The Lady Who Broke the Rules (16 page)

She sat in a wooden ladderback chair, but Virgil remained standing. He paced the room like a restless tiger, abstractedly inspecting fishing tackle, picking up a piece of rope and working a knot in it free. Casting it aside, he pulled a three-legged stool over to sit opposite her. ‘Millie,’ he said resolutely, ‘I need to tell you about Millie. You need to understand, Kate, how impossible it is that there could ever be anything between us.’

‘Virgil, I already understand that.’

Did she?
The problem was, the difficulty was that he wasn’t sure
he
did, not after—no, don’t think about that. Virgil felt like a knight who had voluntarily laid down his armour thinking the battle won, only to discover that another was starting and his armour no longer fit. He could not allow Kate to penetrate his defences. What he needed to do was to remind himself of that. And if that meant the brutal truth, peeling back his scars to the raw flesh to remind himself, then that is what he would do.

He loosened his neck cloth. This was the only way. He had to close it down, this thing between them. He had to find a way to stop himself thinking of her, dreaming of her,
wanting
her. He had to get her out of his mind. This was for his sake, but even to say so would give her the wrong idea.

‘Kate.’ Virgil caught himself. Don’t say her name, not like that! He tried again. ‘Kate.’ Better. She looked…anxious. Couldn’t be helped. He could do it. The pain would cauterise whatever it was he was feeling, stop it in its tracks.
Damn it
, he had to do it. Virgil breathed deep, as if to dredge it all up from his guts. He felt sick. Good. That was good.

He closed his eyes. Another deep breath and he was back in the South. Harvest time. He opened his eyes and forced himself to look at Kate. Her face had that fierce look, her brows drawn together, her fine features pinched with concentration. Good. Good.

‘There’s a heaviness to the air in Virginia in the summer that saps your energy,’ he began. ‘Everything smells ripe, rotten. There’s an art to getting the tobacco leaves in at just the right time, to having them dried in the sheds and packed in the hogsheads ready for the ships arriving so you can get the best price. If you leave them on the plants too long, you lose them.’

‘That was why you chose to strike then. I remember you saying so.’

‘Yes. As the time passed, the end was inevitable. I saw the men’s resolve crumbling, Kate. I could almost taste their fear, but I hung on.’

‘And you were punished.’ She reached for his hand, but he brushed her away. He couldn’t touch her. He would not have her comfort; he did not deserve her admiration. He would put an end to that. ‘I was so damned certain I was right. They stuck by me, the men at the Booth place. God forgive me for that. They stuck by me long past the time when I thought we’d have been sure to win, but I hadn’t counted on Master Booth’s sheer determination, and I hadn’t counted on his being smart enough to know that if he conceded just one thing it would be the end. I thought we had the most to lose, but I was wrong. When they sent men from the neighbouring plantations to do our jobs, I knew we’d lost. Yes, they whipped us. They flayed me so badly I thought I would die, but you’d be amazed just how much punishment a body can take.’

There was a sheen of tears in Kate’s eyes. He could see her struggling valiantly not to let them fall. How she hated to cry. ‘You mustn’t feel guilty,’ she said. ‘Those other men, I’m sure they didn’t blame you.’

‘That’s not it.’ Tension enhanced the drawl in his voice, brought out the distinctive accent of the South. He held himself rigid on the stool.

‘What else?’ Kate asked.

There was doubt in her voice. She didn’t want to hear. That was good. He didn’t want to tell, but it was too late now to call a halt. ‘Millie,’ Virgil said. ‘We weren’t married. Some of the plantation owners encouraged it—they figured a family man was less likely to run away and they could always sell the children for profit, though it didn’t stop them splitting those same families up if it suited them—but Master Booth wasn’t one who went along with that view. He thought family ties made us more rebellious. We weren’t married, but we planned to be.’

Kate flinched. Her eyes were dark, her skin not so much creamy as pale. She hadn’t expected that, obviously. She didn’t like it. Because she cared? He couldn’t let himself think that way. Hell, that was the whole point.

Virgil tugged at his neck cloth and it came away in his hand. He began to wrap the length of linen round his knuckles, pulling it tight. ‘Millie, she was mightily against our uprising. She begged me not to do it, but I was so sure I knew best. It was for our future, I told her.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What I did, it made sure we didn’t have a future.’

He told her, and in the telling it was like it was happening again, fresh and stark, every detail etched on his memory, waiting all these years to be released for the first time. The sting of the sun blinding him as he emerged from the hellhole. The way fear tasted, sharp like sweat. Apprehension morphing into disbelief, then horror, as he saw his fellow slaves lined up. The look on Master Booth’s face. On Harlow, the overseer’s. And Millie. Millie’s face. Millie calling his name. Millie, suffering for his crimes. Millie paying for his insubordination. ‘They knocked me out. I heard her screaming, I tried to get to her, but they knocked me out. I couldn’t get to her. I tried, but I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t save her.’

His voice cracked, be he made himself finish. ‘When I came back to consciousness, I thought it was over. I knew I would be sold. I thought most likely they’d send me north, because my reputation was too bad to make me anything but worthless in the South. I planned to come back for her. I wanted to tell her but they wouldn’t let me see her. I never got to tell her. I thought she would know, but by the next morning—by the morning—it was too late. She killed herself.’

The agony of it all, which he had locked away, which he had kept so firmly tamped down, weighting it with the sheer slog which had been his determination to succeed, binding it tight with the penance which was at the root of his philanthropy, overwhelmed him. Virgil dropped his head in his hands.

Chapter Eight

D
ry, hacking sobs echoed around the small room. Virgil’s shoulders heaved. Kate had never before seen a man in such agony. That it was this man, so powerful, so seemingly invincible, made it all the more unbearable to watch. She ached for him, but she knew better than to offer him comfort. She wiped her own tears away frantically. What he had told her was beyond anything she had imagined.
Why
he had put himself through the trauma of reliving it, she could not quite understand.

Her own feelings strained at the leash she had put around them, like hunting dogs fresh on a scent. It was an enormous effort to control them, but she knew she could not afford to fail. That Virgil may be struggling, too, she had not for a moment imagined. Was he afraid, as she was?

Looking at his hunched, distraught figure, the horror of his story fresh in her mind, Kate could not believe that. Such a trauma would surely sever all emotions for ever. No wonder he had chosen celibacy. No wonder he had been so reserved since the island. He obviously felt he had been unfaithful to Millie’s memory.
It could never be the same
,
he’d said. She understood that fully now. It hurt. It was good that it hurt. He’d put himself through this for her sake, Kate realised. He knew she was not indifferent. He’d seen what she would not admit to herself. His seeing made her realise how far from indifferent she had allowed herself to become. But it was not too late.

Virgil got to his feet and stared out of the window. Kate joined him, close but not touching. There was a heron on the lake shore, its wings spread to dry. When he began to speak again, his voice was flat, drained, exhausted. ‘So now you know it all. I killed her. My stubbornness, my ambition, my certainty, killed the woman I loved. If I had listened to her, if I’d thought for one moment about the consequences of what I was doing, I wouldn’t have done it. Surely to God, I wouldn’t have done it.’

Kate stared at him, stunned. He couldn’t possibly blame himself, but he quite obviously did. ‘You can’t have guessed what they would do to her!’

‘I should have. It wasn’t the first time I’d been whipped for insurrection, and this was one hell of an insurrection. We must have scared them. A whipping was never going to be enough, and I knew when they put me in the hellhole that they weren’t going to hang me. I should have known.’

‘No!’ Kate exclaimed, the single word rebounding violently round the wooden walls of the pavilion. ‘How can you say that? Virgil, for goodness’ sake, if anyone is to blame it is that man, Booth.’

‘I put myself first. I didn’t think about her. The woman I wanted to marry, and I didn’t think about her. It’s not a lesson I ever want to repeat. When they told me she was dead—then I felt flayed. I don’t ever want to go through that again, Kate. Do you understand that?’

There could be no mistaking the warning note in his voice. Though it hurt her, Kate told herself the pain was welcome. It was a warning she would be a fool to ignore. ‘You could not be clearer, Virgil. I assure you, I understand completely. How could I not? What you have suffered…’

‘I don’t want your pity,’ he exclaimed sharply. ‘What I’ve suffered is nothing. I wanted to kill them at first, when I was in the hellhole, before it—before Millie—but I knew there was a better way. When Malcolm Jackson brought me to Boston, I felt like providence had finally given me a card I could play. I would show them I was better than them, and I have. Better. Stronger. More powerful. And I did it on my terms.’

‘That’s what’s driven you all these years?’

‘That’s part of it. I’ve had my revenge. Now I can make good for what I did to Millie.’

There was so much, too much, for her to assimilate. Kate smiled weakly. ‘With schools?’

‘And homes. And work. A library. I don’t know what else.’

Emotional isolation, Kate thought. Physical deprivation. ‘So I was right,’ she said instead. ‘You do want to take on the burden of providing a future for every freed slave in America. How will you know when you’ve done enough, Virgil? When will you have paid?’

‘I took a life. How can I ever repay that?’

‘Millie took her own life,’ Kate said gently.

‘Because of me.’

She
would not have given up, Kate thought, but bit her tongue. How could she possibly tell what she would have done? She could not even begin to put herself in Millie’s position. ‘You were nineteen, Virgil. “What does anyone know of caution at that age?” That’s what you said to me, remember? Don’t you think it’s time to forgive yourself?’

Virgil had been leaning against the wooden wall. Now he stood up, rolling his shoulders. ‘Don’t you think you should be asking yourself that question?’

He sounded utterly drained. Kate, too, felt quite empty save for a gnawing sense of loss. She caught his hand and rubbed it against her cheek. ‘I can’t begin to tell you—to imagine…’ She blinked furiously. No tears. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Virgil. I wish you could see that, but I can see there is no point in my trying to persuade you. What I’m trying to say is, I understand. Why you told me, I mean. You have no cause to worry, I understand completely.’

* * *

They agreed that it would be for the best that he leave Castonbury and continue north with his planned visit to New Lanark sooner rather than later. Paradoxically, the certainty that he was leaving and the knowledge that his truly shocking history made the very notion that he could care for her impossible allowed Kate to admit to herself that she
had
begun to care for him. Virgil’s tortured confession had torn at her heart, but the warning behind it had been entirely effective. She had no option now but to pull herself back from the precarious brink upon which she had, quite obliviously, been teetering.

‘Yes,’ she agreed as they walked back to the great house from the fishing pavilion, ‘it is for the best that you leave.’ But saying what she ought and accepting its consequences were two different things. She had never been inclined to melancholy, but she could sense its grey mantle hovering over her as she pictured a Virgil-less Castonbury. ‘Though now we are in accord, perhaps there is no need for you to go straight away,’ she said cautiously.

Beside her, she sensed Virgil hesitating. ‘I do have some business I haven’t had the chance to tie up for Giles. And there is the Buxton assembly the day after tomorrow, if you still wish to go?’

They could dance together. Since no one else was like to ask her, they would be obliged to dance together, Kate thought. ‘There can be no harm in us dancing, surely.’

‘Surely,’ Virgil agreed with a semblance of a smile. ‘I shall make arrangements to leave the following morning. In fact, I think I’ll walk back to the village and book a place on the mail right now.’

It was not that he was eager to be rid of her, Kate told herself as she watched him striding off. Were he so, he would not have agreed to stay a moment longer at Castonbury than necessary. This business with Giles could be quickly concluded. And as to the dance…

She had mentioned it to no one. Not even Aunt Wilhelmina knew she was considering attending with only Virgil as a chaperon. She had assumed that Virgil would invite Giles and Lily, but he had not. Under other circumstances, of course, she would have suggested it herself, but with Virgil leaving Castonbury so soon, this would be their last chance to be alone together. Alone together in a crowded ballroom, that is, but at least they would be free of the oppressive atmosphere which prevailed whenever Aunt Wilhelmina and Virgil were in the same room.

Kate’s mood lightened a fraction. She would not ask permission. She was four-and-twenty; there was no need for her to ask permission of anyone. She would order the carriage for after dinner, and she would wear her best dress, and she would hold her head high in front of all who snubbed her, and she would dance with Virgil for the first and last time.

* * *

‘What will you wear tonight, my lady?’ Polly’s head poked over the screen behind which Kate was bathing in a large copper tub in front of the fire. ‘The claret velvet? Or what about the green silk with the French trim? Only I heard His Grace was joining you, so you’ll want something a bit grander than usual.’

Kate dropped the lavender-scented soap into the water. ‘My father is coming to dinner?’

‘So I heard downstairs. Didn’t Mrs Landes-Fraser tell you?’

Kate made a wry face. ‘I’ve been avoiding my aunt today. The truth is, Polly, that I’m going to the assembly at Buxton tonight, and I haven’t told her.’

‘You’re going dancing?’ Polly edged around the screen, her eyes narrowed. ‘You never go to public assemblies.
Why
haven’t you told that aunt of yours? Who is escorting you?’

Kate picked up a large sponge and set about soaping it industriously. ‘Mr Jackson.’

Polly swore colourfully. ‘You’ve got some brass. They’ll never let you go, especially not now that His Grace will be at dinner.’

‘I don’t see how it makes the slightest bit of difference. Virgil—Mr Jackson—has been a guest in this house for some time, and my father has shown absolutely no inclination to meet him. Yet on the eve of his departure…’

‘So that’s it,’ Polly exclaimed.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, my lady, you don’t fool me. He’s leaving tomorrow. It’s a last fling, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean by
fling
…’

Polly pursed her lips. ‘I think you do—leastways, I think you know more about it now than you did before your Mr Jackson came to visit.’

‘He is not my Mr Jackson.’

‘No, nor likely ever to be. His Grace would have you banished.’

‘It has nothing to do with my father, Polly. Mr Jackson is not—we are not— There is no question of such a thing. We are friends, merely. And he’s leaving tomorrow.’

‘And you want one last night with him, and I don’t blame you. If he was mine—’

‘He is
not
mine,’ Kate interrupted, trying not to notice the wistful note in her own voice.

Polly ignored her. ‘Right, then. The blue crepe, I think—you’ve never worn it. Have you ordered the carriage? Good. Now, let’s get your hair washed. We need to make sure you look your best.’

* * *

Two hours later, Kate stood in front of the looking glass. Her gown of celestial blue crepe was worn over a white satin slip and trimmed with a deep border of tulle embroidered with silks and chenille in a variety of contrasting shades. The sleeves were puffed, the décolleté low, trimmed with net lace and tulle, which frothed seductively over her tightly laced bosom. Polly had dressed her hair high on her head, teasing several wispy curls out from the severe chignon, which suited her far better than the fashionable Grecian styles. She wore only pearls—a tight choker with a diamond clasp around her throat, several bracelets over her French kid gloves and a pair of pearl and diamond drops in her ears. Her silk slippers were the same celestial blue as her gown. Her chemise was white silk, as were her stockings, though they were white tied with dark blue garters, the same colour as her corset.

Kate smiled with satisfaction. ‘I look very well. Thank you, Polly.’

‘You look lovely.’ Polly handed Kate her reticule. ‘Don’t you dare lose courage, my lady. No matter what His Grace says.’

‘No,’ Kate said with far more conviction than she felt. She took a last look in the mirror. Her heart was fluttering with excitement. Anyone would think she was a girl making her debut, not a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. ‘Wish me luck, Polly.’

‘Knock ’em dead, my lady. And if you don’t,’ Polly said grimly, ‘I will.’

* * *

Though she knew that Virgil’s valet would have been as well-informed as Polly regarding the duke’s presence, Kate made sure to be the first in the drawing room. They saw so little of her father since Jamie and Ned had died, that at times she quite forgot all about him. Smithins, His Grace’s proprietorial valet, kept him abreast of household matters, but as her father’s health deteriorated so, too, had his interest in these affairs. Giles, she knew, kept the duke in ignorance of a great deal of his worries for fear of the effect it would have on him. She suspected that Smithins, too, filtered out much of the household gossip. Though the impending arrival of the child he already claimed for his grandson had revived the duke somewhat, Kate was rather astonished at his decision to take dinner
en famille
tonight. Virgil’s last night. Could it be that her father actually felt guilty at not having met the man who had been his guest? No, she thought with a curl of her lip, more likely her father wished to flaunt his heritage at an American who, she had no doubt Aunt Wilhelmina would have informed him, had not a drop of aristocratic blood in his body.

‘Have you heard?’ Giles stormed into the room, looking harassed. ‘Our father has deigned to join us for dinner tonight. I tried to stop him, but he was insistent. Said he wanted to meet the American, something about showing him how the Old World did things.’

‘Oh, Lord, are we to dine in state, then?’

‘Heaven knows how many courses. At least it will give that Frenchman who rules the kitchens something to do. Didn’t you know? I thought you must, when I saw you in your finery.’

Kate took the glass of Madeira gratefully. ‘This, brother dear, is a ball gown,’ she said. ‘I thought you were a connoisseur of women’s clothing too.’

Giles grinned. ‘Those days are well in the past now. I’m a happily— What do you mean, a ball gown?’

‘I’m going to the Buxton assembly. It was all arranged before I discovered our revered sire was joining us.’

‘
I
never heard anything. Who is escorting you?’

‘Virgil.’

It was not often that her brother was at a loss for words. Kate raised an eyebrow at him, and sipped her Madeira.

‘You can’t!’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Kate, I know you have no time for the proprieties…’

‘Why should I? I am a ruined woman, as my aunt never fails to point out. For heaven’s sake, Giles, it is a public ball. No one would bat an eye were you to go unescorted.’

‘You wouldn’t catch me dead there, unless I was dragged kicking and screaming.’