Wilde, Jennifer (23 page)

"How
dreadful for you. What happened then?"

"I
stayed in the school. She had been kind enough to inform my father of my
whereabouts. He sent funds, but he never came to visit me. When I left school,
he arranged further education at Oxford, where I did quite well. When I left
Oxford, he arranged a commission for me in the army. I was sent to the East.
Near the end of my term of service, I learned of his death. But when I was
finally able to return to England, I found that I had been declared
illegitimate. My uncle and his family were firmly entrenched in
Nottinghamshire. He claimed he was the rightful heir, and, as no record could
be found of my father's marriage, the court agreed."

"You
must have been very bitter."

"Not
bitter. Determined. I contacted a very famous lawyer who had once given a
speech at Oxford. He was interested in my case and agreed to take it, although
he warned me it would be very expensive and might well take years. I had very
little money, and I knew I could hope to earn very little in England, being
legally declared a bastard. I went to London and visited a few of the gambling
halls. I won quite a lot of money, enough to pay my fare to America where, I
had heard, a man could make his fortune in cotton. I had enough left over to
buy Shadow Oaks. I was foolish enough to marry, but we won't go into
that."

The
wagon bounced as one of the wheels passed over a rock and I caught hold of his
arm to steady myself. Trees cast long shadows across the road. The sunlight was
even thinner, the sky a darker gray.

"My
lawyer finally found proof of the marriage," Derek continued, "but
the documents were declared a forgery. My uncle has a very shrewd set of men
working for him. They've had the case thrown out of court repeatedly, but my
lawyer hasn't given up, nor have I. I'll win. It may take another ten years and
all I can earn during those years, but I'll win."

"It
means so much?"

The
question was a foolish one. I had been unwise to ask it. Derek fell silent, his
mouth tightened, and I could see that he regretted having revealed as much as
he had. We continued on down the road, rarely encountering another vehicle
either coming or going. Hours had passed since we'd left Charles Town. I was
beginning to grow hungry, but I wasn't going to be the one to suggest we stop
for lunch. I sat silently, swaying with the wagon, savoring his nearness,
staring at the long brown road that stretched ahead. The road was lined with
beautiful oaks dripping with moss. There was a light breeze, and the moss
swayed back and forth like shreds of ancient lace.

I
understood now where all the money had gone, why Shadow Oaks was so shabby, and
why he had so few slaves. The case had been a steady drain on his income, but
he was convinced that the eventual rewards would compensate for all that. He
was a man with a purpose, and I understood what drove him to work so
strenuously alongside his slaves, what had shaped him into the grim, sober,
embittered man he was today. His uncle's treachery and the disastrous marriage
that had followed soon after had left deep wounds. I longed to tend them, but
the balm I could offer was the very thing Derek feared most. He had been
vulnerable once before. He did not intend to let his guard down again. I hoped
that with my new knowledge I might eventually sway his resolution, and, for
now, that hope would have to sustain me.

Derek
eventually pulled the wagon over to the side of the road, and we ate the lunch
the cook and I had packed. He was still moody and uncommunicative. After we
finished eating, I packed away the things and got up to put the basket back in
the wagon. Derek was sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree, his
long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. I
could feel him watching me as I moved toward the wagon. A gust of wind caused
my skirts to billow. Tree limbs swayed with a groaning noise. Leaves rustled
crisply. It was much cooler than usual; the sultry heat and humidity had
lifted.

Derek
climbed slowly to his feet and brushed bits of twig from the seat of his
breeches. After the meal and short rest, he seemed more relaxed, the tension
gone.

"I
think I struck a good bargain," he remarked.

"In
Charles Town?"

"At
the settlement—several months ago. I damn near bankrupted myself in order to
buy you, but—I'm beginning to think it was money well invested."

"Indeed?"
My voice was light.

"I
felt guilty for a long time, wiping my bank account out like that for a
red-haired wench who'd never be able to split wood or work out in the fields.
It was an insane thing to do. I regretted it."

"And
now?"

"And
now I think maybe I got a good buy."

He
sauntered over to me and rested his forearms on my shoulders, looking into my
eyes with a thoughtful expression. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

"I've
needed a woman," he said. "I was a fool to wait so long. A man has
needs."

"I
know."

He
looked into my eyes, and his lips parted. He ran the tip of his tongue around
them, and then he kissed me, casually, without passion or any real tenderness.
He was merely savoring his property, appreciating me as he might appreciate a
fine Havana cigar he was rolling between his fingers. He wrapped an arm around
my waist and, holding me in a loose grip, glanced over my shoulder at the
wagon, as though debating whether or not there was time to savor me more fully.

"We
got a late start," he remarked. "We'd better be on our way."

"I
suppose so."

"There'll
be plenty of time later."

We
both knew what he meant. I belonged to him, and in the future I would perform
more intimate services, whenever he was so inclined. I would cook and mend his
clothes and clean his house and, when he was swollen with need, assuage that
need, without question, without discussion. He would welcome no show of
affection, would harshly rebuff it. I was his wench, to be used at his
convenience. Derek Hawke would not admit to himself that I was anything more.

He
let go of me and moved toward the wagon, throwing his shoulders back and
stretching his arms out, a satisfied man, muscles relaxed after the gratifying
release of months of sexual tension. He climbed up on the seat and gathered the
reins in his hand. I climbed up beside him, trying to resign myself to his
attitude, telling myself I could only wait and hope he would eventually recognize
the feelings he had expressed this morning with such tenderness.

The
horses swung back onto the road. The wagon rocked. We were soon moving down the
road at a steady pace. Derek was still relaxed, very much at ease with himself
and the world.

"Yeah,"
he said lazily, "I think maybe I got a bargain."

"Did
you really almost bankrupt yourself?"

"Almost.
I never intended to spend that much. I'd just transferred a large sum to my
lawyer's account in London. There wasn't much left over. No worry, though. The
crop will replenish the coffers. If it weren't for that, I'd be in pretty bad
shape."

I
glanced at the sky apprehensively. It was solid gray and there was an ominous
stillness. What if it rained? What if something happened to the crop? I
couldn't help feeling a certain apprehension, but Derek knew far more about
Carolina weather than I did, and he didn't seem in the least concerned. Still,
I found myself wishing the cotton had already been picked. Adam had been
concerned about it, I recalled, and the other planters had already picked
theirs. The fields we passed were stripped of the plump white balls, only the
stalks remaining.

"Tell
me about yourself," he said.

"What
would you have me tell you?"

"Everything.
How you came to speak with that educated accent, how you came to end up in
shackles on a prison ship."

"I
told you once," I reminded him. "We were on our way to Shadow Oaks
after you'd bought me, and—"

"Tell
me again. Start at the beginning."

So
I told him about my life, about my mother, her death, my father and the
education he had given me. I told him about being thrown out of Stanton Hall
after my father's death, realizing that my story was quite similar to his own,
although in my case there could be no question of my illegitimacy. As the
horses cantered along, chestnut coats gleaming, as the wagon rocked and
creaked, I told him about my job at Montagu Square, about Lord Mallory and the
emeralds he had planted and everything that followed until my arrival in
America, omitting nothing from the narrative except the relationship I had had
with Jack Reed on board ship. I had enough sense to leave that out.

"An
interesting tale," Derek said when I had finished.

"You
don't believe me, do you?"

"I'm
sure much of it is true."

"You
think I—"

"Does
it matter what I think, Marietta?"

"Not
at all," I said crisply.

"The
only thing that matters is that you're my property now. You'll be provided for,
protected, fed, clothed—"

"And
you think that should satisfy me? You think I should be—"

"I
think you should be grateful," he interrupted. "You could have been
dealt a much worse fate, I assure you. Rawlins could have bought you. You've
had it easy these past months."

"I've
been a slave."

"And
I've been a damn good master. I could have beaten you, abused you. I could have
raped you that first night."

"You
could have, yes."

"You've
very little to complain about, Marietta."

"I'm
a human being. Human beings have—"

"This
conversation is beginning to bore me," he said, cutting me short. There
was an edge of irritation in his voice. "I don't have to justify myself to
you. I paid good money for you, a hell of a lot more than I could afford, and
you're damned lucky it was me instead of Rawlins."

"You
want me to thank you?"

"I
want
you to shut up!" he said tersely.

I
bit
back the sharp retort that sprang to mind and lapsed into silence, humiliated
and seething with anger. Derek's irritation soon vanished and he seemed as
relaxed as ever, but my own anger didn't abate one jot. At that moment, I
wished Jeff Rawlins
had
bought me. I wished I had never heard of Derek
Hawke of Shadow Oaks. For a short time I actively hated him, and then, when
that passed, I thought how much easier it would be if I
could
hate him.
I... I could escape, I told myself. I could run away to a big city like Charles
Town. I would be free to manage my own life, decide my own fate.

As
the wagon bumped down the road, I was lost in revery, stepping into a fantasy
world where I was free and affluent, dressed in beautiful gowns, surrounded by
handsome men who vied for my attention. Derek would see me and want me, and I
would smile at him and then go off on the arm of his rival, disdaining him,
leaving him angry and frustrated, sorry he never appreciated me when he had the
chance. He would come back again and again, and each time I would reject him.
When he was utterly miserable, I would finally condescend to spend an evening
with him, and he would...

The
loud rumble startled me, causing my dream world to shatter abruptly. I looked
up in alarm. Derek was tense, his facial muscles tight.

"What—what
was that?" I stammered.

"Thunder."

"Thunder?
You mean it's going to—"

"It's
going to rain!"

He
clicked the reins, urging the horses to go faster. The sky was an even darker
gray now, tinged with a deep purple. Ponderous black clouds moved across the
sky. There was another rumble of thunder. Derek flicked the reins again,
spurring the horses on, and soon they were rushing down the road at a mad
gallop, hooves pounding, tails and manes flying like skeins of silk. The wagon
bounced and swayed, swerving from side to side as our speed increased. I
clutched the edge of the seat, afraid

I
would be thrown off. Derek leaned forward, half standing, clutching the reins
tightly. His whole body was tense, and he was perspiring freely even though it
was almost cold now.

Trees
seemed to fly past us, dancing dark green forms that blurred together, the road
a rapidly unwinding brown ribbon that seemed to propel us forward. A strong
wind blew up, tearing at my hair and causing my skirts to flutter up wildly.
There was a sudden silver flash as a streak of lightning ripped across the sky.
I was terrified, but the terror was minor compared to the wrenching realization
of what the storm would mean to Derek. The crop would be destroyed. He would be
in desperate financial straits. As tree limbs waved like agitated demons and
the horses flew down the road and the wagon bounced savagely, I prayed the rain
wouldn't come.

The
wheels whirled over a particularly deep rut in the road. The wagon seemed to
jump in the air. Losing my grip on the seat, I cried out as I was thrown
forward. Derek slung an arm around my shoulder and pulled me back, holding me
in a tight grip. The muscles in his arm tightened brutally, but I was hardly
aware of the pain. There was another streak of lightning and a distant
explosion, and then it began to rain, furiously. Both of us were drenched
immediately. Derek shouted to the horses, urging them to go even faster.
Through the swirling gray sheets of rain I could see Maud Simmons's fields, stripped
of cotton. We were almost home, but it was too late, too late. The brown ribbon
of road was already a gleaming brown-black, turning to mud, mud and water
splashing as horses and wagon hurtled forward.