Boone Farm
Unable to sit still, Holly paced the length of her bedchamber. Doorway to dormer window and back again. The captain had said he might return with the vicar today. Today. And she with nothing to wear but faded hand-me-downs from years of Boone Farm residents, now long gone. Garments suitable for women with something to hide. A sob threatened to burble up, closing her throat. To think she’d once been the lively one, the most outspoken of Lady R’s three students. The one they all thought would never learn to speak the king’s English. The one who laughed at the other girls’ fears.
The more the fool, she.
The captain had changed his mind, she knew it. What red-blooded man would marry a pale, listless creature as big as a house.? With limp hair and hangdog expression? A woman with scarce a word to say for herself, but Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I’ll be forever beholden, sir. Down on my knees for the rest my life, you great hulking bastard . . .
So why was he doing it?
No ship was worth being tied to a whore and her child for the rest of his life.
Had Nick Black threatened him?
Holly stopped pacing. Hugging her shoulders, she rocked slowly back and forth, fighting to find some semblance of the Holly Hammond who graduated from the Aphrodite Academy. Just as all her problems were solved, it seemed her spirits had reached a new low.
“Holly, Holly! A letter come fer ya. Cost a pretty penny, it did. Never knew a man with enough to say that he took up that much paper.”
Holly gasped as the babe struck her a hard blow. Or was that just nerves roiling in her belly? She accepted the folded parchment, waved the girl away, and sank into her rocking chair, her mind blank, refusing to deal with the blow the letter must contain. Apologies. Excuses. Words to shatter the dream she had allowed to grow in the dead of night until it glittered like a ballroom chandelier sparkling with hundreds of candles. She was to have a stalwart husband who would raise her child as his own. A home . . . possibly, just possibly, something more. Someday, when the time was right.
And now . . .
She couldn’t look. This rejection would cut deep. It might be the final straw, the one that finished the breaking of Holly Hammond, once the liveliest minx in town, now nothing but a vessel for bringing a child into the world. After that, she would simply fade away . . .
The thickness of the carefully folded paper finally penetrated. She frowned at the handwriting—not Nick Black’s bold scrawl but lettering smaller and more precise. The hand of a man accustomed to keeping records in a ship’s log? Yes, she’d been right. The letter must be from the captain, yet it seemed rather long for a simple, I’m sorry, goodbye.
Devil a bit, she hadn’t changed that much. If she’d been a coward, she never would have left home. Holly broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Her eyes grew wide as she read the precisely outlined plans for the wedding. Her wedding. And Cecy’s? Merciful heavens! The ceremony was to be at Boone Farm at three in the afternoon, two days hence. Boone Farm was chosen, the captain explained, because no one wished to see her endure the ordeal of a coach trip to London and back, for, naturally, it was understood she would wish to remain at Boone Farm until after the child was born.
Holly closed her eyes, gripping the arms of the chair, the letter crumpled in her hand. Such thoughtfulness when she’d been certain he’d abandoned her. As Charles had.
After carefully smoothing out the thick, cream-colored paper, Holly continued to read:
Unfortunately, Venturer and I will be off on our next voyage to the United States and the West Indies before you are delivered. I am, however, actively seeking a suitable place for you to live when you and the babe are ready to leave Boone Farm. If I do not find it before I leave, Mr. Black’s man of business, Guy Fallon, will make sure you are properly situated. I have arranged an account for you at Hoare’s bank, but if you need more funds, you have only to apply to Mr. Fallon. I assure you, you are not marrying a penniless man.
There is one other matter, which we should have discussed but did not. Though ’tis not surprising our wits went begging, considering the circumstances.
We did not discuss the matter of further increases to the family. I will, as promised, always treat your child as my own, but I would like to think he would eventually have brothers and sisters. I hope you also see this vision in your future.
I will have the messenger wait for a reply. Please tell him if any of the items mentioned are not acceptable.
My most humble wishes for your good health,
Royce Kincade
Holly re-read the captain’s letter three times before composing her reply. It read: “Captain, I have received your letter and its generous arrangements. I have no changes to suggest.”
After sending the note to the waiting messenger, Holly sat very still, as if any move she made might shatter her good fortune. It was happening. She was to be wed.
Mrs. Royce Kincade.
She shivered.
“I catch any eyes straying below the waist, you’ll spend the wedding in the carriage. Is that clear?”
Royce hadn’t thought to find any humor in his wedding day. But the sight of Nick Black lecturing his minions, from his elegantly garbed secretary and man of business to the hulking, well-armed bodyguards who followed him everywhere—with his gaze lingering longest on Fetch, the lively lad he seemed to have taken on as some kind of apprentice—forced him to turn his head away to hide a smile. Black’s intent was good, Royce had to admit. The men were eager to see their guv’s wedding, but it was doubtful any of them were prepared for most of the wedding guests to be sporting protruding bellies. Hence, the warning.
It was good advice for the groom, as well, Royce conceded. As he searched the outreaches of London for a suitable home for his bride, he’d fixed the thought of Venturer in his mind, never allowing his recollection of a girl with straight dark hair and luminous brown eyes, to extend below the nicely rounded bulge of her breasts. Better that way. By the time he returned from his next voyage, he would have talked himself round, adjusted to the thought of becoming a husband and a father at almost the same moment. As it was . . .
If the notorious Nick Black could settle into domesticity—or some semblance thereof—then Captain Royce Kincade could certainly do the same.
“Kincade!”
Heeding his employer’s imperious call, Royce turned to his First Mate, Thomas Blount, and led him toward the lead coach in the cavalcade about to set off for Boone Farm. Blount, a man near Royce’s own age, boasted a round, weather-beaten face marked by a pair of blue eyes that shown with more geniality than his captain’s. The two men had been friends for over a decade.
Royce climbed into the coach and settled back against the rear-facing squabs. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look as if he were at ease. Mr. Blount, who had long since learned when to keep his mouth shut, imitated his captain’s stance. A stranger entered behind them, quickly followed by Nick Black, both men settling themselves onto the opposite seat. After brief introductions, Black offered Royce a wry smile. “It’s all right,” he said. “I haven’t been this scared since the first time I was up before a magistrate.”
Royce choked. Thomas Blount grinned. The stranger’s brown eyes gleamed, even as he turned away to hide a smile.
Not another word was said all the way to Boone Farm.
“I’m going to cry,” Holly declared, as she turned this way and that, attempting to see herself in the wavy, all-too-small looking glass. “It’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. I actually look . . . pretty.”
“You look gorgeous!” Belle declared. “The captain will be quite bowled out.”
The gown of pale azure silk featured a tightly fitted bodice with modest puffed sleeves, completely covered in seed pearls interspersed with sparkling brilliants. From just below Holly’s breasts the gown flowed away from her body in a great tide of soft silk, rippling unadorned all the way to her slippers, where more pearls and bright crystals peeped out from beneath the gown’s hem. Her long dark hair was swept high and banded in matching silk with decorations that matched the gown and slippers. Holly had worn far more elaborate gowns in the past but none that had the significance of this gift from Cecy, Belle, and Lady R.
Her wedding gown. The gown of Holly Hammond who was about to become Holly Kincade.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.
But there was Cecy, shimmering in Alençon lace layered over a gown of blush silk and sparkling with strategically placed crystal beads handsewn to the places where they might best call attention to the elaborate design of the lace. In a burst of camaraderie Cecy had discarded a feathered headdress to wear a bandeau similar to Holly’s, except hers featured the same type of crystal beads sparkling from the lace overgown.
“What a pair!” Belle proclaimed. “I can hardly wait to see your men’s faces.”
Juliana Rivenhall took a shuddering breath, wiped away a tear. “And remarkable as the men are,” she said, “I wonder if they truly appreciate their good fortune in acquiring graduates of the Aphrodite Academy.”
All three of her former students laughed, as they were meant to, easing the tension which had grown as taut as a drawn bowstring. Juliana peeked out the door. When she found the corridor empty, she beckoned to the others. “Come, girls. It’s time.”
They descended the stairs, two by two, Belle lending Cecilia her moral support, Juliana gripping Holly’s arm tightly. At this critical moment there was no room for a suddenly disastrous fall.
Since Boone Farm’s small rooms could not accommodate such a large number of wedding guests, the matron, Mrs. Jamison, and the girls had made every effort to transform the farm’s home garden into a pleasing site for a wedding. Not an easy task when the home garden’s primary task was growing vegetables, and only row upon row of short green shoots could be seen in May. However, rosemary, thyme, and mint added unique scents from a kitchen garden that was springing back to life. And against a wall on one side of the courtyard was a small cluster of flowers, mostly tulips, early iris, accented by a heavily blooming bleeding heart. Bleeding heart, Juliana noted as she passed by. How singularly appropriate.
No! This was not a wedding like hers. Cecy and Holly were not innocents sold to the highest bidder. Their men did not lust for sexual adventures of every variety under the sun. Well, she didn’t know Captain Kincade of course, but Darius had been happy to launch an investigation, finding the captain remarkably conventional for a man willing to wed a courtesan and her bastard. Juliana allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as the four women stood sheltered behind the spread of a large spiraea bush covered in white blossoms. All three of her former students had done well for themselves. She could only hope Holly appreciated Nick Black’s generosity. An entire merchant vessel. None of her girls had ever been valued at a price so high. But Holly had an odd kick to her gallop. One never knew—
“Oh, look!” Belle cried, “Mr. Wolfe is standing up with Mr. Black. I didn’t even know they knew each other.”
Juliana, after taking a few seconds to absorb the shock, added her head to Cecilia’s and Holly’s as they peered around a clump of flowering branches. Darius was standing up with Nick Black! He hadn’t said a word, the beast. In all fairness, at their last meeting the topic had not been foremost in either of their minds. Darius and Nick Black were new acquaintances, meeting only because of Juliana’s desire to avenge Cecilia’s beating at the hands of her lover. Clearly, they must have seen something in each other. Two strong men, ruthless in business, who didn’t always stick to the letter of the law.
“All is ready,” Mrs. Jamison announced, her round face beaming in a rare moment of pure pleasure. Marriages at Boone Farm were scarce as hen’s teeth, and she was clearly enjoying the moment to the fullest.
Cecy went first, walking with dignity down the dirt path between the vegetables. Belle, wearing her own wedding gown, the color of classic June roses, followed. Then Holly, who kept her eyes on the path, refusing to take a chance on seeing doubt or regret in her bridegroom’s eyes. And last, Juliana, who had put off her customary half-mourning for a gown of pale leaf green in a shade that would not overshadow either bride.
A collective sigh, mixed with surprise and awe, was heard from the women of Boone Farm, who’d had no idea Holly could look so grand. Tears welled in dozen pairs of eyes, and no matter how much they wished her well, hearts filled with envy. And hope. If Holly had found such good fortune, perhaps . . .
The five men standing in front of the makeshift altar—a deal table covered by Boone Farm’s best white linen tablecloth—were not the only males to appreciate the striking picture the four ladies made. Fetch, who had never in all his fourteen years attended a wedding, gaped, his customary strutting street-kid attitude overcome by awe. The rest of Nick Black’s entourage simply sucked in their breaths and soaked up the glowing beauty of the brides and their attendants, along with the solemnity of the occasion. Even Lord Ashbury, seated in the front row, his eyes fixed on his wife Belle instead of the brides, smiled. As did the vicar.
No hole-in-the-corner affair, this remarkable occasion at Boone Farm. Everyone involved could hold their heads high.
“Dearly beloved . . .” Absolute silence as the vicar intoned the familiar words, each couple repeating their vows in turn. Hearts swelled, and broke, the sun casting rainbow glints through tears that threatened to become torrents.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Holly heard a sob and feared it might be her own. A firm hand took her and arm and turned her toward their audience. Oh, dear Lord, even Mrs. Jamison was crying! And Lady R was simply standing there, head bowed, looking as if she’d just attended a funeral instead of a wedding.
“Come,” a voice said in her ear. “The vicar has laid out the parish register in the parlor. We must go in and sign it.”
Numbly, Holly let the captain lead her down the path past the odd assortment of young women seated on an even odder assortment of chairs dragged out of the house for as grand an occasion as Boone Farm had ever seen. The captain. Her husband. Royce Kincade. Who, in spite of his veneer of good manners, had to be mad or a thoroughly callous bastard to marry her for the sake of owning his own ship.
And there was Cecy ahead of them, gliding past the sprouting vegetables and hanging onto Nick Black like a limpet. Nick Black who, with a flick of his finger, manipulated people’s lives, moving them like chess pieces around his London-sized board.
Lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, dearie?
On your knees, girl, and give thanks!
Not-so-well-bred imagined thoughts nagged Holly every step of the way inside, continuing their scold even as she signed the parish register, “Holly Elizabeth Hammond Kincade.”
“Over here,” the captain rumbled in her ear and steered her toward a quiet corner of the parlor. “I will return tomorrow to tell you of the arrangements I have made. I trust you will find them satisfactory.”
More satisfactory if she’d had some part in it!
Dear God, five minutes married and already a shrew!
No, Holly amended. She had always been a shrew, the bold , sharp-tongued one, the rebel. Poor Captain Kincade. He was paying a higher price for his ship than he knew.
It was the well-trained courtesan, however, who responded to the captain’s question. “I shall be pleased with whatever arrangements you make, Captain. And now I believe we are expected to sample the refreshments. There has been a great flurry in the kitchen these past two days.”
The captain’s intent blue eyes stared down at her, as if he sensed the existence of the seething layers that lay beneath her calm but could not quite pinpoint what was wrong. Other than the obvious, of course. He had just married a woman eight months gone with another man’s child.
“Shall we?” He smiled and held out his arm.
Mad. Definitely mad, for only someone quite insane would smile so kindly while acting as if his wedding had been as traditional as marrying his childhood sweetheart after the calling of banns in the village church.
Holly accepted the captain’s arm, and they went in search of the long refectory table groaning under the weight of food fit for a proper country wedding.