Ceressa was still angry at Latimer for the abrupt departure from Lawrence’s. Once the men announced that he’d been elected a burgess, an honor to her way of thinking, he couldn’t get away quickly enough. Now, they walked in uncomfortable silence while crossing what Bengie identified as the State House green. Just beyond the green, Latimer paused before a neat cottage of wattle and daub and opened the wooden gate. There were massive brick chimneys at each end of the story and a half dwelling, and the gabled roof was steeply pitched. Ceressa marveled at the small glass windows, a luxury she’d seen little of since her arrival. Stepping aside, Latimer allowed her to precede him up the oyster shell walk. The sun reflected off the glass, waves of dull gold shimmering on the surface. The door opened, and a kindly faced woman bustled out to meet them.
“Well, if this isn’t a wonder,” the woman declared. “Bengie was saying just this morn that you’d be arrivin’ today. Said he felt it in his bones. Thank the Lord you are here and safe. My Daniel is at Tidelands makin’ sure things are just the way you want before bringin’ home your new bride. And here she is—such a pretty lass, too.”
Ceressa smiled at the woman who curtsied as low as her bulk would allow.
“Ceressa, this is Kate Munroe, my cook and housekeeper. She and her husband, Daniel, live here in James Cittie and oversee my property.”
“Lady Kirkleigh, it’s so good that you’re here. Come in and get settled. I’ve just a small bit to do to finish dinner.” Ceressa followed Kate into the cool, shadowed interior. Once inside, the housekeeper scurried off to a room on the right while Latimer moved to the opposite side of the central staircase into an informal parlor. Light poured through the windows and streaked the wooden floor. Braided rugs were scattered about, two settles fronted the unlit hearth, and upholstered wingbacks, certainly imported from England, also graced the room. There were several side tables bearing candlesticks, and a highly polished, cloth-covered table accompanied by four ladder backed chairs was tucked into a corner. Above the lintel hung a painting, and Ceressa recognized the woman as Latimer’s sister, Constance.
Ceressa supposed the other room was the kitchen or common room where casual dining occurred. The clang and clink of utensils against iron confirmed as much.
Latimer joined her and nodded toward the narrow stairway. “I’ll take you up to your room so that you can freshen up. Your things should be along shortly.”
“Where are Mr. Harrell and Mariette?”
“Bengie has taken Mariette to the cottage in which the Munroes live. She’ll stay there until we leave for Tidelands. Bengie sleeps in a room in the stable.” Ceressa nodded while Latimer started up the stairs.
After a moment’s hesitation, she followed him, wondering what surprises this journey would provide. She now belatedly realized that she should have appreciated the well-ordered existence she had secretly bemoaned, and that the turn of recent events was God’s way of reminding her that her life in England had been very good.
Latimer threw open the door of one of two chambers on this upper level and moved aside so she could enter. The furnishings were spare, but all the basics were present—a bed, armoire, washstand with fresh linens, ewer and bowl, two chairs, and a small table beneath the row of clerestory windows. Latimer walked over to one and opened it, letting in a welcome breeze, then proceeded to loosen his stock. Nervous heat flooded her, and she found it difficult to speak. “What—what are you doing?”
“I’m undressing. I plan to bathe.” He gestured at a screen that spread across a corner of the room. She tilted her head so that she could see behind it, finding the rounded edge of a tin tub. “You’re welcome to do the same before dinner. Bengie will bring hot water up shortly.”
“Perhaps I should go downstairs and see if all is well with Mariette,” she suggested, desperate to flee the room before Latimer removed his clothing. They might be married, but she was far from ready to view her husband in his natural state.
“Mariette should be fine. Bengie will take care of anything she may need.”
“I feel badly that we were separated upon our arrival. I should apologize.”
“That’s how Bengie came upon her—she was crying for you and turning about in circles.”
He was now removing his waistcoat, and Ceressa swallowed.
“But she’s no worse for her adventure. I doubt if she’s expecting an apology.”
“Still I owe her some sort of explanation,” Ceressa persisted, fixing her eyes on the door and refusing to look at him as she twisted her hands together.
“Are you trying to get away from me?” He chuckled, igniting her anger. She made the mistake of looking at him just as he removed his shirt. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stepped back unsteadily. Such a fine specimen he was; so fine that she felt faint.
“I tho—thought you might not want me to be around.” Her words sounded inane even to her ears.
“Why? Because within an hour of your arrival, you managed to acquaint yourself with another foul being who poses as a respectable member of society?”
“Are you referring to that man, Willshire?” she angrily questioned, momentarily forgetting the perfection of his broad, muscled torso. “If so, once more you have misconstrued the situation. And why were you so rude to your friends at Lawrence’s?”
“They want me to fight their fight. It’s not my fight.”
“Perhaps not. But when it does become your fight, what will you say then? What will your friends say when you need their help?” After stomping her foot in anger, she headed out the door. Latimer’s laugh followed her down the stairs.
****
Irritation filled Latimer as he sat across from Ceressa watching her pick at the food on her plate. It hardly mattered that Kate had outdone herself on this homecoming dinner; the turkey was roasted to perfection, the fresh vegetables well seasoned and savory, the bread warm and soft. All he could think about at the moment was the woman who had an uncanny ability of bringing out the worst in him with just a word or look.
Ceressa glanced up, and he scowled. The soft candlelight glinted off her hair, turning it into molten honey. She was wearing a gown of pale green which enhanced her loveliness and accentuated her gentle curves. He was annoyed by her beauty and her innocence. He was furious that she’d disobeyed him and ventured on deck during his confrontation with Bacon. And the anger of finding her with Willshire had yet to abate.
“Is something amiss with your meal?” he asked testily. “Kate is unsurpassed in the kitchen.”
Ceressa dropped her fork in her plate and reached for her goblet of water, drinking it nearly empty. She set it on the table, and Latimer picked up the pitcher and refilled it.
“I asked you a question.”
“You’re trying to provoke me. I’ve had enough of this.” Throwing down her napkin, Ceressa came to her feet and glared down at him. “And if you think, for one minute, that I encouraged that oaf, Torrence Willshire, I can assure you—”
“I think no such thing,” he said as he, too, came to his feet. “I admit I reacted inappropriately and was most wrong to take out my frustration on you. Torrence Willshire and I have been at odds for some time and have, as yet, failed to resolve those differences. The man has a knack for heaping humiliation upon me.”
“Then you, of all people, must understand why I’ve reach my toleration limit. I have endured all the humiliation I plan to suffer for a lifetime thanks to you. Sir Geoffrey must have suffered the agonies of Job while trying to rear you in a civilized manner.”
Latimer was immediately at her side, breathing hard as he fought the impulse to throttle her. “There are a few rules you will learn to obey. You are never to mention Geoffrey Kirkleigh again. You are to avoid discussions of the current political situation and will withhold your opinions of matters of which you know nothing.”
Her eyes flared a dark violet while her breathing quickened.
“When I give you instructions, you will follow them without question. And unless you plan to secure passage very soon on a ship leaving the colony, you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting a proper wife.”
A strange, unnerving silence surrounded them, broken only by a slight gasp—probably Kate’s as she listened to their argument from the hall. Ceressa’s face was red with rage, but she remained mute. Latimer took that as her grudging agreement. Almost.
“I am sure the Lord is most relieved you veered from ordination. There’s no telling how many souls you would have led astray.”
Ceressa’s words wounded deeply. Even though he’d thought the same thing, hearing her say it stripped something from his soul; something soft and gentle that she’d placed there. He turned away so that she couldn’t see his pain.
“Master Latimer, I thought I might pick up some of the—oh, my, have I interrupted?” Kind Kate put in a most welcome appearance, acting as though nothing was amiss. Latimer steeled his emotions.
Ceressa rushed from the room and fled into the hall. Seconds later, he heard the rear door of the cottage open and close.
“Perhaps I should’ve waited a mite longer to clear away the dishes and bring the tea and your pipe.”
“It’s of no importance, Kate. I’m going to check on the horses. The meal was delicious.” Latimer feared his clipped words robbed the comment of its complimentary intent, but he was in a sorry mood, thanks to that spoiled, willful woman who was now his wife.
“One would never know it judging by what little was eaten. Is her ladyship feeling poorly?” Kate asked, clearly concerned.
“She hasn’t adjusted,” he said brusquely then turned away. Storming from the cottage, his angry strides took him to the stable.
“Blast that woman,” Latimer exploded, ramming a fist against the rough wooden door of the stable and picking up several splinters in the process. Latimer’s prized red stallion, Firewind, uttered a nervous snort; the roan adjacent to his stall whinnied. A lantern hanging on the wall illuminated Bengie, who, at the moment was running the currycomb across the burnished chestnut coat of the mare Latimer had purchased before leaving for England. The mare seemed not in the least affected by Latimer’s display of temper, tossing her mane imperiously while eyeing him dispassionately.
Bengie chuckled.
“I believe you said the same thing about Lady Phyllis,” he said, worsening Latimer’s mood. “Which reminds me, it’s common knowledge that she’s none too pleased with your marriage.”
“She knew I was going to England to find a wife.” Latimer’s retort was sharp.
“That doesn’t mean she has to like it. Mrs. Arston says there’s been quite a to-do at Carrumont with things being broken and smashed while a certain neighbor is being referred to as one without proper parentage.” If Phyllis only knew…
“She’ll get over it.”
“I thought you were set to wed a distant cousin—Heloise, wasn’t it?”
“There was a change in plans. She fell in love with a man three times her age and in possession of a baronetcy. I couldn’t compete with that.” Latimer looked down at his knuckles that were now bleeding and burning. Served him right for losing his temper.
There was a moment of silence while Bengie digested his comment. Finally, he spoke. “Sir, if I may say so, I think you need to give the Lady Ceressa time. This has to be so new to her and different from anything she’s ever known.”
Latimer wasn’t ready to tell Benjamin all that happened that last fateful night in London. It would be far too complicated to sort it all out for the lad, and he wasn’t in the frame of mind to do so. He wasn’t even sure he understood everything.
“Perhaps she thinks you don’t care for her. After all, you only married her because April needs a mother.”
“There’s more to this than you realize. I don’t know that I can make her happy. Ever.”
“Be patient, Master Latimer. I’m sure things will work out. Isn’t that what the Bible tells us—to be patient and trust in the Lord?”
“Of course it does, but Ceressa is so—she has to say something about everything.”
“There’s a sad look in her eyes, as though she’s been badly hurt.”
“You can see that in her eyes?” Latimer smarted from the unspoken insinuation he’d been too busy ranting and raging to notice Ceressa’s sadness. “How is it you’ve had time to study my wife’s eyes when you’ve hardly taken yours off her maid?”
Bengie flushed.
“Young Mariette is comely; I can’t deny that.”
“Just a word of caution. I have bought Mariette’s indenture and she’s under my care. Treat her respectfully.”
“You’ve nothing to fear on that count. But shouldn’t you do the same for Lady Ceressa?”
Another smart. Another sting, and the sensations had nothing to do with his injured hand. “You’re right. I am not myself; I’m angry, resentful, and…” He hesitated.
“Somewhat smitten?” Bengie asked. “You haven’t taken your eyes off of Lady Ceressa. You nearly beat Willshire senseless for addressing her, and I could see the fear in your eyes when she swooned. Pardon my saying so, sir, but I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself.”
A lengthy silence fell between them as Latimer silently admitted that the lad’s words held more truth than he cared to acknowledge. Meeting Bengie’s eyes, Latimer’s jaw tensed while Bengie noticeably swallowed.
“I can see my bride already has a staunch ally in you. For her to have won your loyalty says a great deal about her, for I know few men whose opinions I value as highly as yours.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bengie murmured in embarrassment, lowering his gaze. “Will you be needing me for anything else this night?”
“No,” Latimer said, turning toward the open door. He paused to look back at Bengie who’d been his voice of reason so many times. He owed Bengie a great deal—even his life, for it had been Bengie who’d kept an Indian tomahawk out of his back. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Harrell.”
“And you are a fair man, Master Latimer. Be such with your wife.”
A reluctant smile played over Latimer’s lips as he headed back to the cottage.