Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (22 page)

I went to sit next to Gaston on the settee. “What do you wish?”

She smirked. “I have spent the last year wishing you would die, but that has not happened.”

I smiled in kind. “I have spent the last eight months thinking how lucky I would be if you died while birthing.”

She made great work of smoothing her skirt and snorted with amusement, her mouth contorted someplace between a smirk and a grimace. “So we are even on that account. Do you wish my child dead as well?” she asked with an edge to her voice, and I saw fear tighten her features for but a moment. Then she glanced at Gaston.

“You would be missed,” my matelot said with a shrug.

She glared at him, and then quickly took to studying her skirt again.

“We do not wish for any harm to befall the child,” I assured her. “No matter what the outcome is to be between you and me, I would see the child cared for.”

She gave a short sigh of relief and nodded to herself. Then she adopted a hopeful air. “What if it is a boy? Would that not…?”

I shook my head quickly, but then I sighed. She was correct: if it were a boy, it would solve many problems with my father and allow me to stave off questions of my inheritance, and thus retain my title for the benefit of all, that much longer. I had not heard from anyone, including my father, as to whether he had heard of her indiscretion. I could claim a boy as mine, and even if it took my damn father years to decide if I had a legitimate heir, those would still be years in which I was the Viscount of Marsdale. But, I would be stuck with her, as I could not divorce her for adultery or annul the marriage for lack of consummation if I claimed the child. Nay, the sex of the babe did not matter: if I was to be rid of her, I needed to do it now. I had waited too long as it was.

“I do not wish to be married to you,” I told her. “And I am reluctant to claim any issue of yours, male or not, because I feel he might inherit your poor judgment and meanness of spirit.”

She recoiled and tears filled her eyes. “You bastard,” she gasped.

“I will provide money for the child to be raised,” I said. “Now, what do you wish? I will pursue whatever method I must to end this marriage, be it divorce or annulment, whichever will be the easiest and most convenient – for me. Where do you wish to live? Is there anyone who could take you in?”

“Nay,” she breathed. “No one.”

I sighed. “If necessary, I will find someplace to put you and the child, and provide for your support as well. I will even pay Henrietta’ s salary.

But I will not set you up in a fine house in London. In truth, I will not support you if you return to England at all.”

Her ire had returned in full force. “Why?” she demanded.

“I do not wish to have my name, such as it is, slandered in court,” I sighed.

“Oh,” she said with venom, “so you do not want anyone to know you are a pirate who lets that bastard fuck you up the arse every night?”

Gaston gave a quiet hiss of annoyance.

I smiled. “While that is actually a thing of which I am quite proud, nay, I do not wish to have the likes of you speaking of it.”

“I can write letters,” she snarled.

“And I can put you out on the street naked without a penny,” I said.

“I hear the brothels are always looking for more.”

She winced. “I am not a whore.”

“Nay, you are a drunkard,” I said sadly.

“You would be, too,” she said so quietly I almost did not hear her, and I had to spend several moments puzzling through the sounds I had heard to make sense of them.

“We all choose how we will survive the things life compels us to endure,” I said carefully.

She glared at me, and then snorted and rolled her eyes. “Do not speak to me like a man of God.”

I sighed and stood. “Think on whether you wish to raise the child or not. Think on how you wish to live. I am sure we can find you a house in town. Or you could live on the plantation.”

“Why can I not remain here?” she asked. “This is my house.”

“Nay, it is actually my father’s house as I understand the finances of it. He supplied the money to have it built for my bride. I imagine he will expect me to ensconce my next wife in it.”

“You fucking bastard,” she said with new tears.

Gaston and I walked to the door.

“Wait!” she called as we began to leave. She came to lean in the sitting room doorway. “I can keep Henrietta, and I need not… work? And I can have a house of my own?”

I nodded.

She nodded, and pulled herself to stand with squared shoulders and an air of nonchalance. “That will be fine, then. Do what you must.”

We left.

“She is scarred,” Gaston said quietly, once we were safely on the street.

“Oui,” I sighed. “I thought that on my wedding night. She is a scared and lonely little girl with many scars. Someone has given her great anger and sadness and she has learned to find solace in the bottle.”

“I feel sympathy for her,” he said with a rueful smile.

“You wish for me to stay married to her?” I asked.

His eyes hardened. “Non, I wish to have fine puppies.” He frowned a little and looked at Sarah’s house. “And we should see the ones we have.”

As we did not wish to face anyone in the atrium, we went down the wide alley between Sarah’s house and my wife’s, and slipped in the back gate of Sarah’s yard. We were immediately met by dogs, and it was a good thing they knew us. Sam’s head emerged from the cookhouse to see what all the ado was about. He greeted us with a smile and silence, and we were left to pet the dogs and sneak into the stable without seeing another soul. The puppies were sleeping, and Bella was happy to see us, even though we had not brought her anything. We lay in the straw and inhaled innocence for a time.

“What is true madness?” Gaston asked.

I had been nearly asleep, and it took me several moments to recall why he would ask such a thing. A day spent attempting to have a simple pair of boots made, and then seeing the Damn Wife, had robbed me of the morning’s philosophic bent.

He rolled onto his side to peer down at me. “Not all madness can be dismissed as a difference between those in the cave and those without.

I have seen men who raved without any knowledge of their location or identity. I have occasionally been reduced to that state. That is not a truth,” he said sadly.

“Non,” I agreed. “I did not mean my revelation to be an answer, but merely an illustration of another view of the matter, perhaps. Maybe some men wander too far into the cave, where there is no light, or maybe some men stand in the full heat of the sun too long, and it boils their heads. But all allegory aside, I feel – as we have decided before– that not all those things or thoughts we call mad, are. And surely men who live their lives watching and acting out lies cannot see the truth.”

Gaston nodded with a thoughtful frown. “There is comfort to be found in the shade – and common ground. When my Horse takes the bit and runs, I feel I stand too long in the light, and then my eyes cannot see into the darkness of the cave to know what other men perceive, and I know not how to speak with them.”

I smiled. “Perhaps we need to live in the mouth of the cave.”

“If we are to deal with other men,” he said seriously.

And as if our words had called him, Sam appeared to tell us supper was being served.

All chose to seat themselves as they had the night before, and though the Marquis was eyeing Gaston and me curiously, there was far less tension in the room: faces were smiling, and people entered speaking of trivial things.

“I spoke to Lady Marsdale today,” I told Sarah as we waited for Sam to finish serving roast chicken and soup.

“How is she?” Sarah asked with sincere curiosity.

“She seems much the same, though now she is obviously with child; and she is somewhat plumper,” I said. “She claims she should birth within a month.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow and spoke wryly. “Truly? Does she also claim it is a boy, and yours?”

I shrugged. “She wished to claim that, but I corrected her.”

“You claim the child is not yours?” the Marquis asked with an amused frown.

“My Lord, I know the child is not mine,” I said with a grin. “My seed was not sown on that field, or for that matter, anywhere near that property.”

This set the men at the table chuckling and caused Agnes to flush.

“Why?” the Marquis asked with narrowed eyes. “Did you find her completely disagreeable?” His glance flicked to Gaston.

I sighed. “She is quite pretty, beautiful perhaps, and I would have been happy to do my duty as her husband if the damn woman had possessed any interest in performing her wifely duties. She came here, to this island, quite furious that she should be forced to leave England, to marry someone as disreputable as me, and to even be made to marry at all. I cannot speak for other men, but if a lady is unwilling to have me share her bed, I do not wish to do so.”

“So the marriage is unconsummated?” Sarah asked. “Then you do not need a divorce. An annulment should be easy enough to arrange.”

I awarded her an admonishing look. “And how will that be perceived? People will assume, as the Marquis did here, that I chose not to for other reasons; or that I am incapable. So I will address the matter with Theodore on the morrow. For now, she has been apprised that I will proceed to put her out as soon as possible, preferably before she births.

As she might truly be as near to birthing as she claims, I may have waited too damn long as it is. Either way, though, I have told her I will see that she and the child are cared for. Tell me, who owns that house?”

Sarah sighed. “Father’s instructions to Theodore were quite explicit: it is father’s, as is the plantation, until such time as you shall produce an heir. It is for the use of Lady Marsdale, whoever she might be.”

“Well, damn, that is as I thought,” I sighed. “The current Lady Marsdale rather likes the place, and, as I have no other abode to ensconce her in, I rather hoped she could remain there. I suppose I will have to speak to Theodore about that as well. And about the change in servants,” I added to myself.

“What about the servants?” she asked. “I suppose they told you about the maid.”

“Aye, but now they have lost one more,” I said. “I dismissed that arrogant arse, Coswold. All that is left is the housekeeper, Henrietta.”

“Oh, well, that is not a matter for Theodore, but for me,” Sarah said.

I raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “He does not have an entire bevy of clarks hidden away to see to these things, so I manage your lady’s house account, along with ours and the business.”

I was surprised; not that Sarah could do such a thing, but that Vivian would allow it. “Does she know this?” I asked.

Sarah shook her head. “She would not be pleased if she did.”

“Is she costly to maintain?” I asked.

“Nay,” Sarah said, as if she found the matter surprising. “We were fortunate to have several plantations being sold when we needed to acquire furniture and the like for her house and ours, so that was not unduly expensive, though we would still have paid less in England for the same. And since then, her primary expenses have been the servants and food. Though I have thought much of that was due to her being with child and not prone to entertaining or needing gowns for parties. But even in the matter of the food, Henrietta has proven to be an excellent cook, and they eat food grown here and not shipped from England. She is the one who taught Samuel to cook.”

I smiled as I sipped more of the tasty soup. “That is good to hear, it means I made one good decision this day: I have promised Henrietta the salaries of the other two since she is now left with the work of three.”

Sarah’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but she nodded agreeably. “That is a bit of money: Coswold was overpaid, but Henrietta is well worth it.

She might stay with that, though I feel she has stayed as long as she has because she is loyal to your wife.”

The Marquis had been listening to Dupree’s translation with amusement, and now he asked, “Is it difficult to retain servants here?”

Many of us regarded him as if he were daft.

“Lord Tervent,” Sarah said with a smile, “it is difficult to obtain servants here. Women, of any variety, are scarce. So, if one imports maids or cooks from England, they are courted by men who earn as much as their masters. Bondswomen suitable for housework are often sold to men who wish to marry them. Negroes suitable for housework are very rare and very expensive. The plantations cannot get enough slaves as it is. And any young man one might employ in a house runs away to become a buccaneer, because they think they will get rich.”

“Will they not?” the Marquis asked with a smile.

“Nay, my Lord,” Striker said. “To be sure, in a good year they’ll make more than most honest men are paid in England, but in a bad year, or if they drink overmuch, they find themselves sold to the plantations to cover their tavern bills. The smart ones put their money in land or other enterprises.”

“And which have you done?” the Marquis asked him with more good humor.

Striker grinned. “We started a merchant company to import and export goods.”

“Ah,” the Marquis nodded appreciatively. “It seems that would be quite lucrative, especially if one imported slaves and servants.”

Everyone stilled after his words were translated, and he immediately sensed the unease.

“What did I say?” he asked, and glanced with annoyance at Dupree.

“We won’t deal in slaves,” Striker said quickly. “Not all of us arrived here as free men.”

“And some of us feel that no man should be owned,” I added.

He looked about, as I did, and saw agreement all about the table. I was glad my uncle was not there to gainsay us.

“That is admirable,” he said with a thoughtful nod. “But can you make money with such sentiments if, presumably, your competitors do not hold them?”

“Aye,” Striker said, “if we ship everything the plantations need and produce.”

The Marquis frowned at that. “From what I hear of plantations, their greatest need seems to be men, and so if you do not ship men, then you are only carrying cargo out,” and he shrugged in seeming dismissal of the amounts of that, “and bringing nothing back.”