“Oh, yes!” Cally said enthusiastically, thinking silently she would rather die than be bounded all over the English countryside on the back of a nasty horse.
Aurora swallowed back a guffaw. Cally was afraid of horses and always had been. Riding was pure torture for her. She hated it. Well, the duke would learn that soon enough, but Aurora doubted he would be too disappointed, for in the long run Cally would make him an excellent wife. That was all he really wanted. A pleasant companion and a good breeder. That was what all men wanted. Or so her father had always said, and when he did so in Oralia's presence she would look sad. Papa and her stepmother had lost two sons before the doctor who had once lived on the island in their employ had said she could try no more else the next pregnancy kill her. He had gone back to England shortly after that, having taught one of the bondsmen and a slave man enough of his skills to be of service to the inhabitants of St. Timothy.
“Aurora is a fine horsewoman,” she heard Mama say. “I would like her to travel to England with you and Calandra so she may experience society, and perhaps find a husband of her own. She has a fine dowry, your grace, and is, as you see, a pretty young girl. She will be company for Calandra, and a comfort, too, as my daughter has never been off this island in her entire life, and is apt to be frightened.”
“You will call me Valerian, ma'am,” he began. “While Miss Aurora is certainly more than welcome at Hawkes Hill, and my grandmother will be more than delighted to take her entrance into society upon herself, I would prefer that your daughter travel to England on the vessel following the
Royal George.
The return to England will be our honeymoon voyage, and you will understand that I prefer to make that trip in the company of my bride alone. I shall not allow Calandra to be afraid, ma'am, but we must have time to get to know each other.”
“Can you not do that over the next few months here on St. Timothy?” Oralia asked him. “You will certainly be given your privacy, Valerian.”
George caught Aurora's eye, and waited for the duke to answer.
“I intend returning to England almost immediately, ma'am,” the duke replied. “The
Royal George
is the finest passenger ship making the trip between England and the western Indies. If we do not board it on its eastbound return, we shall have to wait for several months to catch it again. By that time your stormy season will be upon us. This is an excellent time of year to travel this particular route, and I want Calandra's ocean voyage to be a perfect one. The
Royal George
will stop at St. Timothy in two and a half weeks' time to pick us up. I have previously arranged with Captain Conway to bring the Anglican minister from Barbados with him. He will marry Calandra and me that same day here in this house. I will then rely upon your kindness to return the minister to Barbados even as we sail for England.”
“Oh, my!” Oralia said, distressed by his words.
He was sooo masterful,
Cally thought admiringly of the duke.
“I realize that this comes as somewhat of a shock, ma'am, but you must know that I knew nothing of this marriage until shortly after my grandfather's death last autumn. I do not want to miss the racing season. England will be coming into summer, which while nowhere near as warm as here, will give Calandra a chance to grow used to our climate before the winter. It will also give me the opportunity to introduce Calandra into society. The Prince of Wales is a fine fellow, and there has been talk recently of his marrying. There will be much gaiety, and Calandra will enjoy it until such time as she is with child.”
“She hasn't a proper wardrobe,” Oralia protested. “There has been virtually no time to prepare a trousseau.”
“St. Timothy's is not aware of the latest fashions,” he replied. “I will have a brand-new wardrobe made for my wife in London. And one for Miss Spencer-Kimberly as well that will be awaiting her upon her arrival the following month.” He patted Oralia's hand comfortingly. “You must not fret yourself, ma'am. I will take splendid care of your daughter. After all, she is to be the Duchess of Farminster.”
Cally jumped up, clapping her hands with delight! “Oh, yes, Mama! Imagine! A brand-new wardrobe for me, and one for Aurora too! The latest London fashions!” She turned to the duke. “Will I have wonderful jewelry too, sir? And a coach and four? And a wench to help my Sally? Will we see the king? Will your horses race? May I have pin money to wager upon them?” Her pale cheeks were pink with excitement.
“Calandra!”
Her shocked mother could barely speak.
Aurora and George were astounded, for they had never before heard Cally so enthusiastic. They didn't know if they dare laugh.
Valerian Hawkesworth, however, did laugh. It was a deep rumble of mirth that filled the room. What an enchanting child, he thought, this girl he was to marry shortly. His late father's meddling had, it seemed, turned out well after all. He arose from the settee, taking Cally's hands in his and smiling down at her indulgently. “Yes, my precious Calandra,” he said boldly. “You shall have everything that your little heart desires from me, and more, I promise you!”
He had spoken her name.
“Ohhh, Valerian!” she murmured, looking up at him for a moment before the thick, dark lashes brushed her snowy white cheeks. Then she said, “I shall never be fearful of anything as long as you are with me.” She gazed up at him again, her hazel eyes limpid. “Would you like to see our garden?”
George Spencer-Kimberly choked back a snicker even as Aurora rolled her eyes heavenward unbelievingly.
“What a lovely idea!” Oralia pounced upon her daughter's suggestion. “I will call Sally to bring you a hat and your mitts, my child.” She stood up. “Come, Aurora, George. Let us leave these young people alone.” Then she hurried from the drawing room, her son and stepdaughter following.
“Oh, la, sir! You have quite stolen my heart!” Aurora mocked her stepsister, fluttering her lashes at George.
“Quite, Miss Kimberly! Quite so!” George responded, kissing Aurora's hand with a loud smacking noise, and twirling her about.
“Stop it, the pair of you,” Oralia scolded.
“But Cally is being so silly,” Aurora said.
“She's a young, inexperienced girl, and but following her heart. She is quite overwhelmed by the duke, and I think that he is taken by her, for which I thank the good Lord.
Especially”
âand here she lowered her voiceâ“especially considering what you two have done. I can only hope, Aurora, that you have no regrets
now.”
“None, Mama” came the quick reply. “Cally is quite welcome to the duke. I find him arrogant and odious.”
“He is to be your host in England. You will have to be mannerly,” Oralia said, and then, “Oh! You cannot travel alone to England!”
“Martha will be with me,” Aurora reminded her.
“No! No! It will not do, my child. Martha is a servant. No respectable young woman of good family travels alone but for a servant.”
“I am just as happy to remain here, Mama,” Aurora told her. Oralia shook her head. “You must be married eventually, Aurora. Most of the planters' sons are dissolute creatures involved with their slave women, and with St. Timothy you would not have a great deal of choice despite your dowry and income. The heirs are looking for heiresses, and must find them in England, or France, where their wicked practices are not known, and they appear respectable to a discerning parent. No. You must go to England to find a mate. There your little fortune will be acceptable to some baronet of good breeding.” She thought for a moment, and then she said, “George shall go with you! That is the solution to our problem. It is quite acceptable for you to travel under the protection of an elder brother. And perhaps George will find a nice young wife while he is in England. We must ask the duke if he knows which ship follows the
Royal George,
and then see that the passage is booked on it for you both.”
“The harvest will not quite be over if I leave so soon,” George protested. “And who the devil will oversee the planting, Mama? I cannot leave now. The duke has asked me to remain as his manager and overseer. I have responsibilities to him, and to my sister.”
“You have a greater responsibility to Aurora,” his mother responded meaningfully. “She must have her chance too!”
“I do not have to follow on Cally's heels to England, Mama,” Aurora said sensibly. “Let her and the duke settle into married life. George can finish the harvest and see to the new planting. Then in late autumn he and I can depart for England. It will be over a year before the new crop is ready to harvest, which will give him plenty of time to be a young gentleman of fashion, perhaps even a macaroni, in London. And I shall have a lovely visit with Cally before we have to return home to St. Timothy for the next harvest.” She smiled at her stepmother. “Isn't that really a better plan, Mama? Let the duke sweep Cally off to England and her new life without our interference. He will have little love for his in-laws if they land on him too quickly.”
“But you will be almost eighteen then,” Oralia objected weakly. Aurora laughed. “Oh, Mama, I'm certain there will be someone willing to overlook my vast age in exchange for my dowry.”
“You are quite impossible,” Oralia said. “I wonder if you will ever find a man to put up with you.” But she smiled as she spoke.
“I'd rather be with you here on St. Timothy” came the reply.
“Does Aurora's plan suit you, George?” Oralia asked her son.
“Aye, it does,” he agreed.
“Then it is settled,” Aurora said, and they all agreed it was.
Chapter
3
T
he duke's valet, Browne, awakened him quite early, as his master had requested he do. While the sky was light, the sun was not yet up. The air was warm and quite still for a change. He bathed and dressed quickly, for he was to ride with George and Aurora before the sun became too hot for his inspection. By ten o'clock in the morning George told him the heat would be too much for him, as he was unused to it.
Browne handed him a deep saucer. “A bit of tea, sir. The cook was kind enough to make it up. The family stock is really quite palatable. We may not be in civilization, but it ain't bad here but for the heat. I hardly closed my eyes all night.”
“You'll be quite used to it by the time we leave, Browne,” Valerian Hawkesworth said with a smile. He drank the fragrant tea, setting the saucer down on a small table when he had emptied it.
“Master George sent up this hat for you to wear, sir.” Browne handed the duke the broad-brimmed straw head covering, remarking, “It surely ain't fashionable, is it, my lord?”
Clapping the hat on his dark head, the duke picked up his riding crop and left his bedroom. In the airy downstairs foyer he found his two companions waiting. He was a bit surprised to see that Miss Spencer-Kimberly was wearing breeches. “You do not ride sidesaddle?” he said.
“Of course not,” she said. “The terrain is rough on the island. It is not some tame London park, your grace. Do all English ladies of fashion ride seated, their leg thrown awkwardly over their saddle's pommel? It is an extremely uncomfortable way to ride. I firmly believe that is why Cally never took to a horse. She is of a delicate nature, and felt unsafe seated so unnaturally. Still, I could never get her to ride astride. She thought it not feminine.” The look she gave him challenged him to agree with her stepsister.
“I believe,” Valerian Hawkesworth said, neatly sidestepping the issue, “that as we are to be related by marriage, Miss Spencer-Kimberly, that you should call me something other than
your grace.
I shall call you Aurora, and you may call me Valerian.”
“Oh, may I?” Aurora said, her eyes wide, her voice unnaturally sweet. She fluttered her lashes at him.
“Sister, behave yourself!” George scolded her. “Valerian isn't used to your sharp tongue and teasing ways.” He grinned at the duke. “She's quite a minx, I fear. Papa never quite knew what to do with her. He doted on both the girls, and both are spoiled.”
“I think I know what I should have done with her,” the duke said, his dark blue eyes hard. “I suspect Aurora has never felt a hard hand on her bottom. It reforms the worst jades.”
George saw the fire in her eyes and said quickly, “We must be off. The sun will be up before we know it! Come along now.”
“I know nothing about sugar except that it is sweet,” Valerian said to his companions. “Tell me about it as we ride.”
“It's a never-ending round-robin of labor,” George said. “We have four large fields on this side of the island, and four on the other side, which once belonged to the Meredith family. We rotate the fields. This year we are harvesting on this side of the island, and the other side is fallow, but being constantly fertilized, for cane takes a great deal of nourishment from the soil. We harvest every eighteen months. In a year, before the one side is ready for harvesting, we replant on the other side. The fallow fields need to be weeded in the between times. During the rainy season, usually between May and December, we plant. In the dry season, usually from January to May, we harvest our crop. We are never idle.”
“How is cane planted?” the duke asked.
“We propagate, using cuttings from the tops of mature plants. The slaves dig holes and fertilize. Our father's father planted in long trenches, but now everyone holes because it prevents the soil from eroding and conserves moisture. Once the cane is planted, it is a constant round of fertilizing and weeding until the cane is cut.”
“How many slaves do you have?”
George thought a moment, and then he said sheepishly, “I don't know. Enough to do the work, of course.”
“How many new slaves are required to be bought each year? I have been told that the mortality rate on sugar plantations is extraordinarily high due to the hard work and harsh conditions,” the duke remarked. As they approached the fields, he could already see black men and women at work, cutting and stacking the cane.
“The mortality rate on St. Timothy is relatively low but for old age and an occasional accident.” Aurora spoke up now. “Papa hated slavery. Had he been able to run the plantation without slaves, he would have done so, but he realized it was not realistic. He did the next best thing. He gave them decent housing and food. We have trained one of their own to doctor them. Field slaves work hard, but our slaves are not overworked, and Sunday is a day of rest for everyone on St. Timothy, free, bond, and slave alike. Consequently, our slave women bear live children who grow up to work in the fields next to their fathers. I cannot remember the last time a slave was bought. It is not like that on neighboring islands and plantations. Under English law the slaves have absolutely no rights at all. A master can kill a slave for no cause and still be within his rights. It's horrible! Those poor blacks are worked around the clock until they die, and their owners care not. The slavers call regularly from Africa, bringing new consignments of unfortunate souls to be used, and then disposed of without thought. It is outrageous!
But we do not do that here on St. Timothy.”
She spoke with such passion that she surprised him. He had thought her merely sharp-tongued and spoiled, but Aurora, it would seem, had a conscience. As he did not like slavery either, it pleased him.
“Actually, treating our people humanely works to our advantage,” George told the duke. “They are used to working together, have made themselves into several field crews, and for their own amusement compete against one another. When the harvest is in, we reward them all, the lion's share going to the most productive crew. It's certainly better than working them to death and then having to teach and break in new men. I have four black foremen, and each of them has trained an assistant. And my clerks are all black men. And another advantage to our way is that since at least three generations of our slaves have been born on St. Timothy, there is no incentive to rebel, and there is no longing for Africa, from whence their ancestors came. St. Timothy is our home, all of us, black and white.”
“How many hours a day do your field slaves labor?” Valerian asked George as they stopped a moment to look over a field that was already half cleared.
“We are in the fields by six o'clock in the morning, and toil until noon when the sun is so vicious. They return to the fields about two o'clock, and stay until sunset.”
“Is there much malingering?”
George shook his head. “When a field hand goes to the doctor, it is because they are genuinely injured or ill. These are honest people, and their families would not allow them to feign illness.”
“Do many run away?”
“Where would they go?” Aurora said. “British law says a slave has absolutely no rights. If a black cannot show papers of manumission, it is assumed they are runaways. They are jailed until their owners can be found, and if they are not, they are resold. No one has run from St. Timothy in my memory, for they are safer here, and better treated than anywhere else in the colonies.”
They rode into the fields toward a group of centrally located buildings. The field hands greeted them as they passed them by.
“These buildings house the cane mill as well as the boiling and refining houses,” George explained. “The cane is cut as close to the ground as possible, the leaves stripped, and then the cane is cut into three- to four-foot lengths, bundled up, and brought to the mill. Within the mill the slaves crush the cane to extract its juices. We then boil the juice, clarify it, and it crystallizes into sugar. We take a little of the molasses, which is what is left after we clarify the cane, and make our rum with it. It's a long, tedious, hot process. Only the strongest men can work here.” “You make enough rum only for your personal use?”
George nodded.
“Would it be possible to make more rum?” Valerian asked.
“I always wanted to do that!” George said enthusiastically. “There is a good market for rum outside the islands. We would need to build a facility to bottle it. Papa never wanted to do it, but I think we need to diversify, and build up our resources. If we lost a crop to a hurricane, we would have the means to plant again, and to survive. Papa said we would have to borrow to build, and he wanted no part of the island endangered by moneylenders.”
“Do you have enough slaves to start such a process?” the older man queried the younger. “Or would it be necessary to buy new slaves?”
“We can train men to oversee the process, but we can use the younger women to do the bottling, Valerian,” George responded. “Bringing new slaves to the island could cause trouble.”
“I am completely unnecessary to this conversation,” Aurora said suddenly. “George, you do not really need me now. I am going for a swim before the sun is too high.”
“You swim?”
the duke was astounded.
“In the sea,” she told him pertly, and then, turning her horse away, she moved off back through the fields.
“She can really swim?” Valerian asked George.
“Like a fish,” he said. “Even better than I can, much to my embarrassment. She's a bonny girl, Valerian, and a wonderful companion, if a brother might brag a bit. She can shoot a pistol too.”
“Good Lord!” the duke exclaimed. “And is Calandra like her?”
George laughed. “Nay, she is not. Cally dislikes swimming almost as much as she dislikes riding, and the sight of a pistol renders her faint. Yet she is a game girl, and has kept up with the two of us for years. Cally, however, can play the pianoforte, and she sings like an angel. She has a wonderful eye, and paints the most exquisite landscape miniatures. These are talents much more suited to being a duchess, I would assume. They are both wonderful sisters!”
“I had a sister once,” Valerian said as they resumed their ride. “She was drowned with my parents returning from France. My mother was half French. After her father died, and she was married to my father, my French grandmother returned to her girlhood home. My parents had taken Sophia for a visit. A wicked storm blew up in the Channel even as they were in sight of England. Their ship went down, and all aboard her were lost. Sophia was eight.” He smiled softly. “I yet remember her, but were it not for her portrait in the family gallery, her face would elude me today. She was a pretty child, and, as I recall, very mischievous. She once drove all the chickens on the home farm out into the fields to
free
them because she said she could not bear to know they would be eventually eaten. She had a kind heart, my sister.”
George nodded his understanding. “Cally and Aurora once freed a turtle that was to be used for soup for the same reason,” he said.
The two men rode on, George taking his companion to the top of the gentle hills that divided the island lengthwise. He pointed out the fields, and the old Meredith plantation house that would now belong to Aurora. From their vantage point Valerian could view the entire island, and the sea in which it sat.
“What is that island?” the duke asked. “It looks quite wild.”
“It's St. Vincent, and is inhabited by the Carib Indians. They do not bother us, nor we them,” George answered. “They have lost so much to the British, French, and the Spanish, even the Dutch, that they are content to live peaceably as long as they are left to themselves.”
“And where is Barbados?”
George turned. “You can just make it out today, for it's a bit hazy. St. Timothy is between the two islands.”
Valerian Hawkesworth gazed out over the island. It was like an emerald set on an aquamarine cloth. Above them the bright sun glittered in an azure sky. It was absolutely beautiful in a way he had never known, or even imagined. In a nearby tree he spotted several medium-sized birds. They were teal green with sapphire-blue tails and wing tips. Each had a cap of bright orange, and bone-colored hooked beaks. He pointed toward the small flock, asking George, “What are they?”
“Tiomoids, a variety of parrot native to this island” was the reply. “Pretty, aren't they?”
“I've never seen anything like them. Oh, I've seen parrots in England, but usually they're blue and gold, or white. I've never seen any like these.”
“They don't seem to be anywhere else but here,” George said. “They're harmless. They don't ravage the cane, so we leave them be.”
They returned down the hills, but when they had reached the fields again, a tall, neatly garbed black man came running, calling out to George Spencer-Kimberly.
“What is it, Isaac?”
“You are needed in the counting house, sir. I was sent to find you. Will you come?”