24

A bruise marred the pale skin on Catherine’s chest Friday evening, but the gold taffeta gown almost covered it. She patted some powder over the spot. Only the most discerning would notice.

Aurelia pulled up Catherine’s hair and used tortoiseshell combs to secure it. The housekeeper began to enhance Catherine’s natural curl with curling tongs, making ringlets that cascaded on either side of her face.

“It’s good enough,” Catherine said when Aurelia began another.

“Massa want you pretty.”

Naturally. Catherine must look perfect on the outside even though her insides were a jumbled mess.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Aurelia’s hand stilled. “He only hit when he don’t git his way.”

Catherine could not imagine a lifetime of bending to his will. “Surely someone would object. My cousin Henry.”

“He love only money. Massa make money.”

“How? The plantation does not look profitable.”

“De black ship, it sail back an’ forth. Some go. Some come.”

The black ship. Tom’s father’s ship. But Catherine couldn’t make sense of the rest. Not tonight. Her thoughts rambled elsewhere. She needed to escape. Somehow. And free Tom. And bring Aurelia and her three children with them. Since DeMornay’s unwelcome announcement of their pending marriage, Catherine had considered a dozen times how to free Aurelia. It all came back to getting ownership papers. She needed to see the judge. Perhaps he would come to the soiree tonight. She could speak to him when DeMornay was occupied elsewhere. But the papers must be written tonight. Once wedding vows were spoken, DeMornay would take ownership.

She struggled to breathe. Vows would not be spoken. Could not. There must be a way out of this.

“Santiago from Havana,” Aurelia said, “jess like Massa.”

Catherine pulled her attention back to the present. “Santiago? Who is that?”

“He watch Missa Tom.”

A cool breeze fluttered the curtains. Tom was the answer. He would know how to escape—if she could free him. She glanced at the closed door. DeMornay might even now be listening. She could not ask directly what she needed to know. “How is Tom?”

“He have all he need.”

That didn’t answer Catherine’s question, but she would learn nothing more, for DeMornay knocked on the door.

“Is she ready?” He pushed the door open, and his gaze drifted to Catherine’s face and then downward.

Her skin crawled, and she wished she could do anything but go through with this tonight. DeMornay had everything exactly where he wanted it. She had only a promise. He must release Aurelia, Tom, and the children before she took the next step.

She stood and forced a smile. “How handsome you are.”

He returned the smile, though it was cold and possessive. “And you are lovely, my dear.” He entered her room without asking permission.

This was how it would be. She would have no escape from him. But he would not harm her if she did everything he wanted. Her stomach churned. She could not bear it.

“Leave us,” he said to Aurelia.

The housekeeper slipped from the room without a word. That’s how Catherine must become. Quietly obedient, submissive. Yet subtly defiant. Would DeMornay flog her also?

She swayed and held on to the edge of the dressing table to steady herself.

He caught her shoulder. “Did you eat the light dinner I had Aurelia bring up for you?”

“Some.” Her stomach had revolted at the thought of food, but Aurelia had urged her to force it down because she would need the strength.

“Good.” He released her shoulder and touched the edge of the bruise. “That won’t do.”

She tugged at the gown’s neckline until it was covered. “There. Taken care of.”

“And if someone should remark on it?”

“A careless step. I am still getting accustomed to the house and grounds.”

The viper’s smile returned. “Very well put.” He reached into the inner pocket of his evening coat. “I have something for you tonight that will distract from anything else. Close your eyes.”

That was the last thing she wanted to do in DeMornay’s presence, but she must pretend to trust him. He would do nothing to hurt her now, when guests would soon arrive.

His lips pressed against hers, tasting of strong spirits. She fought the revulsion and waited for him to pull away. Then she felt something cool around her neck.

“Perfect,” he proclaimed. “You may open your eyes now.”

She touched the heavy necklace, which felt more like a neck iron than a thing of splendor.

“You may look in the mirror,” he prompted.

She glanced in the glass and froze. “This belonged to Maman.”

“Your father sent it here with me for safekeeping.”

Safekeeping? Had DeMornay not told her there was no jewelry in the strongbox? She wanted to spit out the words that rose to her tongue. He had stolen it. No doubt this was not the only piece. “Where is the rest?”

DeMornay clucked his tongue and ran a finger down the nape of her neck. “Now, that is no way to show gratitude for a gift.” His fingers reached around her throat.

Father in heaven, help me.

She drew a shaky breath. “Of course not. Forgive me. I lost my head in the excitement. I am so relieved that you preserved it for me. Shall we greet our guests?”

He withdrew his hand and offered his arm. “You are learning quickly. Continue in this manner, and your life will be filled with every delight.”

Lies. All his promises were lies.

Yet she placed her hand on his arm and fixed a smile on her face as they swept from the room. No one must know the truth. Not until she could find a way out. Not until she got Tom and Aurelia and the children to safety.

The first buggy passed while Tom was still on the lawn. Its lanterns bobbed as it navigated the ruts on the river road and carriage drive.

So, guests were expected. Even more astonishing, at least one invitee had accepted in spite of the general fear of Black Oak plantation. Tom could think of only one explanation. DeMornay held something against them. Blackmail, perhaps. It might have to do with Pa’s ship and the illicit cargo smuggled into or out of the area. Perhaps others profited from it, and those others must leap when DeMornay called or face exposure to the authorities.

If that was the case, the judge most likely was not invited, making Tom’s trek that much longer.

A second carriage followed the first. The open box and lanterns revealed husband and wife in resplendent finery. Two more followed at an interval, but none of the carriages belonged to the judge.

Tom walked along the edge of the road and hopped into the shadows whenever another carriage lamp appeared ahead of him. The next had twin lanterns that illuminated the occupants. Tom’s heart quickened as the carriage drew near.

“Judge Graham!” He waved down the carriage and then ran to meet it.

“Who is it?” Mrs. Graham asked with trepidation. “A robber?”

“Why, it’s Mr. Worthington.” The judge peered at him. “What are you doing out on the road in the dark?”

“Hoping to find you,” Tom said, panting. As much as he wondered why the judge had accepted an invitation to Black Oak, time was short. “Can you spare a moment?”

“Of course.” He said something to the driver, who pulled the carriage to the side of the road. Judge Graham exited. “Good to see you again, Tom. I thought you might be gone by now.” He sniffed at the air, and Tom realized he must smell dreadful after days cooped up in the pigeonnier.

“Forgive my appearance, but I’ve been held captive.” That sounded fantastical, but Tom had to trust the judge would believe him. “I fear Catherine is in danger.”

“I see.” The elderly judge stroked his long sideburns. “Give me a moment, and then we’ll take a little walk.”

Tom waited impatiently while the judge issued instructions to his wife and the driver. The former did not look pleased at all. She did not understand that lives could hang in the balance.

At last Judge Graham left the carriage and strolled toward him. “Now, let’s head back a pace, and you can tell me what’s going on.”

Where to begin? “I believe DeMornay has designs on Catherine.” When the judge didn’t express surprise, Tom continued, “He threatened to drown me but instead locked me in the pigeonnier. I don’t know what he’s planning for Catherine.”

“Hmm. That explains a great deal.” The judge steered him in the other direction. “Walk.”

Tom did as requested.

“I gather Miss Haynes did not go to New Orleans then.” The judge strolled at an easy pace.

“No.” Tom regretted that he hadn’t insisted more forcefully that she follow Rourke and him back to the James Patrick the first time he proposed the idea. By the time she had warmed to the idea, it was too late. “We were waylaid en route by DeMornay.”

“I see, and that’s why you suspect he has designs on her.”

“That and the way he looks at her, as if he owns her.”

“That explains the invitation. If she does not object, there is nothing to be done. Not in a legal sense.”

“But she couldn’t possibly agree.” Tom didn’t believe one word of the charade she’d given DeMornay. “What if he’s forcing her or holding her captive?”

“He would not invite guests if he has her locked up somewhere.”

Tom had to admit that made sense. “And if he’s forcing her to agree to a liaison?”

“She can refuse.”

The judge didn’t understand. DeMornay was ruthless. Somehow Tom had to convince him. Perhaps telling of DeMornay’s dealings with his father would sway the judge.

“Ten years ago, Louis DeMornay stole my father’s ship and set him adrift in the ship’s boat.” Tom told the entire story, not leaving out a single detail. “I came here to seek justice. DeMornay knows that.”

“If this happened ten years ago, how do you know this ship you’ve found was the one stolen from your father?”

“I can prove it, if I can find the ship. But he’s painted it black and moored it out of sight.”

“Black, you say?” The judge halted. “The hull?”

“The entire ship, even the sails.”

The judge shook his head. “Then the rumors might be true.”

“What rumors?”

“I’ve never cared to pass on rumors when they can’t be proven.”

Tom took a shot. “He’s smuggling, isn’t he?”

The judge drew in his breath, telling Tom that his shot had hit true.

“Like I said,” the judge said slowly, “I haven’t wanted to speculate. Since you already suspect, I will allow that the rumors center on trafficking slaves from Cuba.”

“Everything now makes sense. The lack of servants, the fear in their eyes.” His imagination ran wild. “What if Catherine refuses him? What would he do? He nearly murdered my father.”

“Murder is a grave accusation.”

“We must get Catherine away from him. I think he’s using her to get Black Oak for himself.”

“Of course.” The judge shook his head. “I should have seen it. It’s as obvious as the nose on my face, especially if he knows the terms of inheritance. It would also explain the missing transfer of deed.”

“What deed? What terms?” Tom couldn’t forget her insistence that she owned part of the plantation.

“She is the rightful heir.”

“To a portion.”

“To nearly all of it.”

A shiver ran down Tom’s back. “Not her cousins?”

“An eighth each to Henry and Emile. Her uncle was only entitled to a quarter, but he sent DeMornay to England to purchase the three-quarter share that had belonged to Miss Haynes’s mother. Apparently that sale took place but was never recorded. In effect, Miss Haynes still owns three-quarters of Black Oak plantation.”

Tom thought back to his visit to Henry Lafreniere. “Does her cousin know this?”

“I don’t think so. His father didn’t appear to know, even though he had me make a bequest to Miss Haynes shortly before his death. Only after speaking with her did I think to check. That’s when I discovered it wasn’t recorded. Henri believed he was awarding Miss Haynes an eighth share of the plantation.”

“An eighth! That’s nothing.”

“Remember, Henri Lafreniere believed he was sole owner of the plantation after legally purchasing his sister’s share. That’s what he would have told his sons.”

“The sale. When did it happen?”

“About ten years ago.”

“The same time my father’s ship was stolen. DeMornay must have returned from England by way of Boston.” Tom pieced together the puzzle. “It does explain why Catherine’s uncle went to great lengths to convince everyone that Lisette Lafreniere was buried in the churchyard long before she actually died. Until he got legal ownership, he could make everyone believe he owned all of Black Oak.”

“But he did not know of Miss Haynes at that time.”

“DeMornay must have told him about her when he returned.”

The judge shook his head. “Are you suggesting that he’s been planning all along to seize control of Black Oak?”

“Exactly.” The last pieces fit together. “But to do that, DeMornay would have to . . .” The rest was too unpalatable to speak.

“Marry her.”

“But she would never agree to that.” Catherine loved him, not DeMornay. Her kisses told that truth.

“Then you have nothing to fear.”

“DeMornay is a master of manipulation.” In that instant, Tom realized Rourke was right. He needed to make a choice between avenging the theft of his father’s ship and saving Catherine. The choice was clear. “I need to get Catherine out of there at once, but I need your help.”

“I’m no help in a fight.”

“Not combat.” Tom had considered this while inside the pigeonnier. “Legal help.”

“In what way? I won’t destroy proper legal documents.”

“I understand, but the only way I can get her to leave is if she can bring Aurelia and her children with us to Key West.” Tom explained the situation. “She will need written proof she owns them in order to bring them into Key West. You can do that for us.”

The judge nodded thoughtfully. “Very well, I’ll get the documents to you in the morning.”

“We might not have that long. Tonight.”

The judge pondered that for several moments. “Perhaps we can take care of a great many questions tonight. Let’s return to the carriage. We’ll need to go back to Titchwood so I can draw up the papers for Miss Haynes. I’ll also speak to the sheriff. We might have enough information to issue a warrant to search Black Oak.”

A thrill ran through Tom. At last justice might be served. DeMornay might suffer for the pain he’d caused Pa and others. A thought popped into his head. “How long will it take? DeMornay might get suspicious if you don’t show.”

The judge chuckled. “Perhaps, but my wife will be delighted by this turn of events. If not for Miss Haynes, we would never have come tonight.” He raised his hand, and the carriage turned slowly.

Before long, they were headed back to Titchwood. Tom hoped the delay wasn’t too long. What could DeMornay do in one evening? Surely not marry her.

The salon had been turned into a gleaming display. A candelabra highlighted Maman’s portrait over the fireplace. Chairs had been pulled to the perimeter and were occupied by a dozen and more people, none of whom Catherine knew. She searched for the judge and his wife. They had not yet arrived.

A tall, slender Negro youth, dressed in the black of a servant, carried a tray of drinks that were offered to the guests. Through the open doorway, she noted the dining table set in fine china and silver that she had never seen.

Tonight this house looked like the one Maman had described to her. If Catherine did not look too closely in the corners or at the molding, she might imagine it in its heyday, instead of the tattered reflection of what used to be.

DeMornay hung at her side and smiled imperiously at each person who came forward to greet them.

The guests’ nerves were readily apparent. No one was at ease.

Catherine complimented each one on something—style of hair, cut of cloth, jewelry, even eye color. Anything to break the tension in the room.

But they approached cautiously and backed away with relief.

Maman, what has become of your grand plantation? Nothing here was how she’d portrayed it. Had the schism over her elopement caused this decline?

“Good evening, honored guests.” DeMornay’s voice boomed across the room.

All conversation, whispered though it was, stopped.

“News travels fast in these parts, especially when it is good news. You no doubt have heard of Miss Haynes’s arrival.” He smiled at her, and her skin crawled.

She forced a smile. “Welcome to Black Oak.” Though Maman had always used its French name, she’d learned that most now preferred the English. “My mother would be pleased.”

“Yes.” DeMornay lifted his glass of port, which had been refilled several times while they greeted guests. “To Lisette Lafreniere, who has risen from the grave.”

Catherine shivered.

DeMornay took another deep draft of the spirits. “She would welcome this day heralding her daughter’s future.” He handed the glass to a servant and grasped her arm.

Catherine gasped softly and smiled to cover her distress.

“Though Catherine and I have known each other a very short time, we soon recognized a similarity of purpose and an affection for each other that could not be denied. I am pleased to announce that she has agreed to become my wife.”

A couple soft gasps issued from the ladies, and as one the guests turned to look at her. On their faces she saw pity, sympathy, and something else. Fear. Not for themselves but for her.

Catherine’s legs trembled. Her hands shook. Only by pressing her lips into a tight smile could she prevent them from quivering.

This was not how it should be.

She must pretend for this moment and find a way out the next. If only Judge Graham had been here tonight, she might have sought him out for help. He might have had a suggestion. But she was alone.

“Come now, dearest.” DeMornay pulled her close and planted his lips on hers. Though she was able to move her face slightly to the side, he pressed hard and then held his mouth close to her ear to whisper, “No errors, or Worthington dies.”

Tears rose. She blinked them back.

“To Catherine!” DeMornay lifted his glass in a toast. “To my bride.”

Polite applause and muted congratulations filled the room. DeMornay left her side to accept handshakes from the other gentlemen. The women surrounded Catherine. One by one they embraced her. No one said a word, but each embrace carried a note of sorrow.

They knew.