“You are practically giddy,” Philip chided Gray as they drove over to Tabletop to escort the women to Nisbet Plantation for their grand island-wide party.
“I am not,” Gray said. “If there is anything to describe a gentleman, it is never giddy.”
Philip laughed beneath his breath.
“Well, all right,” Gray admitted. “Perhaps I am a tad giddy. But can you blame me, man? Our crops are coming along well, and we get to escort the three most beautiful women on-island to this party, one of whom appears to be rather fond of me.”
“I think they’re all fond of you,” Philip said with a grin. “But yes, one in particular.”
They rode on in silence for a while, bumping and bouncing over the road.
“Let this party not end like the one two months ago,” Gray said. Thoughts of that night—how close he had been to losing Ket—still made him shudder.
“No, no,” Philip said. “That is behind us. Tonight there isn’t a whisper of a storm, only the promise of a big, fat moon reflecting in the sea. It may prove the perfect setting to steal a kiss,” he said, nudging Gray.
“Why, Philip, I’d never allow you such an intimacy,” Gray said with mock outrage. Philip let out a guffaw and shook his head.
They’d reached Tabletop and turned down the lane. The slaves came to their cabin doors, eager to see the men in their finery, and Gray nodded or waved to each. He knew they’d come out again when they drove out with the women.
But when they drove past again, he couldn’t remember seeing them. All he could concentrate on was the thought of Keturah, directly behind him, in a deep-green gown that had the barest hold of each shoulder before plunging in a U-shaped neckline. The skirts of each of their dresses were so wide they could barely fit on the bench side by side. Even so, they had made do, giggling together.
He was in a new jacket and wig himself, the last one lost in the mudslide. And he’d splurged on new stockings and buckled shoes when in Charlestown, intent on cutting a fine figure if he was to meet all those who held any measure of power on Nevis. The memory of Ket’s expression of admiration when she came to the door battled to win sway over the look of her from head to foot . . . every inch a lady. And since she was at last free of her splint, he hoped he could convince her to try at least one dance.
Yes, indeed, I have reason to be giddy this night.
———
Keturah was introduced to Lord and Lady Nisbet, who both greeted her with looks of honest welcome and curiosity. They had been away in England until now. “But we always return in time for the Harvest Moon feast,” Lady Nisbet said. “’Tis a tradition.”
“A tradition in which we are blessed to take part,” Keturah said, curtsying.
“Please,” Lord Nisbet said, “the dancing shall begin shortly. Will you be so kind as to escort these ladies down to the beach?” he asked Gray and Philip.
“Of course,” Gray said.
“What would the man think if he knew Philip was your servant in England?” Ket whispered to him.
“It matters not what we were in England,” Gray said. “Any of us. All that matters is what we are here.”
His words resonated with her. It mattered little that she had once been Edward’s wife, mistress of Clymore Castle. It was true—most were curious about who she was as mistress of Tabletop, and who she intended to be. Other than those who suspected she had a fat inheritance after Edward’s death. If only it had been fatter . . .
Ket shoved away her financial worries. She would have been better served not going through the ledgers that morning before preparing for the party. If there was anything that killed a festive spirit, it was thoughts of money and the clarity on how quickly it was being spent.
Before they reached the sand, they were stopped by a servant who was taking every person’s boots or slippers.
“How perfectly scandalous,” Verity said.
“Indeed it is, lass,” said a voice behind them. “But I rather like it.”
They all turned to greet Captain Duncan McKintrick.
“Why, Captain!” Verity said, bringing a hand to her heart. “You have returned!”
“Indeed I have,” he said, bowing low over her other hand. “For a precious few nights before I set sail again for England. What good fortune for me to find I was in time for the Nisbet party, knowing you would be in attendance.”
“Oh,” she said, mouth rounding prettily. “Me?”
“You and your beautiful sisters,” he added smoothly, finally looking to Ket and Selah. “Do tell me,” he said, settling Verity’s hand through the crook of his arm, “of how things have transpired at Tabletop since we parted company.”
Keturah and Gray shared a knowing look, and Philip offered Selah a brotherly arm. The men—aside from Captain McKintrick—elected to keep their boots, but as appeared customary, every woman shed her slippers. Perhaps it was because they knew they would soon be full of sand, or perhaps it was that each longed to feel as though a barefoot girl again, carefree. Ket herself relished the cool, damp sand seeping between her toes. It was far better this way. And she had to smile when she glimpsed Captain McKintrick’s bare white feet and calves, skin that had not seen the sun in some time. But the man was smiling too much at Ver to notice how the men—and some of the women—stared and hid grins behind fans.
Down at the beach, thirty tents had been erected to provide shelter should it rain. It was a rare evening, however, as there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Servants in livery rotated among the small gatherings clustered together, offering glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Oysters on the shell, sliced beef tongue, bits of cheese, a square of roasted veal wrapped in pastry . . .
“Heavens,” Keturah said, a hand to her belly, “if they keep up with such offerings I shall be quite sated before supper!”
“Never fear,” Gray said with a smile. “Now with your leg at last healed, I mean to escort you through many dances. I shall do my best to make certain you recover your appetite.”
She smiled back at him. “Why, thank you, Gray. That is most kind, looking after my needs.”
“This night my sole hope in the world, m’lady,” he said with a gallant bow and sweep of his hand, “is to dance with you.”
“I do hope that does not preclude me from a few dances myself,” said a voice behind them.
Ket turned. It was Jeffrey Weland and his brother, each eyeing her expectantly.
“Oh, good evening, Mr. Weland,” she said and slipped a hand through the crook of Gray’s arm. “I wish I could accept such a fine invitation, but you see, I have been recently convalescing with a broken leg, so I fear that any of the few dances I can accept this night have been claimed by Mr. Covington alone. I am certain you understand.” She then gave a curtsy and bow of her head.
“Oh. Of course,” he said with obvious disappointment. “’Tis true, then? Are you two . . . engaged?”
Ket glanced at Gray, a hand flying to her cheek. “Oh no, we are not engaged.”
“I have not yet claimed the lady’s hand,” Gray added swiftly, “but I believe I have done a somewhat admirable job in winning her heart.” He looked to Ket, one brow raised.
“Somewhat,” she repeated with a teasing grin.
Gray turned back to the Welands. “It appears I must endeavor to change the lady’s ‘somewhat’ into a fervent ‘completely.’ Good eve, gentlemen,” he finished, leading her away. They angled down the beach to where a platform had been erected, which held an ensemble of musicians. A few couples were already dancing.
“Is that what you’ve been doing since we departed for Nevis, Gray?” she whispered. “Winning my heart?”
“I suppose that is a question best answered by you,” he said.
But as he took her in his arms and they entered the lines of men and women for a folie à huit, as they separated, turned, and came together again and again, the look in her eyes told him what he most needed to know.
He was not simply in the process of winning her heart. Perhaps, perhaps, he had already won it.