She came to her feet abruptly. “You are going to sell the
Victorious
?”
“I fear I must.”
“Wait right here until I come back. At that time I will give you my answer.”
With a quizzical expression on his face, he watched her rush out of the room.
Soon Brittany returned, carrying a large hand-carved wooden chest, which she set before Thorn. “I will accept your offer, Thorn, and this will by my dowry.”
He frowned as she flipped the lid open, and there in the black velvet-lined box were gold coins, sparkling diamonds, rubies the size of pigeon eggs, and priceless pearls.
He closed the lid and stood up. “I will not accept the treasures Lord Simijin has given you, Brittany, but I would still be honored if you would be my wife.”
“But the jewels are mine to give, and I want you to have them. If you are to be my husband, we will share wealth or poverty. Is that not the way it is in this country between married people?”
He felt a tightening in his throat, and he had the strongest urge to crush her in his arms. “You have never known poverty, Brittany.”
Her eyes were shining with earnestness. “Will you fault me for that?”
He pulled her into his arms and laughed with delight. “No, little dancer, I will not fault you for that.”
He released her, feeling strangely lighthearted. “Run along upstairs and make yourself look like a bride. I will make you my wife before the sun sets on this day.”
She turned tear-bright eyes up to him. “My wedding day. With so much sadness in our lives, I will hold on to this bit of happiness.”
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “I will try my damnable best to make you happy, Brittany. But I may not always succeed.”
She gave him an impish smile. “I’ll take my chances with you, Thorn.”
The night was dark as the well-sprung carriage bounced over the rutted roads. The driver was guided by the lantern carried by the outrider. Brittany had fallen asleep with her head resting against her new husband’s shoulder, and she woke when the coach stopped.
Thorn smiled down at her. “Wake up, Mrs. Stoddard, you have come home.”
She looked out the window, but it was a dark night and the house was no more than a dark shadow against a pale moon.
Thorn opened the door and jumped down, then swung Brittany to the ground.
“I am sorry I fell asleep,” she apologized as he led her up the steps to the front door.
“Think nothing of it,” he assured her. “You have had a hard two days and needed the rest.”
She felt the gold band that circled her finger. It had been a brief and impersonal ceremony that bound her to this man who had come into her life just when she needed him most. She was determined to make him a good wife, and she hoped she could stay out of trouble.
Thorn led her into the house, and she yawned as she looked around the wide, high ceiling of the entry hall. She could see that it had once been a grand house, but now the carpets were threadbare and the floor was in need of repair.
Thorn helped Brittany upstairs and led her down a long corridor. Stopping before a door, he pushed it open, taking her inside.
He lit a lamp and looked around. “Do you think you will be comfortable here?”
She looked at him, feeling a strange thrill race through her body. “Yes, I believe it will do very nicely.” Her eyes moved to the large bed where the covers had been turned back, and she wanted to ask him if they would be sharing that bed.
He gathered her close and touched his lips to her forehead. “Will you forgive me if I desert you on our wedding night? I must see to my father.”
She nodded and turned her face away so he would not read her disappointment. She understood that he had many heavy responsibilities weighing on his shoulders. Of course he would want to be with his father since he was so ill.
“Do not concern yourself about me. Go to your father—he needs you.”
Thorn looked at her regretfully. “Do you have to be so damned understanding?” His smile took the sting out of his words. “Go to bed, little dancer.” His eyes sparkled. “And, dream of me, if you dare.”
“I am still worried about Achmed.”
He moved to the window and opened it so a slight breeze circulated through the room. “All that it is possible to do is being done to locate him. It is but a matter of time until my men find him, Brittany. Try to be patient until then.”
“Yes, I know you are doing everything possible, but I am so anxious for his return.” She removed her bonnet and dropped it in a chair. “Go to your father now. I will be here if you need me.”
“I need you,” he whispered, coming up behind her and pulling her head so it rested against his shoulder. “You are my only sanity in this world of turmoil.”
She turned around to him, her eyes large and luminous in the soft light. “I would like to be.”
“All I seem to think about for now is my father. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, I can. You have never told me anything about your relationship with your father.”
He smiled and put her from him. “Tonight is not the time to bare my soul, Brittany.” He gave her a gentle shove. “It’s off to bed with you now.”
Thorn turned to the door and departed abruptly, leaving Brittany staring after him.
She moved to the window and glanced out, but it was too dark to see anything. How quickly events had happened to shape and change her life. Only a few short weeks ago she had been a young girl with little on her mind other than how best to escape her governess. Now she was in America, and this was her wedding night, which she would spend alone.
With a resigned sigh, she unfastened her gown and pulled it over her head. Struggling into her nightgown, she climbed into the bed and sank into the soft mattress, too weary to think about the events of the day.
She yawned and turned her face to the fluffy pillow. She was Thorn’s wife, but there was no sense of belonging, only a deep tranquil feeling of uncertainty. Her eyes closed, and she gave in to the tranquil feeling of sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about Achmed and about being a wife.
On entering his father’s room, Thorn saw that Matty was sitting at her master’s bedside.
She placed her finger to her lips and whispered, “He’s doing mighty poorly, Master Thorn—mighty poorly.”
Standing over his father, Thorn glanced down at the frail body, thinking he looked ill indeed. “Has he been awake?”
“He keeps on mumbling sometimes, but he ain’t opened his eyes.”
“Has anyone else been in to see him today?”
“No, sir. Just the doctor.”
Thorn ran his fingers through his hair and pulled up a chair. He shook off the feeling of tiredness. “You can go to bed now, Matty. I’ll stay with my father.”
“You look just ’bout done in, Master Thorn. I just been
here a while. Why don’t you go to bed and let me sit with Master Ben.”
Thorn shook his head. “No, I want to stay with my father.”
Matty had been born on Stoddard Hill Plantation, and she was well aware of the situation between the father and son. She eyed the young master sadly. Things were not good here, and they hadn’t been since the old master had taken himself a second wife much younger than himself.
“We’re all glad you’re back, Master Thorn. We surely have needed you to come home. Now that you are here things are a’gonna get better, I just know it.”
He smiled at her. “I have taken the first steps to make things better, Matty. I have taken a wife. I think you will like her.”
The woman’s dark eyes glowed, and she beamed happily. “Now ain’t that a grand thing you’ve done? I’m happy for you, Master Thorn.”
He stretched out his long legs and smiled tiredly. “You might want to inform the others about my new bride. I wouldn’t want them to think there is a strange woman sleeping in my bed.”
Matty’s laughter was muted when she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Yes, sir, I’ll do just that.” She chuckled to herself as she moved out of the room and into the hallway, wondering how the mistress would take to having another woman in the house, especially one who was younger and probably much prettier. Since Matty had no liking for the mistress, she hoped it would trouble her quite a bit.
Wilhelmina stormed down the hall, her lips pressed together tightly. She encountered the upstairs maid, Livia. Taking the girl by surprise, she grabbed a handful of hair and gave it a hard yank.
“Why was I not informed immediately that Thorn brought a woman into this house?” she demanded. “It’s your duty to keep me informed of everything that happens.”
Livia squirmed in pain. “I don’t know much ’bout no woman. I just know that my mama told me that Master Thorn got himself married.”
Wilhelmina flung the frightened girl out of the way. “We’ll just see about that!” Her eyes were burning with anger. “I will not have it!”
Brittany was in a deep sleep and did not hear Wilhelmina when she entered the bedroom. She did not know that Thorn’s stepmother was watching her with an expression of naked hatred. Innocently, she lingered in her dream world, unaware that she was the object of such intense loathing.
Wilhelmina ground her teeth together as she looked at the golden hair spilled across the snowy-white pillowcase. She looked at the even features and the long silky lashes that curled at the tips.
She balled her fists, resisting an urge to destroy the beautiful girl who was Thorn’s wife. This girl represented everything that Wilhelmina was not—young, innocent, beautiful. And she had Thorn.
Brittany’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and she found a strange woman staring at her. Her green eyes reflected her discomfort, and she sat up, brushing a tumbled curl away from her face.
“H-ello,” Brittany stammered. “Who are you?”
Wilhelmina stabbed the air. “I am mistress of this house, and I demand to know what are you doing in Thorn’s bed?”
Brittany realized that the woman had drawn a wrong conclusion. “It is not as bad as it appears, madame. You see, I am Thorn’s…wife.”
“So I have been informed, but I had to clarify it for myself.” Wilhelmina’s voice held a note of spitefulness as she trailed her finger across the empty side of the bed. “If last night was your wedding night, it must have been a disappointment to you.”
Wilhelmina’s eyes narrowed. “I have been told that your new bridegroom did not share your marriage bed, since he
spent the night with his father. Poor girl, it must have been so frustrating for you, hmm?”
Brittany slid off the bed and pulled on her dressing gown. She was feeling uncomfortable under the woman’s close inspection, and she was certain she detected undertones in the woman’s voice. “How is your husband this morning, Mrs. Stoddard? I do hope his condition is much improved.”
There was something regal about the way Thorn’s wife held herself, and that further enraged Wilhelmina. “How should I know? Thorn is the one to ask,” she replied in a surly voice. “He has put himself in charge of my husband.”
Brittany tried to ignore the woman’s biting tone. “What should I call you, Mrs. Stoddard?”
“What!” Wilhelmina’s mouth opened in surprise. “Thorn has not told you my name?”
“No. Thorn told me nothing about you. I knew only that his own mother died and that you are his stepmother.”
Now Wilhelmina’s anger knew no bounds. “So, Thorn thought me such an insignificant part of his life that he did not mention me to his wife.”
“I…am certain—”
Wilhelmina held up her hand to silence Brittany. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned into a vengeful smile. “Of course Thorn has his reasons for not telling you about me. You will hear why he had to leave Stoddard Hill in the first place.” Her laughter sounded evil and high-pitched. “Yes, it is clear to me that Thorn would not want you to know what we have been to one another in the past.”
Brittany blinked her eyes in confusion. Then slowly she understood what the woman was inferring, and a sick feeling washed over her. “Are you saying that you and my husband…that you and Thorn…”
“Were lovers?” Wilhelmina supplied. “Is it so hard for you to say?”
Brittany turned toward the window, needing a breath of fresh air. “Madame, nothing you can say will make me believe anything bad about Thorn. He is a man of honor, and
I know he would never betray his father as you are implying.”
Wilhelmina shrugged. “If you do not believe me, then you must ask your husband why his father ordered him to leave Stoddard Hill.”
Brittany swung around. “I never will ask such a question of him. If Thorn has something he wants me to know, he will tell me himself.” She raised her head, her eyes boring into Wilhelmina. “I would like it if you left now.”
Wilhelmina almost slithered across the room. “Of course, my dear. You will want time to settle in and become acquainted with your new home.” At the door she turned back to Brittany. “I can assure you that if Thorn were my husband, he would not have spent his wedding night away from my bed.” Spiteful laughter rolled off her lips. “Are you certain that Thorn was with his father last night?”
Before Brittany could answer, the woman swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Brittany leaned out the window, taking in deep gulps of air. Never had she met such a disgusting creature. Nothing Wilhelmina had said would convince Brittany that she and Thorn had been lovers or that Thorn had spent his wedding night with her, as she implied.
Brittany moved to the side table and splashed water on her face. Thorn would not have asked her to marry him if he loved his stepmother. She shook her head, knowing there was something evil about that woman. Thorn needed her, she could sense it, and she was not going to turn against him now.
She dressed quickly. Then with a determined lift to her head, she walked into the hall where she encountered one of the servants.
“Good morning, ma’am. My name is Livia, and Master Thorn has asked me to look after you. Will you be wanting breakfast in your room?”
Brittany looked into smiling dark eyes. “Where is my husband?”
“He said to tell you he was going into town. Said you would know why.” Her brow came together in thoughtfulness. “He said he wouldn’t be back until tonight.”
“How is my husband’s father?”
“He’s sickly, mighty sickly.”
Brittany stood undecided for a moment. Without Thorn, a long day stretched before her. “I will not be wanting breakfast, thank you. I just want to walk about the grounds and see the plantation.”
“Yes, ma’am. If you want something, just ask for me.”
“Thank you, Livia. I shall.”
Brittany stood on the small bridge and gazed out at the fields. She sensed something was not right at Stoddard Hill. There was too much idleness. Men lounged in front of the stables while the work went undone. The women appeared to be busy enough, but not in doing anything that would benefit Stoddard Hill.
She walked past the slave quarters, nodding to women who stared back at her with interest. Several dark-skinned children who were playing games under the branches of a wide oak tree stopped to stare at her with open curiosity.
When Brittany reached the last cabin, she came upon an old woman sitting in the shade of a wagon, her gnarled hands weaving a delicate basket out of colored straw. She watched the woman with fascination.
“How do you do that?” Brittany inquired, bending down to get a closer look.
The woman’s face was stoic. “Been doing it for over eighty years. My mother did it a’fore me, and her mother a’fore her,” the woman answered with a feeling of pride.
Brittany glanced at the many baskets that the woman had already completed. They were all in different shapes, and apparently had different uses. “What a wonderful craft. Do you think I could learn to weave the straw?”
The old woman looked at her skeptically. “You wouldn’t be wanting to spoil your pretty hands. This here’s hard work,
and the straw cuts deep into the skin.” She held her hands up for Brittany’s inspection. “I have calluses on my hands and they are as tough as the back of a mule. This may look like play, but it’s hard work.”