Chapter 17

Jamie sailed for England four days later. Charity stood on the dock at Widow's Endeavor as the sloop's sail became smaller and smaller. There were no tears on this cold, bright morning. Charity felt as cold inside as the scattered chunks of ice floating against the dock and washing against the sandy beach.

He was gone. First to Annapolis and then across the ocean to England. "Four months traveling, a few weeks to settle my affairs," Jamie had promised. "I'll bring you back a gown for our wedding."

An inner voice denied his words even as he spoke them. A rising fear, so thick and ominous that she could almost taste it, filled her mind and sent shivers of pain through the core of her being. He's not coming back. Oh, Jamie...

Charity held her hands together so tightly the nails cut into the palms of her hand and she murmured a prayer for safe passage for the man she loved.

Elizabeth laughed away her fears. "Don't be misled by his outer appearance, child. James Drummond will do what is right. His family needs him. You can't expect him to ignore that plea because you two can't bear to be separated for a few months."

"But I'm afraid he..." Charity's green eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

"Trust him, Caroline. If he can't be trusted then you don't want to give him the rest of your life. Lord Deale and I had that much at least. We trusted each other." She smiled, a faint smile of remembrance. "We were friends, real friends... a rare enough thing in marriage. If you and James have that, it will last when you're too old for anything else." Elizabeth quickened her step. "Enough moping. You'll not spend the next few months idly. Go and put on your warmest riding habit and a thick cloak. The men will be preparing seed beds in the woods for planting tobacco. You must ride out with me and see exactly how it's done."

"Plant tobacco in the woods?" Charity looked unconvinced.

Elizabeth laughed. "Tobacco is hand work at every step. First the seed beds to be planted in January or early February, then transplanted into the fields in late May. Each plant must be hand carried, planted, and replanted. They must be watered and cared for like infants. It's a demanding business, growing tobacco. But it is the lifeblood of a Tidewater planter. You must learn it all, Caroline. I told you this country has no place for an idle woman." She drew on thick gloves. "A Tidewater marriage is a partnership, never forget it."

"Anything I can do to help you, I will gladly. And I do want to learn all I can to be a proper colonial wife." Pray that I get the chance, she added silently.

"Hurry then and dress. We must take advantage of this break in the weather." Elizabeth watched as Charity hurried up the steps. Despite her own words, she had doubts. England was far away, and no winter crossing was easy. The ship could be taken by pirates or sunk by storm. James could fall victim to sickness or his quick temper. Charity had every right to worry.

Shaking off the foreboding, Elizabeth called to a servant, ordering that horses be saddled. The thing to do was to keep Charity busy. Whatever came, came. Twould do no good to worry beforehand. If tears must be shed, why shed them now?

Unhappiness was the lot of woman, along with joy. Charity was strong; whatever came she could face.

Elizabeth walked toward the barn with a purposeful stride, unable to keep from offering a quiet prayer of her own for the young man who was the closest thing to a son she had ever known. "Safe journey, James. Safe journey and a quick return," she whispered.

Charity's days passed slowly but the nights were agony. She lay awake for hours, imagining all sort of dangers, seeing Jamie washed overboard, or knifed in his sleep as the Virginian had been. The Constance might be stopped on the high seas by a Royal Navy vessel and the passengers pressed into service as many before them had been.

Would he forget her once he was home in England? Would his promises be worthless now that they were separated by so many miles of empty ocean? Would he give his heart to another? Someone more suited to be his wife? Someone sweet and ladylike?

And when sleep did come, her dreams were of Jamie lying beside her... kissing her... touching her. It was so very real she could not believe she was alone when she opened her eyes.

Elizabeth noticed the dark shadows under those eyes and the lack of color in Charity's cheeks. "I've been working you too hard," she said. Perhaps she had. The lessons had continued, filling the evenings as plantation duties had filled the days. "We've both been working too hard. We'll take the day off and visit Harry. I haven't heard a word from him since Christmas."

"I'd rather not," Charity replied. "I was going to check the wine cellar this morning as you asked. And Martha thought the first of the lambs might be born today."

"Nonsense. We'll ride over to Avalon right after breakfast. The fresh air will do you good, put some roses back in your cheeks. James will never forgive me if he comes home to find you looking like a wizened apple."

They had ridden across the frozen fields and picked up the road on the far side of Widow's Endeavor. Duchess, happy to be out of the stable, stepped along at a smart pace. To her surprise, Charity found she was enjoying the ride and the morning.

Elizabeth pointed out a flock of ducks flying in a V formation over their heads. "They winter in the marshes and creeks," she explained. "They're too far away to tell what kind they are."

Charity listened to the sound they made. The sky was very blue and without a single cloud. The ducks passed over and soon disappeared. The animals' hooves thudded softly against the hard ground; their breath made little white puffs in the frosty air.

"Are you ever lonely here?" Charity asked. Now that the ducks were gone, there was no sign of life. The fields were empty, without workers or farm animals. Once again, Charity was overcome by the enormity of America. The immense vacant lands seemed to stretch forever beyond the western horizon. It frightened and thrilled her at the same time.

Elizabeth smiled. "Not since you came. Come on, I'll race you." She rose slightly and tapped her mare with a leather quirt. The sorrel leaped ahead and settled into a steady canter.

Duchess followed suit; Charity concentrated on holding on to the reins and not losing her seat. Even though her riding had improved greatly since summer, she was taking no chances. The frozen ground was much too hard to fall on this morning.

No matter how often Charity visited Avalon, she always had the same feeling of awe. The King's palace in London must not be half so fine as this enormous brick manor house, she thought. Two grooms in scarlet livery ran to hold their horses as they trotted into the brick courtyard. Charity dismounted, her eyes still fastened on the beautiful home.

Elizabeth led the way, sweeping graciously into the wide center hall as the butler held open the elegant double doors. A magnificent staircase curved up a full three stories, the banister a shining work of art with its hand-carved balusters and string. Elizabeth told Charity that a master cabinetmaker had worked for two years on the grand staircase alone when Avalon was constructed.

Charity tried not to stare at the foreboding portraits with their ghostly countenances. "Belowstairs, wench!" they seemed to shout. "Back to the scullery where you belong!"

Charity looked away, her glanced resting on a highly polished table that must be hundreds of years old. The furniture was dark and heavy and all too valuable for her to consider sitting on.

Lord Beauford greeted them warmly. Charity stifled a giggle at his banyan and tasseled cap; the silk dressing gown was a mass of brilliant flowers and exotic birds. Reds and greens and blues all vied for attention, almost hiding the wrinkled face of the old lord between cap and gown. "Come in, come in," he repeated. "Wonderful to have you here, wonderful."

He led them into a small sitting room with a blazing fire. "Here I was feeling sorry for myself," he confided, "wondering how I would fill the day. And two beautiful women appear at my doorstep. Glad to have you." He hugged Elizabeth and planted a warm, dry kiss on Charity's cheek. The old man smelled of tobacco and a spice Charity couldn't identify.

"Sit down, sit down." He motioned to a serving girl. "Chocolate for the ladies."

Charity took a seat near the fire, noticing that a book lay open on the tea table, a pair of spectacles beside it. A cat rubbed against her ankle and she bent to stroke the purring head.

"Old puss keeps me company, she does," Harry chuckled. "You'll love the chocolate. Just the thing to warm your insides. I am glad to see you both. I was going to come and see you. I have news for you of your neighbor Drummond."

"Of Jamie?" Charity sat upright in the chair. "But there's been no time. He couldn't possibly be in London yet."

"Has something happened to the Constance?" Elizabeth demanded. He'd not been gone yet a month, and it was eight weeks' sailing time at the best.

Lord Beauford threw up his hands in mock alarm. "Must you women always think the worst?" He reached for a long-handled clay pipe and carefully loaded it with tobacco. "Tidewater oronooko," he assured them. "A special blend I make myself, grown right here on Avalon. Virginia has nothing over on us." Using clamps, he took a coal from the hearth and lit the pipe, then settled back and drew a deep puff. Smoke encircled his head and he smiled at Charity, his eyes twinkling. "Rather good news for you, girl. The best."

Elizabeth leaned forward expectantly. "Well, Harry, are you going to keep us in suspense? What news could you possibly have of Jamie?"

"My brig, the Welsh Princess, docked yesterday in Oxford. Captain Elwood was here last night with letters and news from home. He left Land's End in mid-November."

"But that was weeks before Jamie sailed from Annapolis," Charity interrupted. Elizabeth shot her a glare and she bit her lip.

"As I said," Harry chuckled, "good news, good news for James Drummond and for his bride-to-be. Lord DunCannon has caused a scandal."

"We'd heard the Earl of DunCannon had suffered a stroke and was dying," Elizabeth said.

Harry drew another deep puff on the pipe. His eyes locked with Charity's green ones. "He was alive enough in November. They say he's set aside his legal son and heir and called home his woods colt from the Colonies!"

* * *

Aboard the Constance, Jamie's thoughts were with the girl he had left on the dock at Widow's Endeavor. He leaned against the ice-covered rail, a bitter north wind in his face, and stared at the gray gale-tossed water. A fine cold rain beat against his face, a welcome relief from the stifling quarters below. He wondered again if he had done the right thing in taking sail immediately for England. Charity had been so against the thought of his leaving, so distraught.

He'd been fortunate to book passage at all. Few ships made the perilous crossing in January. In this case, important dispatches for His Majesty from the Maryland Colony necessitated the voyage. There were few civilian passengers.

For three days, the Constance had struggled through rough seas. Her lines and sails were coated with ice, the deck slick and dangerous. Jamie knew he was taking unnecessary chances just being topside. But the confines of the cabin had been worse.

He was not a bad sailor; the pitching and tossing of the ship had not made him ill. But the close quarters and inactivity were maddening. Charity's face lay just behind his eyelids... the smell of her fresh-washed hair, the silken texture of her skin beneath his fingertips. She haunted his dreams and turned the bare cabin into a cell.

Was his father already dead and buried? Was the voyage for naught? Would he and Hugh Thomas be able to settle their differences peaceably?

It had been how long since he had seen his brother? He thought back, counting the months and years. Not only his brother, but his mother. A longing to see her face rose strong within him. If his father were still alive, he would be glad to see him, no matter Lord DunCannon's condition. But Jamie's heart warmed at the thought of his loving mother, and he wished he could have brought Charity to meet her. He knew instinctively that they would have liked each other.

At last, chilled by the wind and rain, Jamie turned from the rail and went below. He'd spend a few more hours on Bold Venture's books, the ones that must be produced for the owners of the plantation, not his private ledgers. A little more, he thought. A little more time and he'd have enough to care for Charity without his brother's bounty. He snorted sarcastically and touched his vest pocket. He'd brought enough gold of his own to buy passage back to the Tidewater if need be. Nothing would keep him from returning in time for their wedding, least of all Hugh Thomas.

* * *

If Lord Beauford's announcement had whitened Charity's face a few shades, the effect was hidden by the winter sun and wind's rose on her cheeks. If she was strangely subdued, Elizabeth might easily have taken it for awe of the earl's magnificent home. In truth, she was deceived by neither.

The ride home was quiet, with each woman locked in her own thoughts. Clouds were moving in, promising rain before nightfall, and the temperature had dropped. The horses did not need to be urged; they were eager for familiar stalls and warm grain.

Charity barely made the safety of her own bedchamber before becoming ill. She locked the door behind her and ran for the china pot. Nausea rose in her throat. "Jamie," she murmured. "Oh, Jamie." What would this mean for him? Would he still be coming home? Overcome by weakness, she was suddenly and violently sick.

A day passed, and then a week. Elizabeth tried to gloss over the threatening rumors, but Charity was unconvinced. And adding to her fears was the undisputable fact that her monthly flow had not come on time. As long as she could remember, she had been as regular as the moon. And now... nothing.

There were other changes in her body that added to her suspicions. Her breasts were swollen and tender, her stomach seemed uneasy after the evening meal, and she was always hungry. Charity had never been pregnant, but she was no fool. She had seen and heard many women who were. She was with child! Conceived the night of the Christmas party, or the day after.

Pregnant. She was pregnant, and Jamie was half a world away. What would she do? His harsh words came back to echo in her head. "You'll have no child of me." Why? He believed himself unable to father a babe... but was that the only reason? Would he blame her for getting pregnant, for shaming him before his neighbors and friends? Would he deny her? What if he never returned to the Tidewater?

And even if he did come back, her condition would show long before he could return. She could be dragged before the parish congregation and publicly denounced as a whore. Elizabeth might even abandon her out of shame. And then questions would be asked, questions about her past that could not be answered.

There were no tears to hide from Lady Deale and the servants. Charity's pain cut deeper than tears. For years she had thought only of her own needs and wants. Now there would be a child to consider, another bastard. Would he curse her when he was old enough to know shame? How had she been so foolish as to let it happen, knowing the cost to be paid by both mother and child?

Men were not blamed for their by-blows. Their reputations did not suffer. If it was a sin to come together unwed, why did God let all the shame be cast on women and babes?

She could not bear the questions that lashed her day and night. She tried to pray for guidance and forgiveness. Desperately she wanted to go to Oxford and see the priest that was reported there to confess her sins, but she dared not take the chance. What if he let slip her secret?

And yet, in her cunning, she played a part. She laughed and joked with Elizabeth, forcing herself to ride out on Duchess almost daily. She walked through the fields, wrapped in a long fur-lined cloak, hoping the exercise and careful eating would keep her slim a little longer.

Lord Beauford met her on one of these walks. It was on the beach. Wind from the bay whipped her hair and turned her cheeks apple-red. The sound of dogs and horses' hooves snatched her from her inner thoughts, and she turned to see the earl and several of his people.

"Caroline! Whatever are you doing out on a day like this?" Harry demanded.

"I might say the same of you, my lord," she answered saucily. "I thought you would be home near the fire."

"The hounds were getting stale. And if I stay off a horse too long, my legs won't wrap around a saddle. But this is no place for a maid." He motioned for his huntsman to take her up behind him on his horse. "We'll carry you home, and I'll trouble Elizabeth for a spot of tea. The dogs struck up a doe and we had a devil of a time getting them under control."

The bay shied sideways. "He won't carry double, my lord," the huntsman said.

"Help her up behind me then," Beauford ordered. In spite of Charity's protests, the man did as he was told.

Charity settled her skirts around her legs and put her arms around the old man's waist. "Thank you, Lord Beauford. It's chillier out here than I thought," she admitted graciously.

Beauford turned the horse's head toward the house. "The rest of you may ride back to Avalon," he said. "I'm capable of escorting the lady home by myself." He held his animal to a walk. "Hang on," he warned. "Caesar's almost as old as I am," he joked. "He'll carry us steady enough."

The earl chatted on easily as they rode. "It's been many a year since I've carried a beautiful woman on horseback." He chuckled. "A man's never too old to take delight in that."

In the saddle, Lord Beauford seemed younger, stronger. He rode with the skill of one who had always been a horseman. It was easy to think of him as Harry, a good friend.

A treasonous idea flickered through her mind and Charity pushed it ruthlessly away. She tried to pay attention to what Beauford was saying.

The thought returned to plague her. Jamie's not coming back. Lord DunCannon will find a place for him. He won't come back. She clenched her eyes tightly and tried to remember Jamie's face as the sloop sailed. You must find another and wed quickly, a voice said. Or else your child, yours and Jamie's, will be born a bastard.

"...he didn't think much of that as you can imagine. Never get prime stock out of poor breeding. George and his father hated the sight of one another. Not that I cared much for the first one, but at least he didn't cheat at: cards." Beauford made a derogatory sound in the back of his throat. "Threatened to send me to the tower, the young whippersnap. King he may be, but he's a poor excuse for a gentleman!"

Charity realized suddenly that Lord Beauford was talking about the King. "You know His Majesty, King George II?" she asked.

"Know him? I'm just telling you I exposed him as a cheat and a liar." Harry chuckled again. "It cost me. Oh, how it cost me. But some things a man just can't let slip by."

"But he didn't have you arrested?"

"He swears he will if I show my face in England. Exile, my girl. I've been sent off to the Colonies to die. But I fooled him. I haven't died yet, and if he isn't careful, I just might outlive him. Sauerkraut-swilling prig!"

Charity giggled. What kind of man was Harry Eames, Earl of Beauford, that he dared to make fun of His Majesty the King? "You are a very brave man, my lord, or a foolish one," she said.

"Some of each, I like to think. And the same might be said of you, Mistress Caroline. Didn't your mother ever teach you to show proper respect for a peer of the realm?"

They laughed together, recognizing that in some ways they were indeed two of a kind. The shared teasing cleared Charity's mind of the unthinkable. Jamie would come back to her as he said he would! They would marry in June as they planned, and he would be happy when he found out that she was carrying his child. She must only be patient and keep faith.

They met Elizabeth coming from the barn, and both women persuaded Lord Beauford to come in for tea. To atone for her guilt, Charity paid close attention to all the old earl's long-winded stories, laughing and questioning at the right places.

Later, when Harry had gone home and Charity was checking the dried fruits and grain in the larder, she reviewed the day in her mind. She would say an extra prayer for Lord Beauford tonight. He was a good man and a good friend. Red crept up her throat as she remembered the voice in her head. Find a husband. The blush covered her face and she turned her head away so the maids couldn't see. Marry the Earl of Beauford? Betray Jamie? She took a deep breath and shook her head. It was the devil whispering in her ears, punishment for her sins. Lord Beauford would never consider marrying me. "Stop it," she said out loud.

Jane's head turned toward her. "Mistress? Were you talkin' to me?"

"No, go on with what you were doing. There must be another crock of peaches here someplace." She must pay attention to what she was doing. The girls would think she was crazy. Maybe she was, with such foolish thoughts in her head. Charity's quill made a large smudge across the page. "Damn."

The black girl's eyebrows went up.

"Here it is, mistress," another servant called. "It was behind the apple leather. The mark for peaches is right on the front."

Charity ripped out the precious page and began again, listing the supplies from the top in neat, painful lettering. I'm unworthy of his love, she thought, to doubt him. There's not even been time for a message to arrive from England.

She worked steadily, listing the crocks of apples and fruit, the barrels of cornmeal and flour, the kegs of sauerkraut and sour pickles until she reached the bottom of the page. Then she read it carefully. Her finger paused, trembling, and her eyes filmed over with salt tears. Halfway down the page, she had written Jamie.

With an anguished cry, she dropped the quill and ran from the larder, leaving the bewildered maids to stare at each other. Why did you leave me? Why? Her unspoken plea went unanswered.