Sweet Deception Regency 07 - The Divided Hearts (14 page)

“And Diomed?”

“He died four years ago. But what an
extraordinary life.” Nate’s voice was vibrant with feeling. He
reached up to scratch Fumé’s ears and the filly whickered softly,
blowing on Nate’s sleeve.

“I’ll take very good care of this special
lady,” Judith said, catching Nate’s tender expression.

Nate smiled down into Judith’s golden eyes.
Once more he was caught in the enthralling magic of her gaze.
Impulsively, he asked, “I say, perhaps you’d like to join me for a
ride? I have several tenants to visit and you could try out your
new purchase.”

Judith hesitated under the blaze of warmth
in Nate’s expression. His changeable character kept her constantly
off balance. However the beauty of the morning and her eagerness to
try Fumé’s paces, vanquished her misgivings. He threw her up in the
saddle and she followed him at a leisurely pace while he returned
to the stable to get his own horse.

At the beginning of their ride Judith’s
attention was concentrated on getting to know Fumé. The filly was
everything that Judith could hope for. An inveterate horsewoman,
her heart sang with joy and appreciation as they wove their way
along country roads. After an exhilarating gallop, Judith pulled
her horse into a walk and patted the sweating neck as she crooned
into the filly’s ear. Finally, she turned to Nate.

“Please forgive me, Nathanael. I have been
ignoring you quite brutally.” She tipped her head back to look up
at her companion, her eyes glistening mischievously. “However, it
is really your own fault.”

“My fault, milady?” Nate asked, trying to
ignore the creamy complexion so close to him.

“If you did not breed such prime blood, my
every attention would be centered on you.”

“Then, Lady Judith, there is nothing for me
to do but sell up the stud,” Nate announced gallantly.

On that note of merriment, they began their
tour of the farms. For Judith it was a revelation of another side
of Nathanael’s character and in exasperation she wondered how many
more facets he would manifest. The tenants greeted him with a
casual cheerfulness that did nothing to diminish the respect they
felt for him. There was nothing of the Lord-of-the-Manor attitude
so prevalent among English landowners. Nate gave the impression
that it was through a joint effort that his estate and the tenant’s
shareholdings were thriving. And thriving they were. There was a
lush abundance about the lands and the farms that was perceivable
to the most casual observer.

While Nate joined the men, the farmwomen
invited Judith into their cottages more out of friendliness than
subservient duty. Each home that she entered made her realize what
her father had tried to tell her about the differences between
America and England. Compared to most English tenants, these
landholders were rich in possessions, but it was the pride and
independence of the women that touched Judith most. The women spoke
to her as an equal, one who would be interested in their life and
their culture. They presented their offspring, scrubbed and well
clothed, and talked of their hopes for these children in a new
land.

Perhaps it was the confidence that shone in
the faces of the people she met that forced Judith to confront some
of the questions in her own life. Here in America there were no set
rules that circumscribed one’s life; in England one was born to a
life and little changed to alter that life. Freedom meant more than
just the end of domination by the British. There was freedom to
attain whatever goals you set for yourself. For the English set,
social structures still set the goals but for the new Americans
only their own limitations would keep them from achieving.

“Caleb, don’t muss the lady’s dress!”
Rosemary Whitney scolded as she reached for the child, who,
fascinated by the visitor, clutched at Judith’s skirts.

“Oh, he’s no trouble,” Judith demurred as
she reached down to hoist the toddler onto her lap. Shyly she
glanced at the pregnant woman in the chair beside hers. Although
Judith’s knowledge was limited, it was apparent that Mrs. Whitney
was very near to her time. “Besides, you could use a moment of
rest.”

“His hands are all sticky,” his mother
worried, but she rested her head against the chair back and smiled
at the young woman.

“So are mine,” Judith laughed and the
tow-headed boy clapped his hands in delight. “That candy just melts
in your mouth.”

“It’s maple sugar candy. We tap the maple
trees for sap and then boil it up for syrup. My mother taught me to
cook some of the syrup and pour it into molds. In the winter when
I’m longing for a sweet, just a little taste is pure heaven.”

Judith agreed as she rocked back and forth
on the porch. Her eyes were drawn across the yard where Nate and
Dennis Whitney were stomping down the earth around the new fence
post they had just set in place. She watched as the muscles rippled
in Nate’s arms as he pushed against the post to make sure it was
level. At a comment from Dennis, he threw his head back, his smile
flashing in his tanned face. Could this be the same man Judith had
seen holding court at the Woodbridge’s salon? As though her
thoughts had flown across the open yard, Nate turned his head, his
dark blue eyes, unreadable at this distance, searching hers. A
flush rose in her cheeks and she dropped her gaze, concentrating
instead on the child in her lap.

Nate watched in pleasure the young woman
holding the child. Judith’s openness with all of his tenants had
surprised and delighted him. She was neither patronizing nor overly
friendly. Her acceptance by his people had been earned by the very
naturalness of her behavior. She was genuinely curious and sincere
in her praise and enjoyment of her visit. Now as she sat rocking
the child on her lap, she looked so much a part of the scene that a
stranger would believe she had lived her life in America. Once more
Nate wondered if he had been too quick to suspect her motives in
questioning him.

“Some lemonade might be in order, Nate,”
Dennis suggested, aware that his friend had lost interest in the
project. The eagerness with which Nate headed for the porch
indicated a partiality for the beautiful lady that was far from
casual.

“I hope you ladies are impressed with all
our hard work,” Nate said, throwing himself on the top step of the
porch. He leaned his back against the support beam, stretching his
arms over his head.

“Let me…” Rosemary said as she started to
get up.

“Just you stay put, Rosie,” Dennis commanded
as he stepped onto the porch. “I’ll just get us that pitcher of
lemonade you fixed.”

“Nade,” Caleb crowed, clapping his hands
once more. “Me want nade, too.”

“Well come along, son, and you can help.”
Dennis plucked the boy off Judith’s lap and carried him through the
door.

“Caleb’s very like his father,” Judith said
as Rosemary subsided gratefully in her chair.

“He’s a good child and healthy.” She sighed,
her face a picture of contentment. “I hope we are as blessed with
our next one.”

“How old is Caleb?” Judith asked.

“Almost three. He’s bigger than most his
age,” Rosemary answered proudly. “And some days he’s more active
than a house full of children. Landsakes, what that child doesn’t
think of. Dennis says his antics are normal for a high-spirited
boy. This time I’m hoping for a girl. It might be a little less
frantic.”

Rosemary smoothed the front of her smocked
dress. A sigh escaped her smiling lips, but then she gasped in
surprise. “Oh dear. I thought it might be today.”

Nate was immediately on his feet, aware
before Judith of the situation. It was several minutes before it
dawned on her that Rosemary was about to deliver her child.
Momentarily she panicked but under Nate’s calm instructions, she
found herself sitting, with Caleb once more on her lap, while
Dennis and Nate helped Rosemary into the house. Never in her life
had Judith felt so totally helpless or so incredibly stupid. She
was stunned by the matter of fact way that the men had reacted
compared to her own inability to even form a coherent thought. All
three of the adults had treated her as though she were as young as
Caleb. And they were right, Judith thought. I am no more help than
a child.

Realizing that the only way she could be of
assistance was to keep Caleb occupied, she let him show her around
the farm. They examined the barn and petted the cats; they strolled
through the kitchen garden and munched on some purloined green
beans. They, or rather Caleb, chased the chickens and then checked
the nests for any undiscovered eggs. But all the time, Judith’s
mind was on the miraculous events taking place in the stoneender
house. It seemed like hours before Nate appeared at the door,
bounding down the stairs to give them the news.

His dark blue eyes met Judith’s in a
reassuring glance before he knelt in the dirt beside the boy.
“Guess what, Caleb? You’ve got a new sister.”

“Sister,” Caleb repeated, his eyes round
with anticipation.

“Why don’t you go in the house and see her,”
Nate suggested and grinned as the boy bolted across the yard to the
stairs.

“And Rosemary?” Judith asked.

“Tired but just fine.”

Judith felt tears spring to her eyes at the
tone of tender reverence in Nate’s voice. She felt herself to have
been tested and found wanting. She and Rosemary were the same age
and yet the young American had so many accomplishments and Judith
had so few. Rosemary was a useful, fruitful and educated woman,
while she herself was no more than an ornament of society. It
disturbed Judith that only since her arrival in America had she
begun to question her own worth. Her values and principles were
being buffeted by new ideas and new viewpoints. And she did not
like what she was finding out about herself and her world.

For a moment Judith felt a burning jealousy
for the woman inside the house. She was appalled at her own
selfishness and turned away from Nate, walking toward the house.
Disgusted with herself, her voice was brittle as she said, “We
should leave.”

“Don’t you want to see the baby?” Nate
asked, surprised at Judith’s withdrawal.

“Oh could I?”

There was such a genuine look of wonder on
her face that Nate thought he must have mistaken her coldness.
Taking her hand, he led her to the house, smiling as she tiptoed
across the floor to the bedroom where the Whitneys were holding
court.

Dennis, holding a fascinated Caleb, was
sitting beside the bed when Judith and Nate entered. The pride on
the new father’s face was near blinding as was the glow radiating
from a pale but triumphant Rosemary. But Judith had eyes for
nothing except the red-faced baby cradled in her mother’s arms. The
child sucked noisily on the knuckles of her tiny bunched fists. A
fuzz of blond hair shone on her head, promising another tow-headed
Whitney.

“She’s beautiful,” Judith whispered, her
throat tight with emotion.

“Dennis said we might name her for my
mother,” Rosemary said. “And if you wouldn’t feel it presumptuous,
we’d like to call her Hazel Judith Whitney.”

The tears that had been so close, overflowed
as Judith touched the delicate skin of the baby’s cheek. “It is an
honor that means a great deal to me.”

Palatine steadied the restive black stallion
on the edge of the clearing. Muffled under mask and cloak, he
waited as the shadowy figures melted into the circle of trees.
Knees pressed against his horse to control the animal, he listened
for the sounds of movement to fade into the distance. It was his
practice to ensure the safety of his men by watching to be sure
there was no pursuit.

In the last month there had been a concerted
effort by the English sympathizers to discover the identity of
Palatine and disrupt his organization. Two weeks ago they had
succeeded in penetrating one of the secret patriot meetings and
before the members could scatter, several of his band had been
injured. He had been detained in Newport on business and had been
warned on his approach by the column of smoke where the abandoned
logger’s cabin had been. Since then, he had urged the group to take
every precaution.

“Easy, Touro.”

The husky whisper was accompanied by a
caress of the black stallion’s neck that shone silkily in the
moonlight. Although Palatine looked relaxed in the saddle, there
was an alertness about the figure that indicated his senses were
finely tuned to the forest around him. Five minutes passed before
the gloved hand returned to the reins and the rider kneed the horse
into the cover of trees.

Horse and rider were nearly invisible in the
darkened woods, picking their way on a barely discernible deer
trail. The shambling walk of the stallion was in sharp contrast to
the powerful legs that promised a gallop that would eat up the
miles. Obedient to the implacable knee pressed into his side, the
stallion showed his displeasure by an occasional contemptuous toss
of his head. As though sensing the animal’s displeasure, a muffled
laugh issued from the rider. The trees thinned as they approached
the road, and the horse and rider paused at a break in the
undergrowth.

A thin whistle cut the night and Palatine
answered with a low birdcall. A shadow detached itself from the
amorphous background. Hooves muffled in the thick grassy verge, a
horse and rider plodded toward them. Touro nickered a soft welcome
as a wiry figure on a tired looking plug appeared out of the
gloom.

“All quiet?” Palatine asked.

“Aye, sir,” the ex-jack-tar reported. “Eight
went in and eight come out. Downright tidy, if I do say so
meself.”

Removing his hat, Nathanael Bellingham
unwound the mask from his face and after wiping the sweat from his
forehead, stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. He sighed
gratefully as the wind ruffled his thick black hair and, with a
black-gloved hand, he lifted the queue away from the back of his
neck.