Chapter 5

Life on Widow's Endeavor was so different from life in her stepfather's tavern, it was as if she had suddenly been transported to the moon, instead of the Maryland Colony. Her first weeks had been so full of lessons that Charity had little time to explore the plantation, or the activities conducted there. With the ripening of the Tidewater summer, all that changed.

It was impossible not to become involved in the day-to-day routine of Widow's Endeavor. Just beyond the house stretched the gardens. There, flowers and fruit trees and vegetables grew in glorious abundance. Beyond that, and through a line of stately cedars, lay a rolling meadow with sheep and cattle.

Charity liked to walk there and lean against the split-rail fence, watching the young lambs frolic in the deep grass. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle; it smelled like heaven.

Sometimes curious lambs would come near the fence and stare at her, cocking their heads and bleating. It never failed to make her laugh and to bleat back at them.

This afternoon, she was particularly glad to enjoy the peace of her secret place. The squire had come calling. They had had tea, as usual, and he had questioned her closely about her home in England and her family. Lady Deale had answered most of his inquiries in her matter-of-fact way, and he seemed to be satisfied. He had been on the brink of proposing when she had excused herself with an imaginary headache. As soon as his carriage rolled down the lane, she had run here. She needed to think, to be absolutely certain, before she made an irrevocable commitment.

She had been there only a few moments when the crunch of footsteps told her she wasn't alone.

"Charity?"

"Ma'am?" She jumped. Lady Deale never called her Charity, only Caroline, even in private. Charity scrambled up off the grass and brushed off her skirts. Startled, the lambs bolted away and sought shelter behind their placid, grazing mothers.

"Charity, we must talk." Elizabeth folded her arms and waited. "Well?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I knowed... I knew," she corrected. "I knew he was going to ask me to marry him and..." Charity broke off.

"You've been happy here, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. Very happy. It's nice here. You... the animals, the... the way people treat me. I've never had it this way before. I'm grateful, believe me. But I just wasn't ready to say yes to him. I guess I panicked." Her eyes met Elizabeth's squarely. "It won't happen again, I promise."

"Come with me, girl. I have work to do, and we can talk as I assure myself that everything is as it should be." She turned and walked back the way she had come. Charity followed.

A few minutes later, properly garbed, the two mounted the animals led to the front of the house. Charity patted Duchess, glad to let her follow Elizabeth's mount. They rode through the farmyard and down the lane, past the dependencies: smokehouse, washhouse, dairy, and carpenter's workshop. Further back from the path was a separate building for the blacksmith, and a plantation office. There were rows of small neat homes for the workers, black and white, and a large storehouse for food supplies.

"A plantation is like a small town," Lady Deale explained. "But it is a town that must be fed and clothed and housed on the authority of one person. Here, on Widow's Endeavor, I am that person. My word is law, absolute law. I have the power of life and death over my people. You might say that I have greater power than His Majesty on this plantation."

"Yes, ma'am, I can see that. But..."

"No buts. Listen closely." Her full lips were tight, her eyes serious. "I love this plantation as I have loved few things in life. This is my husband, my lover, my children... all rolled into one. In England, I would have led a silly, useless existence. Here I am queen in my own right." She raised a tanned hand. "No, I do not tell you these things to boast. It is because in you I see myself as a girl. You too are one of those who must have something of worth to do in life. Left idle, you will fall into danger's path. You are a strong, intelligent young woman with a caring, sympathetic nature."

"Thank you, but I still don't understand." Charity reined in the mare and shifted in the saddle. "What has this to do with the squire?"

"Your original idea was a good one. The squire has a fine plantation. Not as large or rich as Widow's Endeavor, but quite adequate. He can provide you with a name and respectability. Without it, you run the risk of being found out and taken by the law." She reached out and touched Charity's arm. "I care for you very much, child. You would be welcome to stay on with me, or I could send you away to another colony. I could provide for you. But it would be much better for you to utilize the identity we have worked so hard to create. Marry the squire. Doubtless you will be widowed at an early age. I will see that he provides handsomely for you in his will. Then, when you are independent, you may marry again... a man of your own choosing. Or you may remain single as I am. In any case, you will have the security of position in the community. The Tidewater looks after her own. Once you are fully accepted, you will be happy here."

Charity dismounted and walked along the lane, leading Duchess. "Will he let me manage his farm, make decisions as you do? He seems kind enough, but..."

Elizabeth scoffed. "Let you? Charity, you must stop thinking like a barmaid. I have taught you to be Caroline Smythe-Tarylton, an English girl of gentle birth. Now you must develop Caroline. You must let her become a combination of what is best in both of you." She slid down to walk beside Charity, her small, neat boots leaving clear outlines in the dust of Widow's Endeavor. "A Tidewater woman is not a plaything. She is not at her husband's beck and call. This is not England. Remember that. Woman are valuable in the Colonies, and not just for their dowries. Without a sensible woman beside him, the task of running a plantation is too great."

"You mean all women are treated like that here?" The idea seemed very strange. Charity was certain she liked it. "With respect?"

"Here, women may own land. Not a single girl, perhaps. But a widow may manage her own affairs. I know of a woman who is owner of a ship, and there are many who have their own shops. Maryland is quite progressive."

"The squire's children hate me." Charity kicked at a clod of dirt. "When I was there for dinner, they snubbed me."

"Naturally. What else would you expect? Suppose you give the old man a child? That would mean dividing the inheritance even further. You have no dowry. They look at you as a fortune hunter."

Charity giggled. "Which I am."

"Which you certainly are." Elizabeth chuckled. "But one doesn't make applesauce without peeling apples." They laughed together easily until Elizabeth took her arm. "And you must not think of Jamie. He'll only break your heart."

"James Drummond is no concern of mine!"

"You must convince yourself of that before you can convince me. He's quite an irresistible young man. Sometimes I think I'm half in love with him myself." Elizabeth's laughter pealed out at the shocked look in Charity's eyes. "I'm not quite dead yet," she chuckled. "I can still appreciate a square male chin and other things."

Two boys came by dragging a spotted calf on a rope. "Mornin', Miss Elizabeth," one called. The second boy nodded a shy greeting and tugged on the rope.

"Where are you two going with my calf?" Elizabeth asked.

The calf set all four legs into the dirt solidly and sat down, rolling its large brown eyes until the whites showed. Charity couldn't resist; she reached out a tentative hand to stroke the soft, curly hair. The little animal turned its head and licked her hand with a wide rough tongue.

"Oh, he's adorable," Charity said. "Does he have a name?"

"Dolly, ma'am," the first boy supplied. "But he's a she." He grinned, exposing a gap in his front teeth. "Her mama's got the milk fever. Got no more milk. We're a-takin' this one down to Henry's house. They got a fresh cow that can nurse Dolly." He shook a mane of corn-silk hair out of his blue eyes. "Trouble is, Dolly's not cooperatin'."

"Who's looking after the cow?" Elizabeth demanded. "How bad is she?"

The copper-skinned boy's obsidian eyes gleamed with pride. "My father," he whispered. "He takes care of the cow."

"Good, she's in the best of hands. I'd hate to lose a milker. We've few enough with any breeding." Elizabeth turned to Charity. "Will's father is a Nanicoke, a full-blood. He has a magic touch with sick animals. Come down to the barn with me and meet him. As I said before, a Tidewater lady's duties are varied. You may as well learn about milk fever. You're bound to have to deal with it one of these days."

Charity nodded. She'd always pictured herself being waited on—sitting on gilded furniture sipping tea, or perhaps strolling through a flower garden. She'd had no idea that tending sick cows would be part of a gentlewoman's experience. She patted the calf again. It was a far different future Lady Deale had presented, and perhaps a far more interesting one than she'd ever dreamed of.

* * *

Charity sat a respectable distance away from the squire in his open carriage. A plainly dressed black man drove the horses from a seat in front of them.

The dirt track ran along the river's edge. Charity was delighted with the sparkling water and the birds which flew over -and floated on the surface of the brackish tributary. It was too beautiful a day to worry about tomorrow, or even to be too concerned with the squire's gnarled hand that held one of hers fast. "What's that one?" she cried. "There! With the big head!"

The squire strained his eyes. "Oh, that's a kingfisher."

"Why do they call him that? Do they catch fish?"

"I suppose they do. Damn it, woman, I'm a planter, not a bird-watcher," he protested, not unkindly. "They do make their nests in the riverbanks," he added gruffly. He signaled to the driver. "Stop here, George. Go take a walk or something. I want to speak with Mistress Caroline—alone."

Through downcast eyes, Charity watched the black man walk away. He'd ask her now, and she'd say yes. She'd put Jamie out of her mind for good. She'd not seen him in several weeks. Elizabeth had said he was away on business.

"Mistress, it's time we had plain talk," the old man said. "No more games between us. You've seen me and what I can offer you. I'm not a rich man; I'm the first to say so. I come from good stock, the best. No titles for us, but the Moreland name is without shame."

"Squire..."

"Call me Richard," he insisted. His eyes narrowed; he did not loosen his grip on her hand. "You've seen Moreland House. My oldest son, of course, will inherit it when I die. But if we marry, you'll always have a home there and a goodly portion."

"You are most generous, sir," Charity simpered. "It is a lovely house."

"Well and good, but you're not mistress there yet, you know. In short, young woman, I want you to come clean! What's wrong with you? A girl with your looks, even without a dowry, you could have looked higher. Why did you come to Maryland? What have you done that your parents sent you away?"

Charity blinked and offered a silent Hail Mary. Her throat tightened with fear; her mind scrambled for some believable answer.

"Speak up, Caroline! I'll have no lies between us! Elizabeth is a shrewd horsetrader, but I'm not the fool you may think I am. I'm too old and too poor for the likes of you." His face reddened and the startling blue eyes drilled into hers. "Well? Have you a woods colt hidden away somewhere? I'll raise no bastard children, I warn you! Have you run off from a lawful husband?"

Charity giggled. "No, sir! Nothing like that. Oh, please, Squire Moreland... Richard. I'm not laughing at you." She forced herself to slide closer. "It's that I was so silly as to try and deceive you." She raised a white-gloved hand. "I am a virgin maid, I swear." She blushed and lowered her head prettily. "I have no terrible secrets, unless you count that I am a Catholic."

"I guessed as much. But a wife of mine will attend my church. What you do in private is your own matter. In public, you will do as I do." He released her hand and brought a handkerchief to his lips to cover a cough. "I did not mean to insult you, mistress. But I will have all of the truth—and I will have it now!" He broke into a spasm of coughing and Charity patted his back.

"There, there, Richard. You've disturbed yourself. I meant to confide in you, truly. It was just a matter of when. Since you had not formally asked for my hand in marriage, I felt..." Her voice cracked. "I did not wish to be thought forward."

"I'm waiting."

"I did run away from my parents, in a manner of speaking. It was my mother's wish that I should enter a convent."

"You? Become a nun?" He chuckled, color draining from his florid features. "I would hardly think..."

"Since I was a child, it has been my desire to marry... to become a wife and..." She blushed. "A mother." She drew herself up and gazed at him serenely. "I hope I have a proper concern for my soul, Richard. But I felt no calling for the church."

"A waste, I say."

"My father agrees with you, sir. But my mother is not always in the best of health. He would not go against her on this matter. It was decided when I was twelve that I would serve God. Two years ago, my dowry was sent to the convent."

"And you with it?" He rolled the handkerchief into a ball and stuffed it into a pocket. "Did you actually enter"—he searched for the proper words—"such a religious house?"

Charity sighed. Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "No, I did not. I feigned illness; I made one excuse after another. And when it seemed that I had no other alternative, I fled to the safety of a married sister's home. It was she who arranged my passage to Aunt Elizabeth."

"And your parents? Where do they think you have gone?" The squire settled back and took an ornate snuffbox from his vest. Pinching a bit between thumb and forefinger, he tucked it under his lip. The chit had more fire than he'd imagined! It must have taken imagination and bravery to travel to the New World alone.

Charity managed to appear shocked. "Oh, Squire Moreland. Of certain they know I am in good hands. My sister sent word as soon as I arrived at her townhouse. Father has given his blessing, of a sort. My dowry is lost, as I have explained. There can be no question of it being returned. It belongs to the church." She flashed a smile. "But I am free to make a suitable match, as long as Aunt Elizabeth gives her permission." She chuckled. "Father, I'm sure, is relieved. And Mother will get over it. I have a younger sister who is much more obedient and pious. Father will doubtless send Kathryn in my place. She will be content, Father will get out of providing her with a dowry, and my sainted mother will have a daughter in the church."

"So your secret is out." Moreland slapped his knee in good humor. "A disobedient daughter and not a lightskirt!" He laughed. "I believe you, Caroline. Upon my soul, I do. And although I do not approve of lack of respect for one's parents, I can understand your plight. Therefore, our business is settled." He cleared his throat. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Satisfaction flowed through Charity's body. She had won! Carefully she kept her eyes down to hide the triumph. She chose her words with caution. "I am honored. But marriage is a most serious step. The last months have been so..." She clasped her hands together. "May I have a little time, sir? I would wish to be absolutely certain."

"A little time is reasonable. But I have not as many years ahead of me as you. I will give you until harvest. Give me a definite answer by then, or I shall court another." The beady eyes were hard. "I have business in Philadelphia in October. That would do for a wedding trip, you know. I have asked you fairly, and you are my first choice. But if you'd prefer a younger man, there is a widow in Oxford who would welcome my attentions."

Charity twisted a lock of gold hair around her finger. "I will pray for guidance, Richard. You shall have your answer by the first of September. And I sincerely hope that we shall remain the best of friends, no matter the outcome."

* * *

The whippoorwill's plaintive call broke through Charity's restless slumber and she sat bolt upright, heart pounding, as she tried to shake the terrors of her nightmare.

Moonlight flooded through the tall windows, spilling across the blood-red Chinese carpet and laying a frosting of spun sugar over the embroidered coverlet of the four-poster. A breeze stirred the curtains, bringing the scent of honeysuckle mingled with roses into the bedchamber.

It was her nose that convinced Charity where she was. Ears and eyes might lie, but her sense of smell never would. She shuddered and threw back the linen sheet; it was soaked with sweat. She slid her bare legs over the edge of the high bed and reached for a wrapper to cover her nakedness.

She had been dreaming of Newgate Prison. Again. The moans and shrieks of the inmates still rang in the dark places of her heart; her blood ran chill. The smell of that awful structure... the inhumanity of the guards...

Charity crossed to the open window. She would block it from her mind. The months of imprisonment were behind her; they could not touch her here... not unless she let them. She caught the faint sound of human voices from the garden.

Wasn't that Elizabeth? What was she doing in the garden at this hour of the night? Who was she talking to? Curious, Charity moved quietly out of her room and down the grand staircase. The rear door led to the garden; it stood ajar. She hesitated. It was not in her nature to pry into other people's business. In the warrens of London's dock district, those who intruded in private matters often ended up with their throats cut. Still, she was certain she had heard a man's voice. If there was a problem, perhaps she could be of help.

Charity's bare feet were soundless. Her passing did not even disturb the whippoorwill as he continued his moonlight serenade. The grass was soft, close-cropped and thick as a carpet. The chirping of crickets and the far-off hoot of an owl were evident, but no further sound of human speech. Charity stood motionless, deciding which way to go.

The garden was large and shadowy despite the brilliant moon. She strained her ears for the voices. Yes... there it was again! They seemed to be coming from the holly maze.

"Fool!"

That was Elizabeth, certainly. She sounded angry. The reply was muffled... deeper, but a man's voice. Silently the girl padded toward the outer edges of the maze.

"Too many chances! I warned you..."

"Without chance there is no gain."

Jamie's voice. There could be no mistake. But what were they about? Why here and now like thieves in the night? She heard her own name and drew closer, treading on a fallen holly leaf. She winced and stood on one foot to pull out the sticker. Served her right for being fool enough to come out shoeless!

Elizabeth now. "There's no reason to involve her in this. In a few months she'll be safely married and out of the house. She's sharp. How long before she becomes suspicious?"

"Then we must be more careful. My arm will heal. It was dangerous for too many people to try and change the plans. I only wanted you to hear it from me before news came from another source."

"I'll not lose all I've worked for because of your impulsiveness. Be more cautious in the future, or our partnership is at an end."

"I have more to lose in this than you."

"No, Jamie, I don't believe you do. And stay away from Char—from Caroline too. I've come to care a great deal for her, more than you could understand. I won't have her hurt."

"You think she'll be happier as the wife of Richard Moreland?"

"I know so. She needs security, Jamie. That's something you could never give her."

Jamie laughed. "I suppose I've none to spare."

Charity pressed closer to the intertwined hollies as the voices grew louder. If only the moon weren't so bright! Something scurried away inches from her bare feet. Charity shut her eyes and breathed as quietly as she could. They must not find her here. Whatever Elizabeth and Jamie Drummond were involved in, she had heard too much.

Elizabeth emerged from the maze and crossed the lawn not ten feet from where Charity stood. She paused on the step and looked back. "Be careful. I care a great deal about your welfare too." She went in and closed the heavy door behind her.

Charity held her breath. She had lost track of Jamie. Where was he? She waited for what seemed like hours. There was no sound but the drone of insects and the repeated song of the whippoorwill. Had he gone?

She eased back a half step; her muscles were in agony from standing still so long. A twig snapped beneath her foot and she let out a gasp of pain as another holly leaf pierced her heel.

Without warning, strong hands seized her and threw her to the ground. A hand clamped over her mouth. "What are you doing here?" a voice rasped. "How dare you spy on your mistress?" A male face loomed over hers. "Charity!" Jamie's laughter was sarcastic. "I should have known it would be you! Damn it to hell!"

Still holding the hand firmly over her mouth, he gathered her struggling body into his arms and carried her back into the maze.

"Let... me... go!" Her protest was violent if muffled. Her fists beat a tattoo against his head and shoulder. "Put... me... down!" Even as she struggled, she was aware that he was striding deeper and deeper into the maze. Fear coursed through her veins. Was he going to kill her?

Charity had been in the maze only once. She'd taken a skein of wool from the cloth house and had tried to find her way to the center. The narrow path had twisted and turned, doubling back upon itself over and over again. The holly was higher than her head, grown together into a living roof in places. Elizabeth had called her from the game, and she had never had the time to try again.

Jamie sat her down hard on something solid. "I'll let go of your mouth if you promise to keep quiet. Do you?"

There was no arguing with that commanding tone. She nodded, lowering her fists. Cautiously he removed his hand. "Why—"

His rigid features cut off her question in midsentence. Moonlight played upon the highlights of his face; his eyes were hooded. Charity shivered. She did not know this man. Who and what was he?

Lips tightly compressed, he stepped back and regarded her intently. Unconsciously he rubbed at his left arm. A dark stain showed through the white linen of his shirt. "Must you always do me physical damage?" he asked caustically.

"Oh," she cried. "You're hurt." She made to rise and go to him, but he waved her back to the bench.

The circle in the center of the maze was small, perhaps twelve feet across. Charity glanced around to see which direction the entrance was. There were three openings. Warily she glanced back at Jamie. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Why were you spying on us? How much did you hear?"

"I wasn't spying... well... I didn't mean to. Not at first. I heard you arguing. Rather I heard someone arguing with Elizabeth and I went to see if she needed my help."

"And naturally you hid and listened."

"No! It wasn't like that. I heard you talking about me. What is it you don't want me to find out?"

He dropped to the bench beside her. "Are you lying again?"

"If I was, do ye think I'd say so?"

For the first time Jamie seemed to notice her state of undress. Charity felt her pulse quicken under his unwavering scrutiny. The fear which had gripped her was gone. His face softened.

She touched his arm gently. "I never meant to hurt your arm. Why did you grab me so? I'd not have screamed if you spoke to me like a gentleman. Whatever you and Elizabeth are about, it's none of my business. I can hold my tongue, I swear it."

Jamie chuckled. "'And she as much in love, her means much less to meet her new-beloved anywhere: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, tempering extremities with extreme sweet.'"

"Have you lost your senses?" Tendrils of her hair spilled around the heart-shaped face as she leaned toward him. "Jamie, are you daft to mouth such nonsense?"

The chuckle turned to low laughter. "'Tis from a play, Charity sweet. Lines from a play. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. Did you know I trod the boards?"

Charity looked at him quizzically, her eyes childlike in the moon's brilliance. "I don't understand. You mean you were an actor of sorts?"

"Of sorts. I had a natural flair for it. When I was fifteen, I ran away from home and joined a company of actors. I never got to play Romeo, of course. But I might have if my father's men hadn't caught up with me. I was with them a year." One finger stroked her cheek. "No Juliet ever looked as beautiful as you do tonight," he continued seriously. His finger brushed across her full lower lip. "This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower."

Charity jerked away. "No need to make fun of me. I'm not ignorant. I been to plays in London. Mam had an actor for a protector one winter."

He caught at her hand, raising it to his lips. "The words are not mine... but they were written about someone very like you." Jamie brought the tips of her fingers to his lips, then turned her hand in his to kiss the pulse of her wrist. "I make no mock of you," he murmured. She made a slight sound of protest, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

A flicker of excitement caused her to tremble. How easily she fit in his arms; how naturally her body seemed to mold to his. Jamie's tender kiss deepened, and Charity's lips parted to taste the sweetness of his tongue. She sighed a soft moan of desire. A sweet ache in her loins forced her to press closer, ever closer. Their tongues touched tentatively, and the tingling sensation moved up through her knees, leaving Charity weak with longing.

The heady masculine smell of him filled her brain. Her skin felt velvet-soft; her breathing quickened. Jamie's kisses grew steadily more fervent, sending a river of passion through her veins. Her moans of delight mingled with his as the aching within intensified into an overwhelming need.

A shudder of ecstasy passed through her body as Jamie's lips trailed down her throat and lingered on the swelling of her breast above the dressing gown. Vaguely she became aware of his fingers fumbling with the tie.

With a murmur of assent, Charity drew his head down until his lips touched the softness of her nipple. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as he gently caressed it with the tip of his tongue, then took it between his lips and tugged gently.

The moon broke through the clouds overhead, illuminating the secluded bower with the soft glow of an enchanted sunrise. Charity's senses reeled. The beauty of the night... the sensual joy of Jamie's touch overwhelmed her. "I love you," she whispered.

"Sweet... little sweet." His free hand sought her other breast, stroking and teasing until her nipples hardened and stung with the ache to be kissed, igniting the molten fire within her.

"I've never..." Their lips met again, sending a flood of hot, tingling desire through her brain, silencing all her doubts... pushing back reason.

"I've dreamed about you," Jamie said hoarsely. "About touching you like this... loving you." His hand slid down her bare thigh. "Beautiful Charity... beautiful little sweet."

Languidly she lay back against him, her head against the hollow of his throat. There was no sound but their own breathing, as though they were alone in a private world. Charity raised one hand to stroke the line of his jaw, then moved slowly to pull his head closer. "I've never done this before," she repeated. "Not with anyone." Jamie's hand brushed the tangle of curls between her legs, and she felt the moistness gather a heartbeat away.

Shyly she began to explore Jamie's body with her own hands, slipping them inside his shirt to caress the muscles of his chest and shoulders. His breathing told her of the urgency of his arousal before her searching fingers found the undeniable proof. A delicious chuckle spilled from her lips.

"Witch," he accused. Laughing, they slipped into the soft grass. Charity lay on her back in the moonlight; Jamie stretched above her, propped on one knee and elbow. "I want you as I've never wanted another woman," he admitted thickly. He pressed her back into the cushiony turf, kissing her lips, her eyelids, and the soft, sweet places of her throat. "Let me kiss you, darling... all over."

A velvet-soft tongue flicked across her nipples until she clung to him, raking his back with her nails. Jamie, she cried wordlessly. His fingers touched her throbbing mound and he breathed kisses against the blond curls.

"Let me..." he coaxed. "Please..." Her thighs parted for his caress.

"Caroline!" A loud voice calling her name brought Charity crashing down to earth. She rolled over, clasping the dressing gown about her.

Cursing under his breath, Jamie fumbled to secure his clothing.

"Caroline!"

"That's Elizabeth," he said. "Damn it to hell! She can't find us here like this." He helped Charity to her feet and brushed the grass from her hair. "Tie that damned gown shut or I'll have you with or without Elizabeth," he threatened.

White-faced, Charity did as she was told. What had come over her? Another few moments and she would have been a maid no longer! Was the sin of lust so heavy on her soul that she would give up all for a roll in the grass? "What will I tell Elizabeth?" she begged.

"Tell her nothing. Don't say you've seen me tonight." He paused and kissed her swiftly. "Soon, my sweet. And the next time there'll be no interruptions!" He ducked through one of the gaps in the holly and was gone.

Elizabeth's voice came again. "Caroline! Are you out here?"

Charity clasped her arms around her middle. What should she do? If she answered, would not Elizabeth meet Jamie in the maze? What excuse could they give then? It would be plain what they had been doing. Elizabeth would throw her off the plantation for a slut and harlot! But if she didn't answer... if she didn't call out, she'd never find her way out of the maze in the dark!