“Malcolm will be receiving an invitation for the party aboard the River Witch. I’d like you to come. Will you?”
“If it means that much to you, yes.”
“It does…because I’ll want to be with you. And when you see the River Witch leave, don’t be upset. I haven’t left you.”
“I’ll miss seeing her from my balcony.”
A soft chuckle accompanied his reply. “There’ll be another vessel coming in its stead, madam. Just be patient.”
Lenore was truly amazed. “Shouldn’t your boats be trading elsewhere? Aren’t you losing money letting them sit out there idle in the gulf?”
“When a man’s heart is not content, madam, riches mean nothing to him.” Ashton glanced out the window again, fretting because they had so little time left. They were only a short distance from the lane that led up to the house now, and he turned back to her with eyes that burned in anxious appeal. Lenore never really knew if she leaned forward or if he pulled her close, but in the next moment she was pressed hard against him and his lips were moving passionately upon hers. Though brief, the kiss stirred up a whole caldron of cravings, and by the time the landau turned up the lane, they were both beset with a burning need to continue. Lenore was sorry she had bade him return so early. She shivered in longing as his hand came around her side and covered her breast; then he pulled away, and for both it was a difficult struggle to maintain a serene mien. It was a lengthy moment before Ashton managed to subdue the rutting lust and step down. Taking her hand, his fingers squeezed hers and quite properly he helped her down.
They had barely reached the front steps when the portal was flung wide, and Malcolm came striding out, his face dark with rage. Lenore ignored his glare and though she was still very much annoyed with the heavier man, she spoke in a guise of sweetness. “Mr. Wingate was kind enough to bring me home, Malcolm. Wasn’t it nice that I didn’t have to walk?”
Though Malcolm’s hands remained lowered, they clenched into tight, meaty fists, while his eyes fairly flashed with indignation. He loathed the tolerant smile the other man returned to him, and wished he had been able to throttle Ashton right there on the front lawn. “Get in the house.” He tossed the command at Lenore as he jerked his head in that direction. “I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I have something to discuss with Mister Wingate.”
Lenore complied, but upon entering the house, she went into the parlor and stood near the french doors, where she could overhear the exchange. Malcolm was making a valiant effort to control himself, but he was clearly upset with her and Ashton. If the circumstances warranted it, she was ready to throw herself between the two men to halt a violent end to their confrontation.
“Just when in the bloody hell do you intend to leave here?” Malcolm demanded of the other man. “You accost my wife at every turn—”
“Accost whose wife?” A mildly questioning quirk lifted Ashton’s brow.
Malcolm became more incensed at the sardonic gibe. “Damn you! You know whose wife she is!”
“Aye, I know,” Ashton replied easily, “and I’ve come to fetch her home where she belongs.”
“There’s no talking to you!” Malcolm complained angrily. “You’ve shut your mind to the facts!”
“Only to your whining, Malcolm.”
“You can’t even recognize the truth when you see it!”
“I’ve been called stubborn, but I’m always willing to review the truth. Thus far, I haven’t been convinced that you’re right in claiming Lierin….”
“Lenore!”
A light chuckle shook Ashton’s shoulders. “We shall see, Malcolm. We shall see.” He placed a foot on the carriage step, but paused a moment to look back at the enraged man. “Even if she were Lenore, you wouldn’t deserve her.”
He climbed into the landau and, closing the door, settled back into the seat to await the next moment or two when Hickory would again halt the team, this time in front of the tent.
Wherever Lenore wandered, Ashton was sure to follow. It was a caustic taunt that Malcolm frequently used when he once again realized Ashton was hounding their heels. If Lenore stayed at home, then Ashton remained near his tent and was ever watchful of any opportunity that might bring them together while Malcolm was away. If she left with Malcolm, he moved behind them like a shadow, keeping a close surveillance.
While Ashton’s nearness grated on Malcolm’s nerves, it seemed to amuse everybody else. Behind her employer’s back, Meghan mutely cheered the Natchez man on, and her eyes sparkled with glee whenever she saw him ride out after the mistress’s carriage or when his own landau swung onto the road behind them. The only time she was a bit unnerved by his presence in the area was when he took a swim in the ocean. At such times she kept her gaze carefully averted, not wanting anyone to accuse her of secretly admiring such a magnificent manly form.
Even Robert Somerton began to take Ashton’s proximity in stride. He ceased to rage when he saw the younger man stroll out for a swim wearing naught but a skimpy loincloth, and on a few occasions he wandered over to share a libation or two with Ashton, though generally it was only coffee the latter imbibed.
Lenore enjoyed it all. His closeness. His unswerving tenacity. The sight of his brown body gleaming beneath the sun. It seemed quite an unladylike desire, but she yearned to feel again those flexing buttocks beneath her hands, to stroke those hard thighs, and to rouse him with her touch. With each passing day, her battle for control slipped another degree, and she realized she was completely abandoning her attempt to think of Malcolm as her husband.
It was during this time that the River Witch slid out of view. Malcolm was confused but elated. It appeared that Ashton’s men had deserted him; then bright and early on the morrow Malcolm’s spiraling hopes were dashed upon the rocks of despair again. There, anchored where the steamer had been, was an oceangoing vessel. This new ship which had come to haunt him was the Gray Eagle, and from it, a dinghy was launched, bringing ashore the captain, the men to row it, and a woman. Malcolm’s interest perked up as he watched the latter come ashore. Hoping she might be pretty enough to stir Lenore’s suspicions and perhaps endanger her fondness for the other man, he observed the visitor carefully as the captain escorted her toward Ashton’s tent, but from a distance he had to conclude that she was just another employee. Her dull red hair was pulled back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, and the dark gray gown hung from thin shoulders. She had no bosom to speak of, and though she was neat in appearance, she was not of a quality that would give another woman cause to worry. Still, he was curious. She seemed slightly familiar, and yet he could not place her. He rarely wasted a second glance on a woman who looked as old and worn as she did, and he quickly decided it was not important if he knew her or not.
Ashton came out to greet his guests and accepted the account books Sarah handed to him.
“All of your journals are in order, Mr. Wingate,” she reported, pleased by her accomplishment.
“Excellent, Sarah. You’ve proved your value beyond anything I had ever imagined.”
She blushed with pleasure at the compliment. “I enjoy the work, sir. It helps me forget.”
Ashton smiled wryly. “Some strive hard to remember, others to forget. I await the day when Lierin remembers.”
“And I await the day when I totally forget…and perhaps forgive, though I don’t think I’ll ever do that.”
Captain Meyers offered the wisdom he had gained in his advancing years: “Forgiveness is the secret of a contented life, Sarah. You’ll only hurt yourself by carrying hatred in your heart.”
Ashton frowned slightly, realizing he had a problem of his own in that respect. His head lifted, and his eyes grew cold as he fixed his gaze on the one who roused that ire. “It doesn’t help me when I see the foe so often.”
Sarah followed his stare to the man who stood on the distant porch; then she frowned, wondering what mirage the morning heat had conjured up. She shook her head, dispelling the possibility, and turned
back to the men.
Ashton indicated his not-so-humble dwelling as he presented an invitation to the pair. “Would you care to come in and look around? I borrowed the cabin boy from the River Witch, and he’s made some tea and coffee. There are some sweet cakes, too, if you care for them.”
They passed through the open tent flap, and for both, it was like entering a world of make-believe where sheikhs were plentiful and flamboyance was proof of success. The somewhat bedazzled captain chortled merrily as he was shown about, and Sarah followed, much agog. The sumptuous bed had been created from several feather ticks and was extravagantly covered and draped with black silk patterned with gold leaves, the same sort an Arab prince might envy. The sheerest gold silk hung from a round frame high above the bed, forming a mosquito netting that was possibly without equal, at least anywhere in Mississippi. Rich pillows were plentiful and formed a luxurious headrest for the mattress. The opulence they saw was hardly in keeping with the excellent and subtle tastes of their employer, but it was amusing to see such a setting in the local territory.
“When they told me you were living in a tent, Ashton, I never dreamed it would be anything like this,” Captain Meyers exclaimed. “I had visions of you huddling under a tiny piece of canvas and trying to find comfort on a narrow pallet. Did you design these lavish appointments yourself?”
Ashton chuckled over the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s for effect, Charles. Malcolm Sinclair seems to like everything gaudy when he’s away from home, if you can understand my meaning.” He had seen clear evidence of this in the company of harlots the man was wont to entertain. For all of their attempts at grandeur, none of them could come close to matching the elegance Lierin had in her little finger. “I thought I’d make Malcolm feel right at home, should he ever decide to saunter down this way and have a look-see.”
Captain Meyers’s eyes gleamed as he wiped a hand across his mouth. “The man likes his women, eh?”
“You might say that,” Ashton replied dryly.
“Malcolm Sinclair?” Sarah repeated the name in a tentative query. “Who is he?”
Ashton jerked his head toward the house. “He lives up there…with Lierin. Except he claims she’s Lenore.”
“My husband’s mother was a Sinclair,” Sarah stated distantly as she wandered to the open flap of the tent. She peered out, but the man on the porch was gone. With a sigh, she came back to sit upon the soft cushions and, taking her cup and saucer in hand, sipped the tea before directing a statement to Ashton: “You might be interested in hearing that Horace Titch was down at the river looking over that new stern-wheeler you recently purchased. While he was there, he also looked around your warehouses and seemed most curious about the one that burned. I didn’t know what to do, so I thought it would be wise if the sheriff knew about it. Sheriff Dobbs said he’d keep an eye on the man.”
“Horace was here,” Ashton stated as he went to refill his cup from the silver coffeepot. “He might still be, for all I know. Harvey asked him some questions, but there’s no real proof that he had anything to do with setting the fire. I thought of putting out some men to watch over the house, just to make sure nothing happens to Lierin while he’s here.” Ashton laughed in wry amusement. “But Malcolm has put out some rather unsightly pawns to perform a similar service…mainly to keep me away from her.”
“Pawns?” Charles frowned thoughtfully at the characterization. “Are you playing some kind of game here, Ashton?”
“Aye, Charles. A game of chess, except my heart is caught up in this one.”
Now that Ashton had visitors, Malcolm saw a chance to whisk his young wife into Biloxi without the other man being aware of it. When he strolled down the hall to her room, he gave no heed to the fact that Meghan had not yet awakened her. The door was locked, but his insistent knock brought Lenore stumbling sleepily to the door. She groaned in mute agony when she saw him dressed and ready to be about his affairs, which she hoped had nothing to do with her. As he pushed his way into the chamber, she returned to her bed and pulled the sheet high over her head, wishing she could dismiss him from the room as easily as she had banished him from sight.
“I have some business to attend to in Biloxi this morning, madam, and I would delight in your company. If you can extract yourself posthaste from the comfort of your bed and get dressed, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Oh, Malcolm,” she moaned. “Please go without me today. I am truly sick, and I don’t relish the idea of waiting in the carriage for you when I’m feeling this way.”
“Come now, Lenore. You’ll feel better once we’re under way. The ride will do you good.” Malcolm held up a hand, halting any argument she might have made as she lowered her arm and, with it, the sheet. “I’ll hear no more of it, my sweet. I’ll send Meghan up with some tea, and she’ll help you get dressed. Please be quick about it. My appointment is important, and I’d like to be there on time.”
He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, giving her no opportunity to deny him. As his footsteps moved away, Lenore stared listlessly around the room. The breeze wafting through the open windows was warm and humid, giving no relief from the sweltering heat that consumed the days. Her gown clung to her clammy skin, while tiny beads of moisture trickled down between her breasts. Gingerly she pushed away the sheet and rose from the bed. She waited, hardly daring to breathe as her stomach rebelled against the motion; then she carefully crossed the room to the washstand. One glance in the small mirror, which hung above it, confirmed the fact that she was not feeling her best. She looked tired and pale, and the usual sparkle was gone from her eyes. She heaved a long sigh, resigning herself to a day of activity, and splashed tepid water on her face and arms, hoping it would revive her flagging energy. The effort proved of meager benefit, and it was not until Meghan brought tea and biscuits that she was able to make a somewhat firmer resolution to endure the outing. The toilette, however, was almost her undoing, and she had to fight against an overwhelming revulsion when Meghan offered an open vial of perfume for her to sample.
“Please,” Lenore murmured, turning her head aside and thrusting up a hand. Its sweet, flowery essence sent a shudder through her. “Something lighter today, Meghan, please.”
The maid studied her young mistress closely and watched her press a wet cloth to a wan cheek. “Mum, if ye don’t mind me askin’, do ye know what be ailin’ ye?”
Lenore shrugged the question away with a lame excuse. “This heat. I don’t know how you can bear it so well, Meghan.”
“I guess I do all right, mum, but then, I’ve nothin’ else botherin’ me.”
Lenore could not meet the woman’s gaze as she asked cautiously, “Do you think there’s something else bothering me?”
“Well, mum, I’ve had none o’ me own, but I have a sister what acted the same way as yerself whene’er she got with babe.”
The silky lashes fluttered downward as Lenore released a quavering sigh. Had she still been at Belle Chêne with Ashton, she would have gladly welcomed her childbearing state, but now the problems associated with her condition loomed monstrously large and foreboding before her. She could only foresee serious difficulties in store for her, and she was not quite sure how she was going to handle them all. It might have been better had she admitted her intimacy with Ashton from the beginning; then her condition at least would have been considered a possibility, and the two men would be braced for the news. She could only wonder how long it would take them to notice without an announcement. If she held silent for a while and gave herself a little time to prepare, perhaps she could figure out a way to avoid a violent scene. It seemed logical at least to make an attempt. “Meghan, I must ask a favor of you.”
“Yes, mum?”
“I beg of you to keep this matter a secret between us until a more appropriate time. I doubt if Mr. Sinclair will appreciate the idea of my being with child.”
“I understand, mum,” the maid responded kindly. “An’ ye can count on me keepin’ me to
ngue.”
Lifting her head, Lenore stared at the gently smiling woman. “Do you really understand, Meghan?”
The servant nodded slowly. “It’s that Mr. Wingate, isn’t it? You’re carrying his child.”
Lenore hid her worry, hoping the two men would not be as perceptive as the maid. The fear of what Malcolm might do or at least attempt to do to Ashton literally sickened her, and she flung out a shaking hand in mute appeal to Meghan as the nausea came in a sudden wave. The servant quickly interpreted the gesture and scurried to present a basin. A long moment passed before Lenore dared to raise her eyes, even to Meghan’s sympathetic gaze.
“I’ll never make it through the day if I have to go with Malcolm,” she declared weakly.
“Never ye mind ’bout that, mum,” Meghan soothed, removing the basin. “I’ll deliver the message to Mr. Sinclair that you won’t be able to go, and if he insists, then perhaps he needs to be shown proof.”
Lenore shook her head, aghast at the workings of the maid’s mind. “You wouldn’t…”
“Ye need yer rest, mum,” Meghan insisted. “An’ there may be no other way to convince him.” Having formed a dislike for her employer for the callous way he treated the mistress, she mumbled beneath her breath as she left the room, “’Twould serve him right if it raises his gorge a mite.”
The days were noticeably longer now with summer fully upon them. Dusk was short, and there were only shreds of the spectacular sunset left when Ashton stepped from his tent. He stretched his arms over his head and surveyed the darkening sky and the multitude of stars that were gathering in the heavens. The slim, sleek silhouette of the Gray Eagle lay against the deepening magenta hues on the western horizon, and the dim glow of the watchman’s lantern gave proof that his orders were being followed and they were keeping wary of any intruders. Beyond the ship the waters of the gulf stretched endlessly on into the horizon.