Sarah held her teacup in her lap, crossing her ankles beneath the chair on the shady lawn in front of the Government House. She dabbed a napkin on her mouth to make sure there were no remaining crumbs from the biscuit she’d eaten and tipped her head as she regarded her companions. She reminded herself how fortunate she was to be invited to tea by the governor’s wife with a small group of local ladies. Sarah kept her back straight—Aunt Hortensia would have been proud—and tried to hold a pleasant expression on her face while wondering how much longer until she could graciously make an excuse to leave.
She looked across the patch of lawn, green against the brown dirt that covered the rest of town. The Government House was situated on a rise, giving a splendid view. From here, she could see the river winding between clusters of trees. In the distance, the rocky mountains with their green slopes were stunning against a clear blue sky.
Smoke rose from the blacksmith’s forge in town. The lack of a breeze left it hanging over the grouping of wooden structures and stone houses that made up Parramatta. Above, a crow cawed in the large gum tree that gave shade to the women. It was answered by the shrill notes of a caged parakeet on the porch. She watched a tall crane stalk across the grass. Spring was in full bloom in Parramatta. Geraniums and other bright flowers grew in the beds surrounding the house. Orchards bore blossoms on their branches, filling the air with perfume, and tall Norfolk Pines towered like sentinels above the thick canopy of the gum trees.
Elizabeth Macquarie was a fine hostess. She served real British tea instead of the usual colonial brew of “sweet tea” made from eucalyptus leaves. As she poured out, she spoke of her new son, born only a few months earlier, and of the changes she planned to make to the residence during the summer. The other ladies nodded and commented. Sarah pretended to listen to the conversation, but her mind had wandered back to her farm. Being away for an entire day this time of year was extremely inconvenient. Not just for her, but the journey into town had required two men to accompany her, along with Molly, her lady’s maid. Tom drove the carriage, and Walter rode along with him to ensure they weren’t set upon by bushrangers or hostile aborigines.
She knew those remaining at the farm would have to compensate by working longer hours today. With new lambs and spring shearing, every person was needed. And now that Bill was gone . . .
She tightened her jaw as she remembered the frustration of returning from an unfruitful meeting with the colonial secretary in Sydney to find that Mr. Burton had not only taken the land she’d wanted but had appropriated her foreman as well. It seemed her new neighbor was determined to make himself her nemesis. She reached forward and snatched up another biscuit, biting into it a bit more forcefully than was necessary.
“Have you made the acquaintance of Mr. Daniel Burton?”
At the question, she started and nearly choked. Her gaze snapped toward the woman who’d spoken, and Sarah realized her face had flushed with heat. But an innocently curious expression convinced Sarah that Dorthea Iverson hadn’t seen her thoughts.
Dorthea was not the sort of person to have a hidden agenda in her words. She was a young woman close to Sarah’s age, married a few years earlier to a lieutenant in the local regiment. Sarah relaxed and chewed the crumbly bite. The mention of the very person she was thinking of was only a coincidence. Hardly unusual within such a small society. Dorthea’s brows rose as she took a sip of tea.
“Oh yes.” Minerva Pierce shifted her ample backside in the delicate armchair, reaching herself for another biscuit. Minerva’s husband was the supervisor of the local government farm, and she had taken on herself to be the supervisor of the local gossip. “What a charming young man. And so handsome. Mr. Pierce and I were introduced to him after Reverend Marsden’s service on Sunday. I think we are likely to become good friends with Mr. Burton. Mr. Pierce is already talking about inviting him for a ’roo hunt with the officers next week—”
“Have you met him, Sarah?” Dorthea cut off what was certain to be a flood of words by Minerva. A small tick of her brow was the only indication of a shared annoyance with their companion’s tendency to chatter long after anyone had stopped listening.
“Yes, I’ve met him.” Sarah said. She brushed crumbs from her fingers.
A servant came from the house and whispered to their hostess. Elizabeth excused herself to attend to the baby.
Dorthea’s gaze hadn’t left Sarah’s face. “He is very handsome, don’t you think?”
“He?” Sarah asked, turning her attention to folding her napkin.
“Mr. Burton.” Dorthea tipped her head, lowering her eyes to half-mast as if she didn’t believe for one second that Sarah had forgotten who they were speaking about. “A land owner, polite, unattached—even you can have no objections, Miss Whitaker.”
“He’s American,” Sarah said.
“Well, then that is surely his only flaw. If D’Arcy Wentworth—a highwayman, if you can believe it—can be the new Sydney police chief, surely you can see past your handsome neighbor’s unfortunate origins.” Dorthea winked.
Sarah opened her mouth to deliver a witty comeback at her friend’s audacity—the mere implication made her fume. As if she would ever consider that man to be the slightest bit acceptable.
“Mr. Pierce and I think Governor Macquarie has lost his mind,” Minerva broke in before Sarah had a chance to speak. Her eyes darted toward the door Elizabeth had just entered. “Appointing such a man as police chief. We are utterly furious that he’s assigned thieves to serve as magistrates. Did you know former convicts dine here at the Government House? They own fine homes and land.” She shifted again, making the wooden chair creak ominously and leaned forward, no doubt worried her words would be overheard. “They think themselves worthy of equal status with the rest of us. Really, it is too much to be borne. You, of all people should be of the same mind, Miss Whitaker. After what you’ve endured . . .”
Sarah felt a flush of heat in her cheeks at the reminder. “I—” She realized she had twisted Mrs. Macquarie’s napkin into a tight ball. She smoothed it on her legs. “We should be wary when trusting anyone.” Her answer was trite, but she feared if she said more, she’d unleash a torrent of angry words. Or emotion would get the better of her, which would be equally uncomfortable. Best to remain quiet.
She’d met D’Arcy Wentworth and thought him a polite, capable man, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. As a child, she’d believed all people to be inherently good, but now . . . Now she bestowed her trust but seldomly, being especially cautious around those who’d made a career out of deception and been sent to the penal colony. It was a lesson she’d learned repeatedly over the years. Those who seemed to have her best interest in mind were just waiting for a chance to take advantage. She’d found the truth of this painfully for the last time two years earlier. Now she trusted very few—and never criminals, no matter what the governor might say.
Sarah folded her hands together and gave the ladies a polite smile. “I am sure the governor did not just appoint Mr. Wentworth without giving the decision proper consideration.”
Minerva Pierce gave a snort. “What consideration would possibly lead to such a reckless decision? It is insufferable, I tell you.”
Dorthea rolled her eyes when Minerva looked down at the plate of biscuits. “The governor believes in reform, Minerva. When a person’s time is served, their record is clean.”
“Once a criminal, always a criminal, Mr. Pierce and I agree on that fact. We utterly refuse to do business with felons, and we recommend you do the same.”
Another tick of Dorthea’s brow had Sarah fighting to hold back a smile. They had both heard rumors about Mr. Pierce’s dealings with convicts, especially those ladies with less than honorable morals. Sarah avoided the man and his leers at all costs. Thank goodness for her friend’s humor. In truth, former convicts owned more than half the property and private businesses in the colony. If the free settlers really did refuse to do business with them, the economy would collapse. But from experience, she and Dorthea knew Minerva Pierce was more interested in gossip and indignation than business reasoning, and so neither posed an argument.
“This is why it’s so nice to have people like Mr. Burton come into the neighborhood. Respectable men.” Dorthea’s smile bordered on a smirk as she wagged her brows. “I wager he’ll dance with you at the governor’s ball next week, Miss Whitaker.”
“We will see.” Sarah lifted a shoulder in a shrug. She was glad for the change of topic, although she wished it hadn’t moved in the direction Dorthea had chosen. The heat threatened to rise back in her cheeks. She hadn’t told her friend how Daniel had asked for a dance nor how she’d felt a connection to the man that day at the creek. And she was glad only Bill knew of how foolishly she’d acted.
“Mr. Pierce and I plan to have Mr. Daniel Burton to supper. He must be lonely with only servants and sheep to talk to all day,” Minerva said.
How tragic, indeed. Sarah closed her eyes and tried not to let her irritation show. She didn’t mention that on her farm, she was every bit as isolated as Mr. Daniel Burton. And far too busy to feel lonely. But, she reminded herself, she was perfectly happy living alone. A fact that seemed unfathomable to the ladies with whom she associated.
Sarah took another bite of her sweet biscuit. She was used to the married women trying to play matchmaker, especially now that she lived alone. It seemed these women couldn’t be satisfied while there were still unattached persons among their acquaintance, making it their personal business to resolve the travesty.
Sarah had entertained various offers during the last few years. With twenty men to every woman in this part of the colony, she’d had her pick of suitors, but each man she’d seriously considered had promised to take over the maintenance of the farm so she could concentrate on throwing garden parties, serving tea, and having babies. Even amid her protests that she loved managing the farm, they’d all wanted her to change.
Why must she become a different person just to be a wife? Why couldn’t a man see that she managed the farm because it was her duty, a legacy begun and left to her by her father? It gave her purpose and made her feel close to a father taken too soon from her life. She did it because she loved it not because there was no husband available to do the work.
Sarah was certain that a man didn’t exist who would understand her desire to be something so unladylike as a farm manager, and so she resigned herself to being an improvement project for the married women.
She looked up when Elizabeth returned, glad for a distraction. Sarah set her tea cup on the low table and spoke before anyone brought up Mr. Burton again. “Mrs. Macquarie, tell us about the Great Western Road over the Blue Mountains.” Sarah was fascinated and a little frightened by the idea of the colony spreading to the areas beyond the ring of mountains that surrounded Port Jackson and Sydney Town.
Elizabeth seemed happy to describe her husband’s project to settle the farmland to the west of the mountains and the expedition that had discovered a path through the deep gorges and thick scrub to the arable land beyond.
As she listened to the women talk about a proposed settlement in Bathurst, Sarah saw a trio of red-coated officers approaching the house. She recognized two of them. Lieutenant Mason and Major Blackhurst of the Seventy-Third Regiment were long-time residents of the colony, but the third man was a stranger.
When the officers drew near, the ladies rose.
Elizabeth held out a hand in welcome. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. The governor told me you would be meeting with him today.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Macquarie,” Lieutenant Mason said, clicking his heels together sharply and bowing. “If I might introduce you to Sergeant Conall Stewart, lately arrived on the Bollerophon.”
Elizabeth greeted Sergeant Stewart, and the ladies curtseyed in turn as they were introduced.
“From whence did you arrive, Sergeant?” Minerva asked.
“Most recently from Portsmouth, madam. But before tha’, my regiment fought at Mauritius.”
Sarah liked hearing the way he pronounced the name of the French island with his thick Scottish brogue. She studied him. Sergeant Stewart was tall with wide shoulders and a broad chin. He carried himself with an air of authority befitting of his rank, but there was gentleness about his eyes that made Sarah think he was a kind person.
“I heard a plot was discovered in Mauritius.” Dorthea pushed her hand against her heart and leaned forward as if she might be overheard. “The emperor planned to invade Sydney. We owe you our thanks, Sergeant.”
“Aye, I’ve heard the rumors as well, Mrs. Iverson. But I’m afraid I can’t verify. You’d need to ask the commissioned officers. My job was tellin’ the men which way to shoot.”
“And are you from Scotland, Sergeant?” Minerva asked.
Sarah nearly rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the question. She didn’t think the sergeant could act any more obviously Scottish if he carried bagpipes and wore a tartan kilt.
Sergeant Stewart smiled, but his eyes dimmed the slightest bit. “Aye, though ’s been ten years since I’ve seen me Highlands. If only we’d defeated Napoleon himself, instead o’ a small French island, I might be home by now.”
“But at least he’s on Elba,” Sarah said.
“And with any luck, there he’ll remain.” Sergeant Stewart nodded. He glanced at the other officers.
Major Blackhurst tipped his head toward the house. Sergeant Stewart bowed again, and the men excused themselves to meet with the governor.
Sarah thought about what an amiable man Sergeant Stewart was. Surely he would be at the governor’s ball next week, and perhaps she would have another opportunity to talk with him. It was nice to meet a new person who didn’t seem determined to destroy her life. Maybe Mr. Burton could take a page from the sergeant’s book.
She sat back in her chair. The sergeant was no doubt acquainted with Daniel Burton. They had arrived on the same ship. She wondered what the marine thought about him.
Sarah pressed her lips together, annoyed. Again her mind had turned to her neighbor without her permission. She’d have to watch her thoughts more closely because thinking of Daniel Burton and his deceptively handsome smile and teasing words had the unwelcome effect of making Mrs. Macquarie’s imported tea roil inside Sarah’s stomach.