The Bellerose Bargain (39 page)

"Yes, Bryson. I know."

"And now that Seavers chap is living under the same roof with you, and some say you’re interested in him."

Alicia thought for a moment. She had been openly impatient with Geoffrey, publicly unkind, and less than decorous. "I don’t see how anyone could think that."

"Never mind, I know you’re not—"

"You do?" she asked. "How could you know that?"

Bryson sighed, visibly annoyed that his romantic schemes were not unfolding as quickly as he’d hoped. "The point, Alicia, is that so little is known about your past, and your family is so silent on the subject, that people are apt to talk. It is jealousy, I assure you, but the best relief is a quick and suitable marriage, and I am willing to give you that."

How strange, she thought, how many dire things can be cured with marriage. She had a basket of ills that would all disappear by simply repeating the vows of matrimony. "And you are not concerned about my past?" she asked.

"I am prepared to accept you in whatever condition you are in."

"Condition?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. Perhaps the whole of Virginia
did
know about her pregnancy.

"It does not matter to me if you are not a virgin."

"Did it occur to you to ask?"

"No. Ah, it seems unimportant now."

Alicia thought for a moment and her eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me, Bryson, how will you support me?"

"I have a fine house, Alicia, and the possibility of even greater financial success. You have no need to worry about your future."

"You have an interest in milling, haven’t you?"

"Aye, and that project should be among the first things to get underway."

"I imagine my dowry would help immensely."

"I won’t have you think your dowry is the most important thing in my consideration. I am very attracted to you."

Alicia sighed audibly. "Yes, I imagine you are."

"You don’t believe me?" he asked, stopping their stroll again.

Alicia paused too, looking earnestly into Bryson’s face. She suspected he was being honest with her. She thought perhaps he really did love her, but he wouldn’t mind the financial boost her dowry would bring, either. No one would. It would aid Bryson’s success as it would aid Geoffrey’s or any other man’s.

"How do you suppose a maid can be assured that the man she chooses to wed truly loves her?" she asked.

"Alicia, I don’t intend to take you to a far-off land where you are without the benefits of your family. You have five brothers and a father. Would I ask for your hand in marriage and move you to a house a few miles away, if it were my intention to abuse you?"

"I suppose not..." she mused.

"Of course, I wouldn’t. And for that matter, what more could I do to convince you that my love for you is…"

But Alicia didn’t hear the rest. Her mind was elsewhere. Since coming to America, Geoffrey had tried as carefully and at least as loudly to convince her that he loved her. But her anger was so powerful she could not hear him. The hurt she felt at his rejection in England would not abate enough for her to ask herself the most important question:
whom do I love?

"Bryson," she said suddenly, looking up at him, "kiss me."

He stared at her in shock for a moment, then looked around the yard to see who might be watching. Alicia wrinkled her nose as she noticed his worry over spectators. She had a feeling Geoffrey would be carrying her to the nearest grassy bed, his wanting was so intense.

Satisfied that they were alone, Bryson carefully encircled her waist and pulled her near, his lips moving over hers with delicate intent. She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him nearer still, but nothing moved in her. There was simply no passion in their kiss. He released her and sighed with absolute pleasure.

Alicia sighed as well, but it was at the difficulty of the task before her. "I’m sorry, Bryson. It is impossible for me to marry you."

"Impossible?" he questioned, aghast.

"Impossible."

He looked completely crashed. "Alicia, you could learn to love me if you—"

And then it came to her as naturally as if it had always been there, the answer simply waiting for the question. "It is impossible, Bryson, because I am already married." And she picked up her skirts and started back in the direction of the house. She smiled as she went. Of course, she was married. She had perhaps been using another name, but the vows had come out of her mouth, her heart. It would need legal attention—perhaps a second ceremony using the proper names—but these were mere details! Somehow it would be corrected.

"Married to whom?" he insisted at her back.

"Lord Seavers."

"But you don’t love him!" Bryson blustered.

Alicia stopped suddenly and Bryson nearly trampled her. When he had stopped himself and backed up a space, she looked at him as if he were a complete fool. "But of course I love him, Bryson. He’s come all the way to America to find me again."

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he demanded, his face twisted into an angry pout that made him look more like a four-year-old than a grown man.

Now that she had blurted it out, she wasn’t sure why she’d let so much agony stand between her peace of mind and the truth. "I don’t know," she said as she contemplated the question. "I suppose I’ve been very foolish." She shrugged and smiled. "Well, I’m sorry for you if you’re hurt, Bryson. I told you I didn’t think you should count on so much from me. Good day." And she was in the house, leaving the badly disappointed and deflated Bryson to gather up his mettle and take himself to find another bride.

She wanted to rush to her mother and father and allay their worries, but she quickly reconsidered. She decided it would be best for everyone if she talked to Geoffrey first and they both delivered the news. Perhaps between the two of them it would not be necessary to tell tales of bargains, treasons, and lies. Perhaps her family would be satisfied to know that she had married, conceived, and, during a bitter falling out, left her husband to seek out her family.

If they love me, she thought, they will allow—

And then a deeper feeling of ease grew in her chest. It did not really matter whether they accepted her story. She loved Geoffrey...and her place was with him, raising their child. And that was where she would be.

Alicia waited on the veranda for the men to return from their various duties. Wesley was the first to come home. But at dinner, Preston and Geoffrey were still absent. Throughout the evening she cocked an ear toward the front of the house, hoping to hear them when they returned, but the hour grew late and her spirits sank, for they still did not return.

Her mother was still stitching at her needlework when Alicia smothered a yawn. "You don’t usually stay up so late," Marguerite observed.

"I’ve been waiting—" she started. She sighed. "I’ve been waiting for Lord Seavers to return. I wanted to speak to him."

Marguerite laughed softly. "Well, you might just as well get some rest: they’re spending the night in Hampton, I’m sure. Preston wouldn’t venture home if his arrival would be so late."

"Are you sure, madam?"

"Quite sure."

"Why did they go to Hampton today?" she wondered aloud.

"I couldn’t say. Some business of Lord Seavers’s that had them both very excited when they left. Preston said he didn’t know how long it would take."

Alicia sighed again. "Perhaps his ships are finally in port," she said, recalling the conversation she had overheard. And then, she thought, those damn ships come between us more than any other thing.

"It pays to talk about," Rodney explained to the two young lords who accompanied him. Their shoes clattered on the planks as they set a brisk pace to a tavern Rodney was telling them about. "The keeper isn’t sure, but the man he talked with not long ago sounds very much like Culver Perry."

"Does he know where the man stays?" Geoffrey asked.

"Hasn’t any idea, lad, but he’s asked about the Tilden family. I think that’s reason enough to be suspicious."

"Everyone asks about the Tildens," Preston put in. "We own more ships than anyone else. We do more trade than anyone in Virginia. Any visiting merchant would ask about us, as our dinner table proves. There are more guests than family for Etta to serve on some occasions."

Rodney stopped short and Preston halted with him. "But, lad, have you talked to a merchant from England by the name of Samuel Tyler?"

"I have not, but my father may have."

"And what is your father’s routine? To speak with them at the wharves and leave them to an inn?"

"No, it is not," Preston acknowledged, taking off at a brisk pace once again. In that, Rodney was definitely right. Wesley would not have left any merchant to ponder their business without offering dinner and perhaps a decent bed. If this man Tyler had asked after the Tildens and did not make contact with any of them, it could be suspicious.

The innkeeper was a bit at odds when the three men burst upon him with no pause for social amenities. They were anxious and full of questions.

"Hold," the man begged. "Why do you look for this man? What’s he done?"

"Murder," Geoffrey put in. "Twice. Both times women who had no defense. Now, quickly, tell us what he asked of you."

"He asked about the Tilden family, sir, that’s all."

"The number of ships?" Preston asked.

"Aye," the man confirmed. "And the family, the wealth, children born to Lord Tilden."

"And he claimed to be a merchant?"

"Aye."

"From England?"

"Aye."

"What goods does he bring? What does he want to buy?"

The man thought for a moment, his finger picking at his chin. "I guess he never said."

"So we have a merchant to buy and sell, but we know not what. He asks about the Tilden family, but does not make contact for trade. Was there anything about him you remember clearly that sets him apart from any other man?"

"No," the man said. "He seemed a friendly sort. But there was the ring..."

"What ring?" Geoffrey asked.

"Wore a handsome ring, he did. A blue stone in the center and a letter, I think. I don’t read so I don’t know—"

"A signet ring," Geoffrey said to Preston. "And how many merchants have a crest they wear on their finger? I think we’ve got him, if we can find him."

"Didn’t seem the sort of chap who’d murder a woman. Truth is, he seemed to have a great respect for women. He defended your sister, Mr. Tilden."

All eyes turned back to the innkeeper.

"Defended her? How?"

"Beggin’ your pardon, sir, he didn’t seem to see anything wrong about her being fussed over, and the dowry and all, when she’s been out of the country and her parents’ home all these years and all."

Geoffrey turned and looked at Preston, his eyes alive with fire and hatred. He walked past the other two men and out onto the street. There he stopped.

"Well, he thinks he’s found her, that’s clear," Geoffrey said: "I don’t know what he thinks that will get him, but I think if we stay close to Alicia we may find our man."

"Rodney, find the local magistrate and inform him of what’s happening. You stay here and keep a close eye out for our friend."

"Preston, we’ll return to your father’s house immediately, and whether or not Alicia is ready to hear me and consider my protection, she shall have it. I’m going to tell your father today what’s taken place over the Bellamy inheritance and how Alicia came to be my wife."

"That should take his supply of good liquor down a quart."

Geoffrey shrugged. "If the king can forgive my transgressions, Wesley Tilden can. And you can thank your friend Prentiss for telling me where Alicia went and who she turned out to be. I only hope Alicia is as civil as the king was. He seemed to understand my plight—enough so to levy a respectable fine against me and legitimate the marriage. But he’s none too happy with the corpse that was buried at Bellerose, and has a special distaste for a man who would murder women."

"I suppose if you can corner Alicia just long enough to tell her—"

"Tell her that she has no legal right to choose any husband other than the one the king endorses. She is my legal wife. And she will accept that now. Her play at fighting me will no longer interfere with her safety. The wait is over."

"I’m for getting home," Preston said. "I don’t like learning what I’ve learned and having Alicia there without our protection."

Geoffrey clapped a hand on Preston’s shoulder. "She will have me at her side from now on, day and night, whether she likes it or not. The lass has had her way about this long enough."

The afternoon sun grew hotter and the days shorter. Busy black maids polished the Tilden home from top to bottom; the men in the fields loaded bails of tobacco and cotton onto carts to be stored or sold at the end of the harvest.

Marguerite had gone early in the morning to a neighbor’s house where a baby was being born. Brianna sat in the sitting room stitching away at monograms on Preston’s handkerchiefs, a chore Alicia hoped would never be expected of her, for she was far too restless for stitchery. Etta fluttered through every room, overseeing the maids at work. The men of the family were all either at the wharves, in the fields, or busily watching the warehousing of their goods.