that I will…” He spluttered a moment.
“What?” Iolanthe scoffed. “You may own the land, but my father owns everyone on it. Including you.”
Edmund’s voice became dangerously soft and smooth. “What a shame it would be if I had to write a sorrowful letter to your father. ‘Dear Monsieur Renault, I regret to inform you that our dear Iolanthe has succumbed to yellow fever. Alas, it struck so very quickly that we were unable even to call for the doctor.’ Of course, no one would fault my seeking a young bride after a year of mourning. Your last gift to me, the freedom to produce a dozen lily-white children with some fresh faced girl with a bit of real fire in her.”
Iolanthe turned to glare at him. “You had better make sure that she has money or slaves, because my father will take all of his back.”
“It might very well be worth it.”
“She will never marry him, Edmund. Grace will be your undoing, not I.”
*
The food had smelled inviting enough, but Giles had only taken one bite. He thought of the child, of the poverty and despair to which he had been witness, and the perfectly seasoned fish seemed to turn to ashes in his mouth.
Exhaustion hit with a vengeance. He wanted to sleep, and then he wanted to wake and discover that the whole incident had just been a horrible nightmare. For the first time, he understood why Geoff’s wife, Faith, could hardly stand the taste of sugar. She had spent months on a sugar plantation, one with a master and mistress far kinder than these two, but slavery was unavoidably brutal. He was coming to understand that as he had never understood it before.
Another glance in the hamper revealed a bottle of wine. Giles uncorked it and poured a glass. Lethe, he hoped, or at least something to take the edge off his pain. He heard the back door open, and Matu slipped inside, skirting the wall and clearly trying to avoid looking at him.
“Is there any hope?” he asked her.
Matu stopped. She stood just outside of the halo of light cast by the candles on the dining and tea tables, so he couldn’t read her expression, but he did see her shrug.
“I would treat her well,” Giles continued. “This place isn’t good for her. I don’t think ‘tis good for anyone.”
The woman shook her head, then continued on her way up the stairs to the second floor.
They would take her with them, Giles thought. Grace would have her maid, and her maid would have a taste of freedom. Maybe, in time, he would learn to communicate with Matu, and she would help him to understand the nature of the woman he had somehow determined to marry.
And why was that? Why was he so hell-bent on such a hastily set course? He shook his head and sipped his wine. Was he in love? Was this what it was like? Well, if it was, it was nothing like it had been between Geoff and Faith. ‘Twould be a lie to say that he had not thought of Grace’s smooth, golden skin beneath his hands, but neither was his desire to make her his own driven by lust. Conquest was not generally important to him, nor was he particularly drawn by her innocence. He had no doubt of her virtue, but she seemed worldly in a most disturbing way. Not sexually, but mayhap more like she knew better than he the nature of greed and evil.
More like, that was it. She had the face of an angel, but the look in her eyes was piercing, and the smile on her young, beautiful mouth too cynical for a woman of her age and station in life.
She would wed someone, someday. She was a woman, and such was the natural order. It just seemed to him that she must not stay on a plantation, any plantation. He wanted to take her on the ocean, let it rock her, let the endless blue swallow up her pain as it so often had his. Mayhap he did not love the sea as deeply as many a sailor did, but it soothed ones hurts and put life into perspective. He closed his eyes and imagined her face relaxed, in awe of a fair day at sea, nothing in her eyes or smile but delight. He
“What?” Iolanthe scoffed. “You may own the land, but my father owns everyone on it. Including you.”
Edmund’s voice became dangerously soft and smooth. “What a shame it would be if I had to write a sorrowful letter to your father. ‘Dear Monsieur Renault, I regret to inform you that our dear Iolanthe has succumbed to yellow fever. Alas, it struck so very quickly that we were unable even to call for the doctor.’ Of course, no one would fault my seeking a young bride after a year of mourning. Your last gift to me, the freedom to produce a dozen lily-white children with some fresh faced girl with a bit of real fire in her.”
Iolanthe turned to glare at him. “You had better make sure that she has money or slaves, because my father will take all of his back.”
“It might very well be worth it.”
“She will never marry him, Edmund. Grace will be your undoing, not I.”
*
The food had smelled inviting enough, but Giles had only taken one bite. He thought of the child, of the poverty and despair to which he had been witness, and the perfectly seasoned fish seemed to turn to ashes in his mouth.
Exhaustion hit with a vengeance. He wanted to sleep, and then he wanted to wake and discover that the whole incident had just been a horrible nightmare. For the first time, he understood why Geoff’s wife, Faith, could hardly stand the taste of sugar. She had spent months on a sugar plantation, one with a master and mistress far kinder than these two, but slavery was unavoidably brutal. He was coming to understand that as he had never understood it before.
Another glance in the hamper revealed a bottle of wine. Giles uncorked it and poured a glass. Lethe, he hoped, or at least something to take the edge off his pain. He heard the back door open, and Matu slipped inside, skirting the wall and clearly trying to avoid looking at him.
“Is there any hope?” he asked her.
Matu stopped. She stood just outside of the halo of light cast by the candles on the dining and tea tables, so he couldn’t read her expression, but he did see her shrug.
“I would treat her well,” Giles continued. “This place isn’t good for her. I don’t think ‘tis good for anyone.”
The woman shook her head, then continued on her way up the stairs to the second floor.
They would take her with them, Giles thought. Grace would have her maid, and her maid would have a taste of freedom. Maybe, in time, he would learn to communicate with Matu, and she would help him to understand the nature of the woman he had somehow determined to marry.
And why was that? Why was he so hell-bent on such a hastily set course? He shook his head and sipped his wine. Was he in love? Was this what it was like? Well, if it was, it was nothing like it had been between Geoff and Faith. ‘Twould be a lie to say that he had not thought of Grace’s smooth, golden skin beneath his hands, but neither was his desire to make her his own driven by lust. Conquest was not generally important to him, nor was he particularly drawn by her innocence. He had no doubt of her virtue, but she seemed worldly in a most disturbing way. Not sexually, but mayhap more like she knew better than he the nature of greed and evil.
More like, that was it. She had the face of an angel, but the look in her eyes was piercing, and the smile on her young, beautiful mouth too cynical for a woman of her age and station in life.
She would wed someone, someday. She was a woman, and such was the natural order. It just seemed to him that she must not stay on a plantation, any plantation. He wanted to take her on the ocean, let it rock her, let the endless blue swallow up her pain as it so often had his. Mayhap he did not love the sea as deeply as many a sailor did, but it soothed ones hurts and put life into perspective. He closed his eyes and imagined her face relaxed, in awe of a fair day at sea, nothing in her eyes or smile but delight. He
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