The horse calmed once more, but Reese felt anything but. Anger rushed through him at how Jameson must have seen where the game was headed and tossed in this albatross knowing Reese would take the pot. Had Jameson done it just to unload it on some unsuspecting fool, or had he done it purposefully knowing that shortly after returning to England and before all the mess with Isabelle, Reese had had a short-lived affair with his wife? Or had it been in perfect condition until Reese left it unattended for years on end? It mattered not now. This monstrosity that stood before him was now his.
The manor house was two stories, and sprawling. A covered porch ran the length of the front of the first story. Only a few shutters hung straight and looked to be sound on the second story. Most of the others listed to one side, and the rest looked as if a slight breeze would cause them to come crashing to the ground. The roof, from what he could see, needed a great deal of attention. Someone had painted the exterior at some point but now it was cracking and peeling, allowing the gray stone to show through. There were several broken windows that needed replacing, and that was just on the front.
An archway was attached to the left side of the house. He dismounted the horse once more and carefully led it to a tree. Reese tied one of the reins to a low hanging branch so the horse could graze. He picked his way through the wildness that used to be a lawn and moved to the arch, looking through it. A large courtyard presented itself. It was surrounded by crumbling stone arches. This did not happen in a matter of months. This showed years of neglect. This is my fault. By wallowing in self-pity, I allowed what was probably once a beautiful and functioning plantation fall to ruin, he chastised himself.
He crossed the paving stones carefully, watching for animals, rodents, or reptiles that might have decided to make Windcrest Plantation their home. He shaded his eyes and looked towards the back of the property. He had no clue as to what it should look like, so Reese didn’t know if he was looking at something that would bring him prosperity or place him squarely in the poorhouse. All he knew was that so far, from what he’d seen, he was quickly adding up the money needed for repairs in his mind. One thing was certain, it would be costly.
“What have I gotten myself into?” he groaned aloud. He might not know much about farming, but he could tell Windcrest Plantation was most definitely in deplorable condition. “What am I going to do?” He rubbed his hands over his face and raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated that fate was laughing at him once again. Unable to hold in the frustration any longer, he fisted his hands against his temples, reared back his head, and roared, “No!”
Birds squawked and took flight disturbed by the loud noise. A man with wild red hair, light green eyes, and pale skin came running into the courtyard. “What’s all this racket, and who’re ye?” he asked with a thick Irish accent and a rifle pointed at Reese’s chest.
* * *
“Come in,” a familiar voice called.
Circe nervously swiped non-existent wrinkles from her dress and smoothed back her hair, making certain she was as tidy as possible. She was just reaching for the door when it was jerked open.
“Well, are you going to stand out in the hall all day or…”
Circe looked up at her uncle’s dear face, not much changed since the last time she had seen him before he left for Barbados almost five years ago. Perhaps he was a bit thinner, but that just made him look more like her father, in her opinion. That made her realize how much she missed her parents, and suddenly she was flying across the threshold and launching herself at her uncle, a young girl once more instead of a woman in her mid-twenties. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and he stumbled a little, and then he was wrapping his arms about her as well.
“Circe? Can it really be you, my darling girl?”
“Yes, Uncle Robert,” she said between sniffles.
“Come, come, my face can’t look that bad after all these years,” he teased.
“Oh, no, Uncle Robert, anything but that. It is just when I saw you, well, you remind me so much of Papa…”
“That sounds as if Phillip and Elizabeth aren’t with you.”
“That would be because they are still in England.”
“Ah, a bit homesick are you?”
“Terribly so,” she agreed readily, nodding her head against his shoulder.
“Well, why don’t you come in here and tell me what brings you to Barbados, and why my brother would send his daughter off on an adventure halfway across the world without accompanying her.”
In her weakened emotional condition, Circe allowed him to guide her into his room and to a comfortable chair while he took the one across from her. She took the handkerchief he held out for her and swiped at her eyes first and then her nose. She took her time explaining why she was here, and she answered all the questions he peppered her with. Once she was finished, she took a deep, wobbly breath, then exhaled it slowly.
“I am beginning to think I made the wrong decision in coming here.”
“And why’s that?”
“It seems as if the trip has been doomed from the beginning. I should have known when my companion married on the boat and disembarked before ever leaving sight of London that it was not a sign of approval from the fates for my cause. I think instead, perhaps they were laughing at me. They were showing me what I would never have.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you are just feeling sorry for yourself. If a husband is what you’ve come to find, then wedded is the only way you’ll be leaving this beautiful island.”
“Robert’s right,” Dorothea’s rich voice seconded as she entered the room. She crossed to Robert’s chair and perched on the arm, leaning against him as if they had been married for decades instead of just a few years. “You are like your mother and me. We are women that know our minds and once we’ve set forth a plan, no one will stop it from happening. No, you came here to find a husband and that is what you’ll do.”
“She’s homesick,” Robert looked up at his wife and explained.
“A case of the doldrums can be easily remedied,” she said. “There are several parties coming up that many eligible men will be attending. Perhaps you would like to purchase some new dresses. We can go into Bridgetown and do some shopping tomorrow. What do you say? I haven’t had anyone to go shopping with in such a long time. Please say that you will go with me.”
Circe bit her lip as tears stung her eyes anew as she thought of the last time she and her mother had gone shopping together.
“You’re going with Dot,” her uncle said before she could even deign to answer. “It will do you good to take your mind off everything. She’ll take you into Bridgetown and you can see some of the sights and do some shopping.”
“But I brought clothes,” she argued, hearing the lameness of the statement even as she said it. As I recall, you wanted to do this very thing on the ship, she scolded herself.
“Please,” Dorothea pleaded. She leaned over and grabbed her hand in entreaty before continuing, “It’ll give us a chance to get to know one another better.”
“All right,” Circe replied reluctantly.
“Excellent! I can’t wait. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. I know the perfect little dress shop. The owner is from France and was a seamstress for the Empress Josephine.”
“Perhaps you should not be advertising that particular little piece of information,” Robert suggested to his wife.
Dorothea shrugged nonchalantly then asked Circe, “We leave tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” Circe agreed.
“Good.” Dorothea and Robert exchanged a smile.
“You’re going to love it here on our little piece of paradise, Circe. You truly are,” Robert said, smiling broadly.
“I am certain you are correct, Uncle Robert,” she said with a sigh. She let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.
* * *
“I’m the idiot who now owns this plantation. Who are you?” Reese countered. “And put awa
y that bloody rifle.”
“I’m Sean O’Connor,” the man said, lowering the muzzle of the rifle to point harmlessly at the ground.
“Aren’t you far from home, O’Connor?” Reese asked, trying to rein in the anger he could feel building.
“The same could be said for you.”
“Hmph.”
“Did you find out what it was, love?” a woman’s voice asked, a bit husky and full of concern.
Reese looked up and saw a beautiful light-skinned woman of color with dark curls trailing down her back join the Irishman. She had a young girl on her hip, and her belly protruded indicating a babe would soon be joining them. The little girl had a halo of auburn curls and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She wore a well-worn light pink dress with green sprigs that complimented her green eyes. The combination of it all indicated she was the daughter of this man and woman.
“‘Lo,” the little girl said shyly before turning and burying her face into her mother’s neck.
“Ruth, this is Windcrest’s new owner.”
“Oh.”
Was it his imagination, or was there concern in that single word? No, not concern, but full-blown worry.
The little girl whimpered, either because she was tired, hungry, or could feel the tension among the adults. Reese tried to take several deep breaths in case it was the latter. It was not his intention to frighten young children.
“Ruth, take Tally inside.” The woman did so without a word. “Now, tell me what you mean that you are the new owner. There has been no one here for years.” The big Irishman crossed his arms across his chest and spread his legs as he awaited an answer.
“You act as if I’ve killed someone.”
Silence.
“My name’s Reese Taggart, and I won this monstrosity in a card game from Lord Jameson…years ago.”
“Hmph.”
“Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Where’s the manager?”
“What? You think an Irishman can’t manage a plantation?”
“Tell him the truth, Sean. He’ll find out soon enough,” the woman said as she returned sans child.
“Ruth, I’ll deal with this.”
“No, you’ll get angry and we’ll be on the run again. Tell him the truth, now. Maybe he’ll feel sorry for us and let us stay on.”
“How do I know we can trust you?” Sean asked, guardedly.
“You don’t,” Reese answered honestly. “But I can tell you this, I have been judged and condemned my entire life, and I am sick of it. So, if you wish to tell me, fine. If not, we’ll move on from there and figure out what comes next.”
“Tell him,” Ruth prodded.
Reese watched as O’Connor moved and stood protectively in front of the woman. Instead, Sean O’Connor said, “Keep your eyes to yourself when it comes to my Ruth. Do you understand, Taggart?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw the way you looked at her. I’ll not have another man staring after what’s mine.”
“Sean O’Connor, you stop that right now,” the woman said and swatted the big Irishman’s arm.
“You’re mine,” he growled, looking over his shoulder at her.
“If they can’t tell by looking at Tally, then all they have to do is take a look at me growing round and fat once more. Now, behave and tell the man why we’re here and what’s become of his land.”
“Fine.” He turned back around, clearly not happy that Ruth had told him to tell the truth. “I was brought to the island of Montserrat from Ireland. I made some poor choices and this was my punishment. I was sold to a plantation owner as a slave, and that is where I met my Ruth. She was a house slave.”
“What was the name of the island again? Mo…Mons…”
“Montserrat,” Ruth said.
“It’s an island made up of mostly Irish. Some have been there for generations, others are newer. The plantation owners are Irishmen that have been there for years, along with a few Englishmen. There are slaves on the island, both from Ireland and Africa, although more are from Ireland. Ruth’s father is Irish and arrived there to bring religion to the heathens.”
“Sean,” Ruth admonished softly.
“Her mother was African and a house slave.”
“A religious man and a house slave,” Reese said.
“Men of the cloth aren’t perfect, sir,” Ruth answered, a bitter tone in her voice.
“But you were a slave,” Reese said, trying to make the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
“Some men have difficulty acknowledging their by-blows,” she said.
“Irish slaves. I don’t believe it,” Reese muttered to change the direction of the conversation.
“You think I’m lying?” Sean asked defensively.
“No, it’s just difficult to believe. I mean, I know the Irish and English haven’t gotten along since the time of Cromwell, perhaps before, but I had no idea this type of thing was going on. You said you were from another island. What brought you here?”
Ruth moved beside O’Connor and spoke, “We worked for a family on Montserrat who had a daughter. She married a man from here and some of us were brought along with her as a dowry. She was cruel and is rumored to do unspeakable things to her servants. Some of my friends disappeared and were never seen again. Sean used the confusion of our arrival to sneak us away. We wanted to be free,” Ruth said a stubborn set to her chin. “We took a horrible risk.”
“We knew we had no chance in getting back on a boat and away from the island without getting caught,” Sean took over the explanation.
“Even if we could, we had no money to book passage anywhere,” Ruth added.
Reese noticed how she gripped O’Connor’s arm and knew they were both risking not only their lives, but also their children’s as well by entrusting him with the truth. He felt a crushing weight on his shoulders. “Go on,” Reese said.
“We lost track of how long we were in the mountains, moving from spot to spot. Barbados is a small island and we feared being caught. She, or her husband, might want to make an example of us to the others.”
Reese watched Ruth shiver and O’Connor wrap a protective arm around her. It made him think back to the ship and a woman he had wanted to comfort. Focus, he ordered himself. He studied them and could see true fear. He felt there was more to this than even what they were telling him.
“I left Ruth one day and traveled to a nearby village. I heard several people talking about how the owner of Windcrest Plantation became bored with his life here. He sold off all of the slaves and servants and left for England, letting the plantation go wild. He was going to find someone to sell it to.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Less so than what you would think,” O’Connor said. “The only unusual part is they usually sell it here. Plenty of people want to make a name for theirselves here on the island.”
“So you waited until everyone was gone from here and then took up residence,” Reese guessed.
“If anyone asks, we just tell them we were hired to be the caretakers until the owner arrives,” Ruth said. “But we try to avoid people as much as possible.”
“I see.”
“Mr. Taggart, I know it was wrong of us, but please understand, we were scared. Then when things seemed to settle down we were expecting Tally and…”
“It’s all right, you’re safe here. You can stay and I won’t say a word,” Reese said. “In my opinion, this place is more yours than mine. In fact, I don’t know much, but I know that this place needs a lot of work. I could use guidance and assistance on rebuilding this plantation.”
“I can help you,” O’Connor readily agreed. “We’ve only kept a small garden to sustain us with food over the years.”
“Excellent.” Reese studied the couple in front of him and saw the relief on their faces. He knew in that moment that he would protect this family as much as humanly possible from whatever demons they were hiding from. “We’re a
lso going to need more help, but I refuse to have slaves,” Reese said. He saw O’Connor look at him curiously. “How many people will it take to run a plantation this size?”
“As near as I can tell, this used to be a rum plantation which is more involved than just a sugar plantation.”
“How many?”
“Almost two hundred people, perhaps more.”
“Maybe ten more for the house,” Ruth added.
“I see,” Reese said and paced the overgrown courtyard. “I don’t have enough money for updating equipment, making improvements, and to pay all those people. What am I going to do?” He walked to one of the arches opened his fist and slammed his palm against the column. Part of it crumbled to the ground. He braced both hands against the column and dropped his head between his arms, ignoring the mess. “I was so close to starting over and now this,” he muttered. “Bloody hell,” he said under his breath.
“Sir,” Ruth’s voice carried across the courtyard.
“As I told your husband, my name is Reese Taggart.”
“Mr. Taggart?”
“What?” he asked, not correcting the way she addressed him. He rather liked being plain Mr. Taggart.
“If you put out the word, people will come here and work.”
“For what? You heard me, I can’t pay them.”
“For their freedom and a place to live,” Ruth answered.
“That’s all?”
“It’s a lot to us, Mr. Taggart,” O’Connor said. “Then when the plantation starts to turn a profit, perhaps we can renegotiate.”
“Would you be willing to do this, Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor?”
“We’re not—”
“You will be as soon as I can arrange it, if that’s what you’d like,” Reese said, interrupting Ruth and remembering a woman in England who would fight against such a thing and her daughter who had crossed the ocean to achieve it. He felt uncomfortable when Ruth quietly began to cry. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
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