare you!” screamed Aunt Emily, jumping from her seat. “How dare you come to my rooms and remind me of what you have done! How dare you live under my roof and speak to me this way!” Her entire body shook crazily with anger. Kira saw the madness in her eyes and felt another of her hopes die.

  “No, Aunt Emily,” she pleaded, “I am not trying to cause you any more sadness. I want to help.” Kira felt the tears rise as she fought to recapture the feeling of self-confidence that had fueled her earlier in the evening. She came toward her aunt slowly. “I did nothing to you—ever! I did nothing to cause you to hate me so.” Kira stopped where she was, t
otally at a loss as to how to handle the stranger who now stood before her.

  “You did nothing? It’s your fault he is dead. You killed my Benjamin!” Emily was now screaming at the top of her thin voice, yelling at Kira, accusing her. Kira’s helplessness turned to fear as Aunt Emily’s face formed a mask of rage. White and gaunt, the skin was pulled tightly across her cheeks and her lips formed thin bloodless lines. Her eyes were red-rimmed and spittle flew from her mouth as she ranted at Kira.

  “You should have married him. You should have…” said Emily, her screams turning into wrenching sobs. She fell weakly to her knees, talking in between her sobs. “You should have married him. Then he would be sitting here alive, with me.” Oblivious to Kira, Emily then spoke to her dead son as if he were there in the room.

  Unable to take any more, she fled into the hallway. She looked back once and saw Trudy bend over her mistress and lift her off the floor. Kira leaned heavily against the wall, fighting for self-control; finally, marshaling all her willpower, she forced her body and mind to obey. She walked to her own room to think through the consequences and understand the madness of the night. Kira knew any hopes she had held for Emily’s assistance were gone. She must find another way to survive—which she was determined to do, no matter what.

  That night, Kira had another of her dreams. This one was the most vivid so far and the most disturbing. She was asleep in her bedroom at New Windsor, when a man came through her window. He stood above her sleeping form for a moment before bending to kiss her forehead. The instant his warm lips touched her skin, she knew who he was. Opening her eyes, Kira sighed and let her tongue slowly moisten her lips. He bent again and she felt his lips cover hers with softness. Her arms went around him, her fingers pressing on the taut muscles of his back as she pulled him down to her. She loved the hardness of his stomach as Sean’s body pressed against her own. She gasped as the heat flaring from her loins spread through her body like a flood.

  Pulling away from her, Sean stood and removed the covering sheets. Next, he gently lifted off her nightdress, completely uncovering her body. He stared down at her, his sapphire eyes moving over her, and his breath coming in spurts. Kira loved the look, loved the raw passions and desire in his eyes as he devoured her. She lifted her arms to him and he went into them. He kissed her tenderly at first, then more forcefully until she could no longer breathe, but when he took his lips from hers, she cried out in protest. Kira’s body was on fire, its movements uncontrolled as his lips began to travel across her waiting breasts. Wherever they stopped to linger lightly, to bite gently, she felt a burning shoot down to the very core of her womanhood and call out for him.

  Sean’s hands moved about her, caressing her flesh softly, then harder as his desire built. He rose above her, held still for endless seconds, and then covered her body with his own. His heat covered every inch of her skin; His yearning and desire became a part of her. Then, as he embraced her again, she was aware of a banging on her door.

  Sean’s substance, muscles and heat, dissolved as Kira came back to consciousness. As the knocking continued, Kira realized it was not coming from outside her door, but was somewhere down the hall. Kira moved slowly to her door, trying to shake away the vividness of the dream, trying vainly to rid herself of the thoughts of Sean’s body on hers. Most of all, she tried to understand why, in her dreams, she would allow the man to make love to her, to encourage him when she knew she must never allow him near.

  Slowly, she opened the door a crack just in time to see Uncle James go into the room down the hall and close the door behind him. Allen Tathers, a business associate of his from Massachusetts, had been visiting for the past two days. Kira had met him briefly over breakfast yesterday. The man had told Kira that he would be here for another day or two. The men must have been saying goodnight, Kira thought, as she turned back to her bed. She willed herself to fall asleep again, since she would have to be well-rested for Uncle James’ dinner party tomorrow night. He had asked her to act as hostess because her aunt was unwell, and she had agreed. After these weeks of confinement, loneliness and boredom, the party would be a welcome distraction.

  She lay silently, letting her mind travel as she thought about the day’s events. About Aunt Emily, and her dream of Sean. She didn’t understand these dreams, nor could she accept what her body told her she felt for him.

  CHAPTER 13

  It wasn’t a large party, but certainly elegant an elegant one. There were fourteen people, including Kira and James Cornwall. The guests were among the wealthiest businessmen of Charleston’s society, and their wives were the arbiters of fashion and protocol.

  Kira moved gracefully about the veranda, checking on the needs of the guests. Most were strangers, but there were a few she had met in these last weeks at New Windsor. One person in particular interested her. He was the newest member of Charleston’s medical colony, a young physician named Robert Chatham. She had noticed his wavy blond hair and intelligent blue eyes when they were introduced.

  Kira moved along the veranda, smiling and chatting. She passed by Chatham, who was engaged in conversation with Abigail Montague. Abigail was invited by Cornwall to be his partner for the evening. The gossip that sped ahead of her from her acquaintances at home in Atlanta was that Miss Montague was in Charleston on a husband-finding expedition.

  Somewhat curious, Kira paused when she neared Chatham and Miss Montague to hear their conversation.

  “But,” the young woman was saying in a distraught voice, “if we stopped our trade with Britain, how could we possibly survive?”

  “Survive, or grow even more dependent?”

  “I mean, my family and my friends all depend on the things we get from Europe.” She seemed terribly confused and upset. “Why, even this dress. Where else would I find the styles or the craftsmanship to make a gown like this?” To emphasize her words, Abigail turned about, exhibiting her dress.

  “In Philadelphia or France,” cut in Kira in a dry tone.

  ‘"But Philadelphia is so far behind the times,” said Abigail. “Why, they’re not even making tight-fitting dresses.”

  “They only lag behind because people like you don’t support them.” Kira’s tone was more biting than she’d intended, and had no idea as to why she’d taken such a dislike to Abigail.

  “Besides, I think England needs us more than we need them.” Kira’s words left the other woman looking bewildered. Abigail Montague had not been raised to think. She had been brought up to accept what was offered, be it material or political. She was raised to be a good wife to her eventual husband.

  “And you, Dr. Chatham, how do you feel towards England?” Kira saw that Chatham was uncomfortable with the question, but stared at him and waited. Chatham smiled disarmingly, as he raised his hands in a noncommittal gesture.

  “To be honest, Mistress Cornwall, I prefer to test whatever waters I enter before giving myself up to them.” The doctor’s smile widened when he saw first argument and then acceptance flash across Kira’s intelligent face.

  “Oh, I just love to swim,” said Abigail. Chatham covered his laugh with a hand and a polite cough, and Kira turned her face away before the other woman could see her smile.

  “Is everything satisfactory?” asked Kira, seeking retreat in her role as hostess.

  “Fine,” said the young woman.

  “Excellent,” concurred Chatham.

  “Would you care for a cigar, sir?” Kira asked Chatham. “My uncle says his Dutch cheroots are the best to be had.”

  “So I’ve heard,” replied Chatham. “I would love to try one.”

  Kira smiled. “Fine. Then I will have a servant bring one by shortly. I’ll look forward to talking with you at dinner,” she said, nodding to both of them as she continued on her rounds.

  “My pleasure,” said Chatham, bowing slightly to her.

  Kira found the servant with the humidor on his wooden tray and sent him to Chatham. She had to find out more about this doctor; perhaps he would fit
her plans. With a secretive smile on her lips, Kira walked into the formal dining room, now empty, and began to rearrange the place settings in the new order that she desired. She placed the neatly written names by the corner of each silver and china setting.

  Kira was pleased with the table. The floral arrangements were set up to beautify the room without distracting the diners; the china was polished and sparkled, reflecting the light given off by the two huge crystal chandeliers; the serving carts were arranged with the carving knives and forks glistening brightly on their sides, waiting for the meat dishes to be carved. Everything was in order, Kira nodded to herself in satisfaction. Then she walked back outside to mingle with the guests.

  She hoped her uncle would be happy with this party, because if it were a success, there might be others. She would not be a prisoner long if she could make the outside world accessible. Parties like these would serve her well.

  Dinner was announced and the guests, chatting and laughing, filed into the long dining room to find their places. Kira sat at the opposite end of the table from her uncle James. To her immediate right sat Robert Chatham, and to his right was Abigail Montague. On Kira’s left was Jason Martin, a neighbor and business associate of James’. His wife sat next to him, and from that place on, the men and women were seated according to James Cornwall’s dictates.

  Most of the table’s occupants were engaged in a discussion about Napoleon’s fighting on the European continent. Although the news had been slow in getting to Charleston, it was generally agreed upon that Napoleon was doing well except against the British.

  There was a strange tension at the table that took Kira a few minutes to understand. Then she realized it was because many of the men seemed to be reluctant to voice either pro-British or pro-American sentiments until they had ascertained the general feeling at the table. Near the end of the final course, James Cornwall looked to the far end of the table and singled out Chatham.

  “Chatham,” he called across the long table. The other diners ceased talking in order to listen. “I understand that you studied medicine in England. How did you find the temperament of the English towards us?” Kira sensed that for some unknown reason, Chatham was being tested.