Authors: Maggie James
None of it mattered without Ryan’s love. And, since he did not want her and never would, she would not stand between him and Denise.
Bless Roussel, she thought with a smile despite her misery. From what she’d heard Denise say that night, she had seen her naked in Ryan’s room, Ryan must have gone to him and told him he wanted to divorce her. No doubt he was using her causing the miscarriage as an excuse, his true motive being that he was still in love with Denise. But Roussel had refused, and Angele deeply regretted not being able to tell him how she would always treasure his loyalty.
It had been a week since that night, and the only time she left her room was to visit Roussel and read to him. Always she pretended nothing was wrong, trying to be cheerful. And if he suspected she was dying inside, he didn’t let on.
As for Ryan, it hadn’t been a problem avoiding him, because he seemed to be in Richmond all the time. Denise had left the very next day after Angele had found them together, so obviously he was spending all his time with her.
Angele would have preferred to have left with dignity, but had Ryan objected to her going out of pride, it would only have prolonged the agony. She couldn’t stay knowing he loved someone else, and the sooner she left, the quicker her heart could begin to heal—if that were possible.
She had no idea where she was going. Neither did Selma. Some people thought the runaways wound up in Philadelphia. Others said they might make it all the way to Canada. No one knew for sure, and Angele actually did not care. In the back of her mind she thought maybe she might like to live in New York. In such a busy place, surely there was work for a woman, if only cooking and washing dishes. But she wasn’t concerned with the future—only the here and now and running away before her heart changed her mind.
Darkness fell, and her tension increased. Selma had said they would leave as soon as light faded.
She paced about, anxious to be on her way. If Ryan did return, she would have to postpone everything. Selma said a lot of people had gone to a lot of trouble to help her along the way, and to hope and pray that didn’t happen.
If she could hate him, it would make leaving so much easier. But no matter how hard she tried, feelings of animosity were overshadowed by memories of tenderness in his arms. And though the words were never spoken, she had, if only for a little while, felt truly loved.
She also couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had begun to look at her so adoringly in the days before she had accidentally caused the loss of their baby. Looking back, she recalled how she had dwelt on every word spoken, every nuance, to ponder whether he might actually be falling in love with her.
Yet, though it was painful beyond belief, the reality was that all it took for him to turn from her completely was being around Denise once again.
Suddenly, finally, Selma was there to tell her she would meet her in the shadows off the front porch. First, she had to make sure Master Roussel was taken care of, because Miss Clarice had given all the household servants permission to sleep with their families for the night. “I’m the only one here, thank goodness.”
“You were smart to arrange it that way,” Angele told her. “I’ll never forget how you helped me.”
She wondered why Selma looked so embarrassed—almost frightened—as she scurried from the room, again without looking at her.
After waiting till she felt Selma would be finished with Roussel, Angele snatched up her bag. She took one last look around, bit down on her lower lip to hold back the tears, and hurried out.
She was almost to the steps when Roussel called out to her.
Fearfully, she turned to see him standing in the door to his wing of the house. Hiding her bag behind her skirt, she answered, “Yes, what is it? Do you need something, Uncle Roussel?”
“I can’t seem to sleep tonight. I don’t feel so good. Could you come and read to me?”
She groaned inwardly. She had no time to spare, but he sounded so pitiful, so lonely, and she did adore him. Besides, it would be the last time she ever saw him, so a few more minutes couldn’t make any difference. He usually fell asleep quickly when she read, anyway.
“I’ll be right there. Go back to bed.”
She went back to her room to leave her bag, thankful he had not seen it.
She found him in bed, looking so pale and tired, she was glad she had agreed to visit him.
“Why can’t you sleep?” she asked as she fluffed his pillows. “It’s certainly a nice, cool night for it.”
“I think I napped too long this afternoon. Besides,” his smile was warm, “I like to fall asleep with you reading to me.”
She made her voice bright. “All right, then. What would you like to hear tonight?” She glanced around, almost wildly, looking for a book, any book. Dear God, she had to hurry, even though she didn’t want to. She enjoyed being with him, and she wanted to cry to think how he would never know she was saying goodbye to him.
He looked her up and down, eyes thoughtful. “Is something wrong? You’re awfully fidgety.”
She laughed—a thin, tinny sound that was unnatural to her own ears. “No. Everything is fine. Now, what book—”
“Is it because you’re lonely?”
“No. I was just going downstairs for a walk when you called me.”
“You have to be lonely. Ryan never stays home anymore. He’s always in Richmond. I can tell he’s drinking a lot, too.” He was watching her intensely, searching her face for a clue as to what had her so unnerved.
Walking around the room, she picked up first one book, then another, but he waved away each one. “You need to choose one, because it’s getting late,” she said impatiently.
“Come over here and sit down. I don’t give a damn about your reading to me. That was an excuse to get you in here.”
She was stunned. “What on earth for?”
“Because I’ve had the feeling you aren’t happy, even before you lost the baby. It’s got worse since. Now, let’s talk.”
Knowing she had no choice, she sat in a chair next to the bed. “There’s really nothing to talk about.”
Dear Lord, let him have his say and be done with it.
Selma had said she had to keep to a schedule. People who were going to help her on the underground railroad would be waiting at points along the way but would leave if she was not there by the appointed time.
“Ryan said you were homesick for France.”
She stiffened. “He said that?”
“Yes. I told him to take you back over there for a visit and to stay as long as you wanted.” He frowned. “Hasn’t he said anything to you about it?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
He sighed. “Be patient with him. He’s stubborn and headstrong. And I know all this can’t have been easy for you, especially having to put up with Clarice. She can be hell to live with. And Corbett is such a toad.” He screwed up his face. “I’m sure sooner or later Ryan is going to get enough of both of them and tell them to make their home elsewhere.”
Angele couldn’t help laughing at Roussel’s description of Corbett. “But you were going to leave BelleRose to Corbett.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
She was dumbfounded by how he had suddenly taken on such a mischievous look. “But you said—”
“I know what I said, and I also know the reason I said it—to make Ryan find a wife and settle down.”
“But your ultimatum was that she had to be French.”
He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that. I preferred that she be, but do you honestly think I could disinherit my own flesh and blood?”
She breathed on a sigh, and, without thinking, spoke her mind. “So he didn’t have to marry me, after all. And all of this was for nothing.”
“Nothing?” he hooted. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I happen to know he loves you, and that certainly cannot be considered
nothing
.”
Angele was swept with fresh sadness. If only it were true…
“You look as though you don’t believe me. Surely you can tell when a man loves you. Hell, I knew it before he told me, but like I said, he’s stubborn. It probably took him awhile to admit it to himself.”
Angele gulped, blinked. “He
told
you that he loves me?”
“He sure did. It was the same day he told you that you’d lost the baby, and also when he was worried about you wanting to go back to France.”
She almost didn’t say it but told herself she had nothing to lose. “You’re mistaken. He loves Denise.”
“No, he doesn’t. But she made it obvious to everyone at the ball that she wishes he did. What you need to do is let her know she’s wasting her time, because the two of you are in love, and nobody is going to change that.
“You’ve got to learn to fight for what you want in this life, Angele,” he continued. “Because if you don’t, life will fight
you
—and win.”
His lashes were fluttering, eyelids growing heavy. He was falling asleep.
Angele tucked the sheet under his chin and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for making me want to fight.”
She left his room and skipped down the stairs and out the front door and onto the porch.
Selma emerged from the darkness. “You’re late. We’ve got to go now…right this minute.”
Hugging herself, Angele turned completely around, delirious in her joy.
Roussel would not lie to her.
And Ryan had no reason to lie to him.
He had said he loved her.
And now, nothing else mattered…except that she let him know that she loved him, too.
“I’m not going, Selma. And I’m sorry for any inconvenience I’ve caused. You can go tell everyone, because I’m going to bed to wait for my husband to come home.”
She ran back to the house, stopping now and then to twirl and dance, because she was suddenly, delightfully, so happy.
Selma called to her, but she kept on going, thankful she had answered Roussel’s call…thankful she was now ready to do whatever it took to claim her love…her life.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Roscoe grabbed Selma by the front of her dress, tearing it as he lifted her off her feet. Holding her at eye level, he screamed into her face, “What the hell do you mean, she changed her mind? If you’ve made a mess of this, I’ll whip the skin from your hide.”
“Nossir, nossir, nossir,” Selma babbled, frantic to make him understand she’d had nothing to do with it. “She just said she won’t be goin’ after all and to say she was sorry.”
“Sorry, my ass! She’s going.” He dropped her to the ground and as she stumbled backward, he yelled, “Don’t you run from me! You’re gonna show me where she is.”
With Selma cowering in the rear of the wagon, Roscoe returned to the house. He reined the horses in at the back door and leaped out.
Grabbing Selma by the nape of her neck and setting her on her feet, he ordered, “Now, take me to her.” The only room in the plantation he had ever seen was the study, and the house was so large he had no intentions of searching each and every room. Time was wasting, anyway. The man who was to meet him would not wait long.
Selma did as she was told.
Oil lamps kept burning through the night illuminated the way.
She stopped at the door of the north wing and pointed with a trembling finger and whispered, “In there. I don’t know which bedroom she’ll be sleepin’ in. You’ll have to look and see.”
“No, you stupid little bitch,” he snapped. “
You’ll
look and then come tell me. If she sees me peekin’ in her door, she’ll start screaming.”
He gave her a shove. “And you better not let her know anything is going on, either, or I’ll cut your throat. And when you find out which room she’s in, leave the door open.
“And put out any lamps burning,” he whispered after her.
Angele was in Ryan’s bed, and she was wide awake, listening for any sound of him returning. The second she heard the door open, she sat straight up in the darkness, excitement surging.
She whispered his name and was disappointed when Selma answered instead.
“It’s me, Miz Angele. I just came to see if you needed anything.”
“No. I’m fine. You go on to bed now.” Having noticed how Selma’s voice quivered, she added to comfort her, “And don’t worry about anyone being angry with you because I changed my mind. They won’t blame you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good night.”
When Selma did not respond, Angele knew she had gone but wondered why she left the door open.
Angele got up to close it. If she did fall asleep, she wouldn’t know when Ryan came in unless she heard the door open. And she didn’t want him just to find her in his bed. She wanted to tell him right away why she was there, lest he turn around and leave.
She got out of bed and padded across the floor, annoyed that Selma had extinguished the lamp in the parlor. It was always left burning, and, again, she was puzzled by Selma’s behavior.
She groped in the darkness for the doorknob.
A hand closed over her mouth and terror surged as she frantically clawed at it. Twisting from side to side, she struggled in vain, held tight against a man’s huge body.
“Relax, and you won’t get hurt.”