Defiant Impostor (4 page)

Susanna met Camille's desperate eyes and relented, if
only to humor her so that she might get some sleep.

"Very well. I swear it. Now I don't want to hear
any more talk of dying. Are we agreed?"

Camille's thin shoulders slumped back upon the pillows
in relief, and a gentle smile curved her lips. "Agreed."

***

Susanna sat numbly in her chair, staring at the narrow
bed, Camille's bed, which looked so huge in its emptiness.

For the past week she had been unable to bring herself
to sleep in it, as if by doing so she would commit some sacrilege or gross act
of disrespect. Instead, heartbroken, she had slept upon her cot against the
opposite wall, telling herself each night before she snuffed the lamp that
Camille would be in that bed when she awoke in the morning, and everything
would be as it had been before.

Of course in the morning the bed would still be empty,
and she must reconcile herself to the fact that Camille would never come back.

The killing fever had claimed her after all.

Death had come like a silent thief one beautiful, sunny
afternoon when Susanna had been convinced Camille was getting better. Her cough
had lessened, her skin had been cool to the touch; even her pale cheeks had
held two rosy spots of color. Yet Camille must have sensed that the thief was
in their cabin, for her last words were a poignant, whispered good-bye.

"Remember, Susanna . . . you swore. When you get
to Virginia, marry wisely, as I would have done, and live happily. Please . . .
don't forget me."

The remainder of that day was an awful blur in
Susanna's memory. Her only vivid recollections were the unsettling exchange of
her dress and apron for one of Camille's simpler gowns, the excellent fit being
no surprise since they were virtually the same size; then later, Camille's
hasty burial at sea. Rather, Susanna Guthrie's burial at sea, for so it had
been recorded in the ship's records.

In her grief, some small part of herself had been
rational enough to identify herself as Camille Cary when she had gone to report
the death, the deceased being her unfortunate waiting-maid, Susanna. No one had
asked questions. Camille had been such a recluse that few people aboard ship
except Captain Keyes had ever seen her. Thus Susanna had fulfilled her sworn
promise and her dearest friend's dying wish. There would be no going back.

Susanna sighed heavily, her gaze dropping to her folded
hands in her lap.

They were idle, purposeless hands now that she no
longer had Camille to wait upon, fine gowns to be laid out and arranged, hair
to be dressed, pillows to be fluffed, or tea to be poured and served. She
didn't know quite what to do with herself. As she wondered for the hundredth
time what her life would be like when she reached Virginia, doubts crowded in
upon her.

How could she, a waiting-maid, former beggar and
pickpocket, possibly act the part of a real lady?

It was true that through her seven years of service to
Camille her speech and manners had become proper. She had been taught to read,
write, and do some arithmetic by Camille's staid governess, Mistress Plumb, yet
she lacked any musical talent whatsoever and was all thumbs at
needlework—besides hating it anyway!—two prerequisites for refined ladies of
quality.

She hadn't been trained to be a "decoration for
society" like Camille, although they had used to play that they were both
grand ladies until Lady Redmayne had caught them and lectured Susanna severely
on her correct place in life. What was even worse, she knew absolutely nothing
about tobacco! How could she, a bloody waiting-maid, run a huge plantation? She
was a fool to have sworn to enact this insane masquerade! Surely she could have
been more forceful in persuading Camille that it was sheer folly to even think
such a plan could work—

Susanna started at the sharp rap on the door and fairly
flew out of the chair.

"Who—who is it?"

"Captain's mate, Miss Cary. I've been goin' 'round
to the passengers to tell ye that we've sighted land. We should make Yorktown
by tomorrow mornin' if the winds hold up. God be praised, I'd say! A good
ev'ning to ye."

Land, Susanna thought, pacing the cabin before retaking
her seat rather shakily. Soon her lifelong masquerade would begin. Could she
manage it?

All she had to do was remember the fervent plea in
Camille's eyes to have her answer.

"What the devil's the matter with you, Susanna
Jane?" she suddenly chided herself aloud, slamming the flat of her palm
down so hard upon a side table that her skin stung. "You've never been one
to shrink from anything life handed you! Why don't you just accept your good
fortune and do the name of Cary proud?"

Aye, and so she would, Susanna vowed, feeling more like
her normal optimistic self than she had since Camille's death.

Preserving Briarwood was the least she could do for a
dear friend who had played a part in rescuing her years ago from an abusive,
drunken father and a miserable life of prostitution. Why, she owed it to
Camille! What better way to thank her for the happiness she had known in
Fairford, the sense of belonging, the security and comfort, and most of all,
their friendship? Perhaps this new life would even help her distance herself
from her bitter childhood memories and the terrible nightmares that still
plagued her; nightmares that caused her to wake in a sweat, sometimes
screaming, her flesh on fire from a phantom lashing that seemed terrifyingly
real.

Susanna shuddered and quickly shoved away her thoughts
of bad dreams, purposely reflecting instead on what lay ahead for her. She was
a quick learner and a good mimic. Surely if she watched other young ladies, she
would manage to discern the fine points of Virginia's social behavior.

Suddenly Susanna felt a nervous flutter in her stomach
as she recalled the reason Camille's father had summoned her home to Briarwood.

James Cary's last letter had said it was time his
daughter found a husband, and he had even mentioned that he had someone in
mind, although he hadn't given a name, writing instead that they would discuss
it when Camille arrived in Virginia in the fall. Oh, dear, that meant
she
was now to be wed! Susanna thought.
And he wouldn't be the skilled tradesman of her long-held dreams, either. Not
anymore. Not for an heiress, and a very rich one at that.

Lady Redmayne had thoroughly coached Camille on the
criteria for finding a suitable husband once she was in Virginia, stringent
rules which Susanna knew she must now adopt. She could still hear the
baroness's dignified recital as if it had been directed straight at her.

"An heiress like yourself, Camille, must marry
into both money and position. Marrying for love is a luxury only the poor can
afford. That is not to say, of course, you will forego your share of happiness.
You and your husband will undoubtedly discover a congenial contentment that
quite often leads to genuine affection. My marriage to Baron Redmayne, God rest
his soul, was most agreeable even though we were barely acquainted when we wed.
Am I understood thus far, Camille?"

"Yes, Aunt Melicent."

"Good. You must wed a gentleman who is your equal,
one who can bring as much, if not more, material wealth to your marriage than
you yourself bring. First and foremost, your husband, without any assistance
from your own inheritance, must be able to support you in a manner befitting
your birth. Always remember, my dear, that you've the Cary reputation to
maintain, albeit in the barbarous wilds of Virginia."

Camille had never questioned these dictums, fully
believing that they would help her to enrich Briarwood's fortunes, and neither
would she, Susanna thought as she moved to a large trunk full of her mistress's
belongings. If she chose a husband wisely, she would surely find not only
security and social acceptance among the Tidewater gentry, but happiness as
well. It all made perfect sense.

She had never planned to marry for love anyway. In
that, Lady Redmayne had been wrong. Even for a poor woman, it made more sense
to wed a good, hardworking man whom she didn't love than to fall in love and
marry a handsome rakehell with few or no prospects, as her mother had done with
her father. Their love had quickly soured and turned to hatred in the face of
his drinking and constant unemployment. Susanna had sworn to herself long ago
that that would never happen to her.

She and Camille had talked about her also finding a
husband in Virginia. She had never entertained any thought of settling down in
Fairford, although she had caught many a young man's eye, wanting as she did to
travel with Camille to the fabled American colonies one day. They had decided
that "her man" would have to be associated with Briarwood so the two
women would never be far apart. James Cary had mentioned in his letters, and
during his last visit to the Cotswolds, an industrious, trustworthy young man
named Adam Thornton who had been working at Briarwood, first as an overseer and
then as the plantation manager, and Susanna had been eager to meet him. But all
that had changed now. A hired man would hardly make a proper husband for an
heiress.

Susanna wished Mr. Cary had mentioned in his last
letter the name of the particular gentleman he had had in mind for Camille. It
would have made her task so much easier. Now she would probably have to choose
from a wealth of eager suitors, and with only Lady Redmayne's strictures to
guide her.

"I'll simply marry the richest, most prominent, most
eligible gentleman I can find," Susanna vowed, lifting the trunk's heavy
brass-bound lid. Such a union could not help but preserve the Carys' fine
reputation and, most importantly, fulfill her promise to Camille.

Susanna drew out a folded whalebone hoopskirt. She was
determined to practice walking in the unwieldy garment until she could do so
gracefully. But it tumbled with a crisp swoosh to the floor when she spied the
top of a gilt frame tucked toward the back of the trunk.

Tears dimmed her eyes as she was assailed by fresh
grief. She had forgotten all about the portrait. Slowly, and with trembling
hands, she withdrew a small, exquisitely framed painting of Camille.

Meant as a gift for her father, it had been
commissioned by Camille shortly after she had received his last letter and
before she had learned he had been killed in a hunting accident. She had
debated giving it to her aunt instead, but at the last moment had decided to
bring it with her to Virginia, thinking the portrait would make an appropriate
wedding gift to her future husband.

Susanna gazed into a pair of serene jade-green eyes,
and wondered if she could find it within herself to destroy her only image of
her beloved friend. The painting would surely label her as an impostor if it
fell into the wrong hands. Despite their many physical similarities, she and
Camille had not looked so much alike that she could pass the portrait off as
one done of her . . .

No, she could not part with it, Susanna decided firmly,
her throat tight with suppressed emotion.

Instead, she found a razor-edged letter opener and
deftly slit the painting from the heavy gilded frame. After rolling the canvas
carefully, she buried it deep inside the trunk beneath mounds of lingerie and
accessories. When she reached Briarwood, she would simply find a good hiding
place for the painting. No one would ever discover it. She would see to that.

It was well past midnight when Susanna finally crawled
into the narrow bed, abandoning at last the cot in which she had slept since
the ill-fated ship had left Bristol. She was exhausted from hours of trying on
Camille's beautiful gowns and from her tense, late-night walk upon the upper
deck, where she had dumped a large cloth bag containing her few personal
belongings, maid's clothes, and the costly frame into the blackened sea. Then
she had returned to the cabin and done her best to bathe and wash her hair with
the small bucket of precious water each passenger had been allotted.

Now, dressed in a lacy nightrail that still carried the
delicate lavender scent of Camille's perfume, Susanna felt a moment's unease as
she drew the embroidered coverlet up over her shoulders, both for the place she
was usurping and the unknowns she would face in the morning. But her
determination to honor her dearest friend's last wish proved much stronger than
her niggling misgivings.

"Go t' sleep, Camille Cary," Susanna
whispered drowsily as she reached over and snuffed out the lamp.

Chapter 2

Yorktown, Virginia

Squinting in the brilliant July sunshine, Adam Thornton
dismounted from his lathered chestnut stallion and intently scanned the line of
passengers peering over the railing of the
Charming
Nancy
.

Thanks to Elias, a Cary slave who had been quartered in
the town to watch for the ship's arrival, word had traveled swiftly to Adam
that it had finally arrived earlier that morning at the Yorktown docks. Elias
had also informed him that the vessel had been struck with typhus fever during
the ocean crossing, and that no one would be allowed to disembark until the
town's physician had discovered if there was still a threat of disease on
board. Adam had ridden the fifteen miles from Briarwood to Yorktown at a
hellish pace, not knowing if Camille Cary, the young heiress he intended to
marry, was alive or dead.

"Damn," he muttered darkly, a hard knot
forming in his stomach as his gaze shifted from one passenger to the next.

Several young women were scattered along the railing,
but none with honey-gold hair that he could see. James Cary had boasted many
times about his daughter's fair tresses and sea-green eyes, so Adam had some
clue as to her appearance. He ignored the blatantly appraising glance of one
pretty, saucy-eyed wench, a lady's maid judging from the plainness of her
clothing, and, growing more agitated, tethered his heaving stallion to a post.