Defiant Impostor (9 page)

She had a madman sleeping down the hall from her! she
thought wildly. Either that or Virginia was a very strange place indeed. She had
never heard of such customs! And why had he become so angry? How direct and
rude he had been, considering she was now his employer. She couldn't make sense
of all he had said, and right now, she didn't even want to try. All she wanted
was to lie down and give her whirling thoughts a rest!

***

Adam shut the door, cursing under his breath.

Now you've done it, he berated himself, tearing off his
coat and tossing it on the chair. If this was his idea of wooing Camille
gently, then he was failing miserably, and it was his own damn fault. He had
clearly upset her, but then he had meant to. If only she hadn't stared at him
so incredulously when he had said this was his room. He could just imagine what
she had been thinking.

A hired man sleeping only a few doors away from her?
Well, he wasn't just any hired man! And the sooner she knew about his intention
to marry her and that her father had approved of the match, the better. Yet
somehow he would have to compensate for the less than fine impression he had
just given of himself.

Growing more disgusted with his behavior, Adam leaned
against the window, blind to the bustle of activity outside.

Dammit, he shouldn't have been so hard on her. Of
course she wouldn't know of the Tidewater's customs, being a gently bred young
woman raised in England. The social distinctions so rigid there were more
blurred in Virginia, and more easily scaled. How could he have expected her to
know that? Maybe she had simply been surprised, not insulted or disturbed, to
discover that this was his room. He had to admit, the arrangement was unusual
if he looked at it from her perspective.

Patience, man, you'll make amends, Adam told himself as
he changed into rougher clothes and his work-worn jackboots for the long, dusty
ride ahead of him. Too bad it couldn't be over dinner.

He had been looking forward to spending more time her
with, especially after what he had seen of her so far. He suspected that
passion lurked beneath her shy exterior, although she kept it well-hidden. Yet
in the carriage when he had leaned against her soft, lush body, there had been
no mistaking the heightened color of her cheeks and the rapid pulse at the base
of her lovely throat. Her reaction to his nearness had pleased and excited him;
he could tell she was easily aroused by a man's touch, knowledge which he would
use to his advantage.

He had been sorely tempted to kiss her then and there,
to see if he could unleash more of that hidden passion, but he had restrained
himself, thinking it would be too much too soon for his timid heiress. He would
observe the proper niceties first and tell her of his plans for them, then kiss
her. But now that moment would have to wait a while longer, Adam thought with
regret.

There was trouble in the outlying tobacco fields
because of a newly hired overseer who had exceeded his bounds with the slaves.
Josiah Skinner, one of his head overseers, had just informed him in the stable
that the man had been using the lash even though he knew no whips were allowed
on Cary land. If the accusation was true, the bastard would be thrown off the
plantation. Adam would not tolerate any deviation from his orders.

As he stepped into the hallway, he glanced at Camille's
door, wondering if he should say anything to her now. Then, remembering how
weary she had looked, he decided against it. He would let her rest. He wanted
her to be fresh and receptive when she heard what he had to say.

Chapter 5

Susanna felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and opened
her eyes with a start, at first not knowing where she was. "What . . .
?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Camille. I didn't mean to wake
you so sudden-like. Ertha sent me to help you dress for dinner. My name's
Corliss, if you recall. I'll be your waiting-maid—that is, if you like me well
enough."

Time and place came flooding back to her, and Susanna
realized from the crick in her neck that she had fallen asleep in the rather
stiff chair near the fireplace. She remembered exploring briefly the luxurious
suite with its huge canopied bed, separate sitting area, and curved balcony
overlooking beautiful gardens that led down to the river. Then she had plopped
down here, her enjoyment of her surroundings tempered by her unsettling
encounter with Adam. She must have leaned her head back and nodded off.

"I'm sure we'll get along just fine,
Corliss," she finally replied, hoping to reassure the pretty young woman
who looked to be about the same age as herself. She knew she had succeeded when
the maid grinned happily.

"I already laid out a few gowns for you to choose
from," Corliss said in a rush, clearly eager to please, "and there's
hot water in the basin if you want to wash. Now if you'll stand up, Miss
Camille, I'll help you out of your traveling clothes."

Susanna did as Corliss asked, thinking how strange it
was to have someone waiting upon her like this. But she supposed she would have
to get used to it. The household servants would wonder if she insisted upon
seeing after her own personal needs.

As she washed and changed into a beautiful
emerald-green gown—the stays laced to within an inch of her life, and the satin
skirt buoyed by the same stiff whalebone hoop-petticoat she had practiced
walking in last night—Corliss fluttered around her like a butterfly, arranging
and fussing and making flattering comments.

"You're a true beauty, Miss Camille, I knew it the
first moment I saw you. I swear you're going to make the other misses jealous
when they see you at the ball on Saturday. If they're engaged to be married,
they better hold on real tight to their menfolk, that's all I have to say. One
look at you could easily change any gentleman's mind and bring him running like
a hound panting after a fox."

Embarrassed at such talk, Susanna quickly sought to
shift the focus of discussion to another topic as she sat down at the elegant
dressing table. Now that she had gotten some rest, her mind was much clearer,
and her thoughts returned to her troubling encounter with Adam. Her curiosity
about him mounting, she wondered if perhaps the talkative Corliss could
enlighten her about this puzzling and most infuriating man.

"Corliss, is it really a common practice in
Virginia for a hired man . . . a plantation manager to have a room in the
master's house?"

"You mean like Mr. Thornton?" the maid asked,
whisking a brush through Susanna's thick hair.

"Yes."

"Well, Miss Camille, I'd have to answer yes, at
least as far as I know. 'Course if you don't like it, being the new mistress
and all, you could make him move out, but I don't think you'd want to do that. A
good plantation manager is hard to come by, and Mr. Thornton is said to be the
best around. He might take it into his head to leave Briarwood if he isn't
treated nice. I 'spect he could find himself another job real easy, since he's
a crop master, too."

There was that strange title again, Susanna thought as
Corliss concentrated upon sweeping her hair back from her forehead and
fastening it with an ivory comb. Then the maid reached for a small heated iron
with which to curl her long tresses into ringlets, a fashionable style borrowed
from the Dutch. Susanna had arranged Camille's hair in ringlets countless
times.

"What is a crop master?" she queried.

"Someone who knows everything there is to know
about tobo, like Mr. Thornton."

"Tobo?"

"Tobacco. Mr. Thornton's got planters coming from
miles around looking for his advice about growing good leaf. He knows all about
transplanting and cutting, curing and prizing. That's all these Virginians care
about, growing their tobo, and they respect any man who can bring in a
high-quality crop, year after year. Why, it's because of Mr. Thornton that your
papa's tobacco has come to be known as Cary's Finest. Did you know that, Miss
Camille?"

"No. No, I didn't." James Cary had never been
one for bragging, at least not in his letters to his daughter. Susanna could
not recall ever having heard anything about the special quality of Briarwood's
tobacco, just that the plantation was doing very well.

"It's true, sure as I'm standing here,"
Corliss went on. "Your papa always treated Mr. Thornton well, probably to
thank him, probably because he liked him, too. Treated him just like a son, if
you ask me. I remember Master Cary saying once that if there were more planters
that worked as hard and as honest as Mr. Thornton, there would be a lot better
men in Virginia."

Mr. Cary treated Adam like a son? Susanna wondered in
disbelief. Surely not. Corliss must be exaggerating.

"I know Mr. Thornton thought well of Master
Cary," the maid continued, her cheerful tone growing somber as she put the
finishing touches on Susanna's hair. "You should have seen him after the
accident. When he found out what had happened to your papa, he punched his fist
right through the stable door. He raged and carried on until poor Ertha thought
she might have to send for the doctor. After that, he didn't talk to anyone for
days, just kept to himself . . ." Corliss sighed as she set down the
curling iron. "I'm sorry, Miss Camille. Here I am carrying on myself,
talking your ear off."

"It's all right, Corliss. I don't mind,"
Susanna said, absorbing everything the maid had told her.

It wasn't difficult to imagine Adam in such a rage. He
seemed to have a lot of emotion boiling inside him, and he was prideful to
boot. Yet she supposed she owed him an apology for giving him the impression
that he didn't belong in the house. From what Corliss had said, it sounded as
if Adam deserved a lot of the credit for Briarwood's recent prosperity. If
James Cary had granted him a room under his own roof, it wasn't her place to
take it from him.

Of course, once she was married that might have to
change, Susanna quickly amended. Her husband might have his own plantation
manager, and then crop master or not, Adam would have to go. Maybe her husband
might even be a crop master himself—Adam had said the title usually went to
other planters—which would certainly mean that Adam's services would no longer
be needed. She would just have to deal with the situation when she reached it.
For now, Adam Thornton could stay.

"Which pinner would you like to wear, Miss
Camille?" Corliss asked, holding up two circular caps, one made of
delicate cream lace and the other bordered with an emerald ribbon.

"I think the one with the ribbon."

"That's the pinner I would have picked, too,"
the maid replied, her voice lighthearted again. "It'll match your gown
just perfect."

Susanna watched in the large oval mirror as Corliss
carefully pinned the cap on the crown of her head. She was satisfied with
everything she had learned about Adam so far, but one thing was still bothering
her. "Corliss," she said, looking down at her hands, "you said
that Mr. Thornton was well-respected by the planters, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did, Miss Camille. Why, you'd think he was
a rich planter himself, they treat him so well, accepting him practically as
one of their own kind."

"How so?"

"Well, he's invited to their doings, for one
thing. Balls and picnics and such, though he ain't got much time for it. Like I
said before, any planter would hire Mr. Thornton easy if he could only be
coaxed away from Briarwood. I've heard tell of rumors going around the county
that a few planters might even be willing to part with their daughters and some
land to have a crop master like Mr. Thornton in the family."

So, that would explain what Adam had said about
courting the gentry's women, Susanna thought, feeling a sudden shiver. It was
simply amazing to her that a planter would allow his daughter to marry so
beneath herself, and all for the sake of growing better tobacco. Then again,
from what she knew of the English gentry, their daughters were often married
off for such mercenary reasons. Yet would one marry a common hired man like
Adam Thornton, with no land of his own and probably little money?

"A planter's daughter would surely be a prize for
a man who used to wield a hoe in the tobo fields," Corliss added, stepping
back from the dressing table to survey her handiwork. "An indentured
servant one day, marrying into the gentry the next."

"Mr. Thornton was an indentured servant?"
Susanna asked, startled.

She had once considered selling herself into indenture,
years ago when she was only eleven, another wild scheme she had briefly
entertained as a way to escape her father's brutality. But when she had found
out that she would not be free again until she was at least twenty-one years
old, she had changed her mind. So many years in servitude seemed too dear a
price to pay to one so young, no matter how desperate.

Nodding, Corliss gave a final twist to one of Susanna's
curls. "Mr. Thornton has never said a word about his servant days, Miss
Camille, 'cept that he worked in the fields. I did overhear him telling Master
Cary not long after he hired on here that he came from England with his parents
when he was thirteen and that their indentures were bought by another planter,
Mr. Dominick Spencer. I didn't hear anything else because Ertha caught me
listening outside the library door and boxed my ears good." She chuckled
softly. "I was only thirteen then myself."

Intrigued by this new information, Susanna couldn't
seem to stop her questions. "Does this Mr. Spencer live around here?"

A knowing smile crept over Corliss's lips. "Not
too close, but not too far, either. His place is about fifteen miles upriver,
near the town of West Point. He's a widower, you know, and as rich as the day
is long. He's got the finest house on the York, 'cept for this one, the finest
racehorses, the finest everything. He's real handsome, too, and a
well-respected gentleman. Member of the governor's council."