Deceived

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Authors: Bertrice Small

BOOK: Deceived
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BERTRICE
SMALL
Deceived
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
For the newest man in my life, my grandson,
Chandler David Small
Prologue
ENGLAND, 1760
“M
arry”
Valerian Hawkesworth, the Duke of Farminster, looked startled. “What on earth do you mean, I am to be married, Grandmama?”
The Dowager Duchess of Farminster looked directly at her only grandchild and repeated her previous words. “You were affianced as a boy to the daughter of one of your father's friends, a distant cousin, I believe. You were to marry the girl when she turned seventeen. Since there is no one else engaging your affections, Valerian, you will sail in three weeks' time for the island of St. Timothy in the western Indies to claim the girl. A sugar plantation is no small dowry, dear boy, and it is past time you set up your nursery.”
“A colonial?”
The duke looked dubious.
“Oh, do not be such a snob,” his grandmother scolded him. “I am certain the girl has been as well educated as any of the silly misses you know. And whatever she may lack in the social graces, I will tutor her myself. She will make you a grand duchess, dear boy, and having lived on an isolated island all her life, she will undoubtedly be more comfortable in the country, content to remain on your estate to give you several sons and daughters.”
“Why was I not told about this arrangement before now?” he demanded irritably. A trip to the western Indies was going to take several weeks. Then he would be forced to remain on this island another few weeks before he could marry the girl and travel back to England. Why, he could be gone three or four months. He would miss the racing season. “Hellfire and damnation!” the duke swore softly.
The dowager duchess's mouth quirked with her amusement. “Your father made the arrangement long before he and your mother were drowned returning from France with your sister. Your grandfather knew of it but put it from him until just before he died a few months ago. It was then he reminded me of this betrothal. We both agreed it was past time you were wed. Since there was no one else, it seemed best to keep to these preplanned nuptials. I sent a letter to Robert Kimberly, your prospective father-in-law, a few weeks back, saying that you would be arriving at the end of March to wed your bride.” She handed him a leather folder containing a copy of the betrothal contract.
Valerian Hawkesworth's deep blue eyes scanned the heavy parchment with its clear, precise wording. He was indeed betrothed to a Mistress Charlotte Kimberly, born April the sixth, in the year 1743. The chit was approaching her seventeenth birthday, the time set forth in the document for their marriage. He frowned, and glanced up at his grandmother. “What does she look like?” he said.
The dowager duchess shook her head. “I have not the faintest idea, dear boy, for I have never laid eyes on the child.” Then, seeing the mutinous look in her grandson's eyes, she continued. “I am certain that she is lovely. Robert Kimberly brought his bride to England on a wedding trip. She was a very pretty girl, as I recall, and he a handsome young man. Their offspring cannot be unpleasing to the eye, dear boy. Just before the Kimberlys departed England, Mistress Kimberly discovered that she was
enceinte.
Your father and Robert Kimberly drew up a marriage contract between their children then. Of course it was not known if the child Mistress Kimberly was to bear would be a son or a daughter, but it was decided between the two men that Robert's first daughter, whenever she was born, would be your wife. You will see that the girl's name is in your father's hand, and not in the hand of the rest of the document. Two years after the daughter was born, young Mistress Kimberly died in childbirth with a son. Charlotte Kimberly became her father's heiress, for although he eventually remarried, there were no other children of his body. Your parents and sister were drowned shortly afterward, and the entire matter was forgotten until just before your grandfather's death. It was he who reminded me of the marriage contract, and asked that I see you fulfill your obligation. You can really have no strong or reasonable objection, Valerian, as your heart is not engaged elsewhere.”
“No,” he reluctantly admitted. Then he said, “You mentioned that we might be distantly related, Grandmama. How?”
“As I remember the tale,” the dowager duchess began, “and I should have to consult the family Bible, dear boy, to be entirely accurate, but this is what I recall. The first Duke of Farminster was created so by King Charles upon his restoration. Your ancestor had grown up with the king, and gone into exile with him. They were bound by their friendship, loyalty, and by the curious coincidence of having the same birth date. The Earl of Farminster, who became the first duke, had a younger brother who remained behind in England to protect the estates, and two younger sisters. These young women were married. The eldest to a Kimberly, and the younger to a Meredith. Both men were royalists who remained in England working for the king's restoration. When it came, your ancestor saw that his brothers-in-law were rewarded. The island of St. Timothy was given to them by the king and they emigrated to become sugar planters. The last Kimberly, Robert, ahhh, now I remember, married the last Meredith, Emily. It is their daughter, the heiress, who will be your wife.”
“But Emily Kimberly is dead, and Robert remarried,” the duke said. “What else do you know, Grandmama?”
“Nought, dear boy. The rest you shall learn yourself when you reach St. Timothy.”
“The girl might be dead,” the duke suggested hopefully.
“We would have been notified,” the dowager countered.
“Not necessarily,” the duke replied. “After all, this alliance was almost forgotten but that Grandfather remembered it before he died.”
“That is true,” his grandmother agreed. “The unimportant, albeit wealthy, daughter of a colonial planter might be forgotten by a duke, but that same girl's family would hardly forget that their child was promised to that same duke, and one day to be a duchess. No, Valerian, you cannot escape your fate. You will sail on the
Royal George
from Plymouth in three weeks' time for St. Timothy. You are expected.”
“How did my father meet Robert Kimberly?” the duke wondered. “Certainly the families did not keep up their contact over the years.”
“To a certain degree they did,” the dowager said, surprising him. “But Robert Kimberly came to Oxford, which is where he met your father first. They shared quarters for two years before Kimberly returned to his island home to marry his first wife, Caroline Meredith. There were no offspring from that marriage, and after her death, Robert wed the younger Meredith daughter, Emily, who bore him his daughter, and died with their son. The third wife I know nothing about.” The dowager patted her grandson's arm comfortingly. “Now, cease your fretting, dear boy. You do not have to remain on St. Timothy any longer than it takes to marry the girl, assure her family she will have a wonderful life as your duchess, and return to England to settle down. You have run rampant long enough, Valerian. It is time for you to do your duty.”
“She will not hold a candle to you,” he told his grandmother, a twinkle in his eye, as he smiled down upon her.
“Flatterer!” the dowager responded, but she smiled back at him. Mary Rose Hawkesworth had been considered a great beauty in her youth, and she still was with eyes the same dark blue as her grandson's, a rose and cream complexion, her fair hair now silvery white. “I shall expect my first great-grandson within the year,” she told him, and the duke laughed aloud.
“I shall do my best, Grandmama,” he promised her, “but she had best be a pretty chit.”
“All little pussies are alike in the dark when you stroke them nicely, Valerian,” the dowager said wickedly. Then she laughed at the surprised look upon her grandson's face.
Part I
ST. TIMOTHY PLANTATION, 1760
Chapter
1
“I
have only just heard of your husband's death, Mistress Kimberly. May I tender my condolences to you and your family?”
“You may, Captain Young,” Oralia Kimberly said quietly. “Tell me, what brings you to St. Timothy? I have not seen you since Robert and I took our last voyage to Jamaica, two, three years ago.”
“Three years,” he reminded her, and then remembering why he was there, he handed her the letter. “I was entrusted with this letter in Plymouth, Mistress Kimberly. It is for your late husband. It has a mighty fancy crest on it, if I might be so bold to say.”
“Why, so it does, Captain Young,” Oralia Kimberly replied, a small smile touching her lips. Barnabas Young was a notorious gossip, but then how else could one learn what was going on in the outside world if it were not for people like him? “I do not recognize the hand,” she said. “I believe I shall save it for Aurora to open, as she is her father's heiress.”
“I hope he left Missy Calandra and Master George a bit too,” the captain said, fishing none too delicately.
“Oh, indeed he did,” the widow assured him. “Robert was most generous to my children even if they weren't his own. Why, Calandra is to have five thousand a year, not to mention an outright bequest of a thousand pounds, Captain Young. And, of course, George has done even better, being the young man in the family.” There! Now the old seafaring Yankee gossip would have something to talk about as his ship made its way among the islands.
And
her children would be known as good marriage prospects. She and Robert had been so content with their family that they hadn't considered the future. Now, of course, widowed, the children without a fatherly protector, Oralia Kimberly had to think of her two daughters and her son. Of course Aurora wasn't really her child, but she had raised the little girl since she was barely three and thought of her as her own. She was certainly the only mother Aurora could remember. “Will you stay for dinner, and for the night?” she politely asked the captain.
“Thank ye kindly, Mistress Kimberly,” he replied, “but 'tis not even noon yet. I have several other stops to make before I take on my cargo in Jamaica and head for England. I hope to get several voyages in before your stormy season hits. I've delivered your letter, and now I'll be heading off again.” He tipped his hat to her and made a small bow. “Good day to ye, then, Mistress Kimberly.”
“Good day, Captain Young, and thank you,” she replied. Oralia Kimberly watched as the seaman made his way down the hill road back to the harbor of St. Timothy. She could see his great-masted ship riding at anchor in the bay. She looked again at the letter he had delivered. It
was
an extremely fancy crest that decorated the missive. Turning the letter over, she inspected the same crest in the sealing wax, and then, breaking the seal, she unfolded the paper. Waiting for Aurora had merely been an excuse to avoid opening the note in Captain Young's presence. She would have been hard pressed to keep the contents a secret with the nosy sailor standing before her. Her brown eyes scanned the page, and then she gasped.
“Gracious! Oh, my!”
she exclaimed. Then she sat down and fanned herself with the parchment. “Oh, Robert, why did you not tell me of this?” she said aloud to her dearly departed spouse.
“What, Mama? Are you still scolding Papa? I do not believe he can hear you now.” Her son George gently teased his parent as he entered the airy morning room, removing his broad-brimmed hat, for he had been out in the fields, and the day was already hot.
Oralia Kimberly handed her son the letter.
“Damnation!” George swore softly when he had read it. “Does Aurora know of this, Mama?”
His mother shook her head in the negative. “I remember Robert mentioning to me some years back that he had arranged a marriage for Aurora one day, but he never brought it up again. Quite frankly, it slipped my mind. Ohhh, George! Just think! Aurora is to be a duchess!”
Her son burst out laughing.
“George!”
Oralia Kimberly glared at her son.
Stifling his chortles, he replied, “Well, Mama, you must admit it is an interesting concept. You must let me be here when you tell her the news that even as we speak her betrothed husband is on the high seas, prepared to sail into the welcoming anchorage of her innocent, girlish heart.” Then he burst out laughing again, quite unable to restrain himself.
“George,” his mother said, “you are quite impossible! Do you not understand the importance of this? Aurora is to be the Duchess of Farminster. This island is her dowry. What will become of the rest of us, especially of you.”
George Spencer-Kimberly shrugged. “I doubt the duke will dispossess us simply because he gains possession of the island, Mama. I am certain that I will remain on as the plantation's overseer, and I have the generous bequest that Papa left me, not to mention a yearly income as well. And you will certainly remain. Our about-to-be relation would hardly send his pretty mother-in-law packing.”
“Of course you are correct,” Oralia responded. Then she brightened even more. “And Calandra can go to England with Aurora, be presented to society, and find a titled husband! Of course she cannot seek as high as Aurora's husband, but a not too wealthy earl would be delighted to have a girl with five thousand a year. I am, of course, furious with Robert, God rest him, for not telling me of this match, but all in all, it is very fortuitous for the entire family, isn't it, George?”
“Only if Aurora cooperates,” her son replied.
“Why would she not
cooperate?”
his mother asked. “What girl in her right mind would turn down a duke?”
“Aurora would,” the young man replied, and then sat himself next to his mother. “You and Papa spoiled both the girls, Mama. Cally is charming, but a vain and acquisitive little minx. As for Aurora, she is probably the most headstrong girl in the world. If it is not to her liking, then she will not do it. God help the man who tempts her to the altar, Mama. And she will, I suspect, marry only if it is her idea first. Aurora is not a girl to sit coyly by, waiting for any man.”
“Oh, George, what are we to do?” his mother said, and her eyes filled with anxious tears. “This duke is coming all the way from England to marry your sister. It would be scandalous for her to refuse him under such circumstances, especially after Robert arranged it.”
“Does his letter say upon which vessel he will take his passage?”
“The
Royal George,”
Oralia answered him. “It was to sail from Plymouth on the tenth of February.”
“It's an elegant, sleek modern ship,” George noted. “It should be arriving no later than March ninth, provided they do not run into any heavy weather, but coming south at this time of year, it should be smooth sailing for the bulk of the voyage, Mama. It carries little cargo, for it is a passenger vessel. It will probably go on to Barbados, St. Kitts, and Tobago after it stops here for our duke.”
“And how long will this duke stay with us?” Oralia wondered, then answered her own question. “He will probably want to return fairly quickly to England. That means we won't have long to prepare for the wedding, or to pack Aurora's trousseau, or Cally's possessions. Oh! This is simply impossible!”
George grinned. “When do you intend telling Aurora, Mama?”
Oralia's pretty face grew determined. “Immediately, George! Your sister must be told right away so that she has time to get used to this change in her life. Aurora will be sensible. I know she will be sensible. You are right that she is headstrong, George, but she is an intelligent girl, and logical to a fault. This news will certainly come as a shock, I have no doubt, but when all is said and done, Aurora will see the wisdom in her father's decision. She will not want to disappoint him, I know, even if Robert is no longer here with us.”
“I can but hope and pray that you are right, Mama,” he replied, but George was not certain at all. Aurora was intelligent, and that, in his opinion, was the problem. A simple, biddable girl would cry a bit upon learning she was to marry a stranger and leave her family. Then she would rally and do her duty. Even Calandra, his younger sister, while hardly simple, would see the advantages to the kind of marriage Aurora was to have. Cally would pounce upon a duke with delight. He did not think Aurora would. No. She would consider the situation, and then decide what was best for her, for the family. Yet, was not this best for her? George considered. He left his mother and hurried off to wash, for it was almost time for the midday meal. In the upstairs hall he ran into Calandra.
“Sally tells me Captain Young was here this morning,” she said to him. “Was he?”
George nodded. “He brought a letter, Cally.”
“From where? England? Who was it from? What did it say?” she demanded of him. Calandra Spencer-Kimberly was a very beautiful girl, and used to getting her own way in most things.
“I have absolutely no idea,” her brother answered her. “I believe Mama intends to tell us later, when we are all together.”
“It must be important, George,” Cally decided.
“Let me go and wash,” he said. “It's damnably hot out in those fields, and you had best get dressed, or you will miss whatever news Mama has for us, little sister. Where is Aurora?”
“She took Martha and went swimming,” came the reply. “I think it's shocking that she still swims in the sea, George, and naked too. Only little children should swim naked, for they know no better. I hate swimming! I always felt so sticky after swimming in the sea.”
“You dabbled in the sea,” he teased her. “You never liked it like Aurora and I like it, Cally. Well, if Martha's with her, they'll be back in plenty of time for the meal, and Mama's news.”
The siblings parted, each to their own room, meeting later in the dining room of the house, where their mother and stepsister already awaited them.
“How can you look so cool on such a hot day?” Calandra grumbled, her hazel eyes taking in Aurora's appearance.
Aurora Kimberly laughed. “Because I've spent the morning shamelessly frolicking in the sea, Cally. It's wonderful, and you should join me instead of lying in bed until almost noon each day.”
“My skin is too delicate to expose to the hot sun,” Calandra replied. “You know I burn like a lobster, Aurora.”
“You don't have to stay out as long as I do,” her stepsister replied. “Just a quick swim to cool off, and then back into your clothes. You could swim in the afternoon, when the sun isn't as strong, or in the very early morning just before dawn.”
Now it was Calandra who laughed. “You know I'm no fish like you,” she teased. “Besides, I'd be mortified if anyone saw me. One day some wicked pirate is going to catch a glimpse of you in the sea and carry you off, Aurora. You had best be more careful.”
“No pirate ship could get into my cove,” Aurora said smugly, “and there is no one else about to see me, Cally, isn't that right, George? George knows my little cove, don't you?”
“It's safe enough,” her stepbrother agreed.
They sat down at the beautiful mahogany dining table, Oralia at its head, her son to her right, and her daughters on her left. A servant ladled clear turtle soup into their dishes. Beyond the table the French doors were opened, the light muslin hangings blowing in the trade winds. The sea, calm, and blue-green, spread itself before them.
Calandra gobbled her soup, then said eagerly, “What was in the letter you received from England today, Mama? Who wrote to you?”
Oralia was not surprised by her daughter's question. Calandra's servant, Sally, had undoubtedly seen Captain Young arrive. “The letter was not addressed to me, but to your father,” she told her daughter, keeping her voice calm and well modulated. “It seems that Robert made an arrangement with an old friend in England many years ago that his son and Aurora marry one day. The young man is on his way from England now, and will arrive on the
Royal George
in a few weeks' time.”
“He'd best not get off the boat,” Aurora said fiercely.
“Aurora, this is no younger son coming to wed you because you are an heiress and he needs a living. This young man is Valerian Hawkesworth, the Duke of Farminster. He is wealthy, and just the sort of man the heiress to a sugar plantation should marry.”
“My God, Aurora!” Calandra's eyes were wide, and not just a bit envious. “You are going to be a duchess!”
“No, I'm not, Cally,” came the stubborn reply.
“Aurora, I realize this is a shock to you,” her stepmother said. “It was very foolish of your father not tell us of this arrangement at all, particularly before he died so suddenly.”
“Papa's horse threw him, Mama,” Aurora reminded Oralia. “He could have hardly anticipated that.”
“No,” Oralia responded, “he could not have anticipated it, but the marriage contract says you are to marry when you are seventeen. You will be seventeen on the sixth of April. Robert might have said
something.
I do not know when he expected to tell you, my dear, but he is gone, and the duke is on his way to St. Timothy expecting to marry you. Now you know, and we will not discuss it again for a few days so that you may get used to the idea of of it all.” She smiled at her children, and then said, “Serve the chicken now, Hermes.”

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