Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) (20 page)

“You can’t really believe that nonsense. He’s in love with you. And if I’m not mistaken, you more than return his feelings.”

Sarah felt her tears threaten anew. “You
are
mistaken,” she said slowly. “I care for Mr. Beaumont very deeply, but the feelings are not returned. Besides,” she straightened on the bench, “it’s probably just as well, for I shall be leaving for Salem in but a few more weeks.”

“But if you love him, how can you just walk away?” Chris challenged angrily.

Sarah shrugged from his grasp and stood. “I did not say that I loved him. I said I am going home.”

“You can’t. You and Nick are perfect for each other.”

“I must,” she said slowly, needing to believe the words. “Our lives are too different. In Salem, women have much to see to. I‘m used to hard work and simple pleasures.”

Chris wondered as to her point, for his mother was the hardest working person he knew. Did Sarah actually think that people in the South didn’t labor long and hard for their bounty?

“I have four baskets of wool waiting for me to return home,” she continued. “They need to be carded and spun so I can be ready to weave. Do you know,” she paused, “that before coming here, I’d never worn a piece of clothing that was not made be either my mother or myself?”

“Sarah . . .” Chris said with exasperation, “as much I would wish it, clothing doesn’t grow on trees here. My mother made the very shirt I am wearing. Wherever did you get such foolish notions?”

“At home I have a garden,” she rushed on. “I like the responsibility. I enjoy being able to taste the fruits of my labor. Here in the South, things move at a different speed. I have no chores to claim my time or my talents. I have nothing but leisure time. And even then I don’t know what dress I should wear.” She gestured sadly. “ 'Tis best that I return to the world from which I come.”

“This is the silliest thing I have ever heard of,” Chris snorted. “You’re a guest here. You can’t expect the very people who offer you their hospitality to hand you a list of chores to see to. We just don’t do things that way.”

“Exactly,” she said sadly. “Your way is too different from my way.”

Chris stood and grasped her shoulders. “And how will Nick survive when you leave and take his heart back to Salem? Do you think he cares a hoot what gown you choose when the mere sight of you makes him light up like a bonfire?”

Sarah felt a spark of hope, then fought it back. “He’s said nothing to make me think what you say is true,” she stated calmly.

Chris urged her to sit again. “Let me tell you a story,” he said gently, “of a little boy who was raised by his grandmother . . .”

When he finished, Sarah’s face was again wet with tears. “I just don’t understand how parents could be that cruel,” she sniffed. “But Mrs. Beaumont loves him, I know that she does.”

Chris nodded. “Aye, she does at that. But in the beginning, it was a love with conditions. It depended on how well he bent to her wishes and to what extent he succeeded. Agatha meant well, but she made the same mistake with Nick that she did with his father. She tried to mold him into the husband she lost.”

“But Nick isn’t anything like his father,” Sarah gasped, remembering Agatha’s horrible stories of the drunken lout. “Besides, how could you know this if you didn’t meet Nick until you went to England?”

“We didn’t always live on the plantation,” Chris said calmly. “There was a period when my father worked out here with the slaves and my mother and I lived above the King’s Tavern. The first time I ever saw Nick we were both in knee pants. His father had passed out on the front steps and Nick was trying to help him home. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on Nick’s face when he saw me at the window.”

“But you didn’t meet again until school?”

Chris nodded. “I recognized him immediately, and he I, but in all these years we’ve never spoken of it.”

“Then why bring it up now?”

Chris reached over and again took her hand. “Because even as close as we are, Nick still keeps a distance between us. He keeps a distance between himself and everyone, including his grandmother. He’s too strong-willed to allow himself to become vulnerable again. Yet despite it all, his eyes dance when he turns and looks at you. So something whispers to me from deep inside that you are the person Nick might let in. And . . .” Chris paused to capture her eyes, “I think you love him.”

Sarah shook her head and tried to rise, but Chris held tight to her hand.

“We both know that with his financial standing, Nick could crook his finger and get any girl he wanted. But in all the years I’ve known him, the only time I’ve ever seen him truly happy has been this time he’s spent here with you.”

“You’re wrong,” she gasped, pulling her hands from his. “Dear God, you must be wrong. I can’t bear the thought of causing him more pain, but for my own salvation I must go home.”

Chris stood, but made no move to touch her. “If you think hard on the matter, Sarah, you’ll find that there are very few things in life that you
must
do.” He paused. “Many that you choose to do, but few that you really must do.” Then, turning, Chris walked quickly down the path toward the house.

Sarah sat back down on the brick bench and tried to gather her thoughts. If Chris spoke the truth, then why had Nick refused her last night? Did he not realize she was willing? Her face flamed with the memory of his touch. Never had she allowed a man such liberties with her body. Even the thoughts of his hand on her flesh brought goosebumps to the surface.

Sarah rubbed her arms briskly. “This is becoming too complicated, Lord,” she whispered. “I feel like I’ve joined a game the rules of which I do not know.” As her steps carried her slowly back to the house, Sarah offered a prayer that begged for guidance.

Chapter Eighteen

The sun had almost completed its downward path before the carriage turned onto the tree-lined road that led to the Beaumont estate. Having endured six hours of bone-jarring torture in stormy silence, Sarah was weary beyond belief. She had played Christopher’s words over and over in her mind, but they just didn’t fit the proud, intimidating man who sat before her. Now as the carriage pulled to a stop, she wanted nothing more than to find her bed. But as she thought of Agatha, anxiously awaiting their arrival, she knew her bid for sleep would have to wait.

Her composure was firmly in place when Nick took her arm to help her from the carriage.

“Sarah . . .”

She stopped more from the tone in his voice than the pressure on her arm.

“You were right last night.” He gazed down at her, his eyes dark. “Sometimes I am a complete jackass.”

She knew he waited for her smile, but her pain was still too fresh and her smile wouldn’t come. “Yes, you are. But stay,” she said softly. “Mrs. Beaumont will be waiting for us. Why don’t you come in for a few minutes and share a cup.”

Nick felt her rejection more keenly than he would ever have thought possible. Had he been noble only to lose her completely? But you’re sending her home, his mind argued. You never really had her in the first place. His hand tightened on her arm. “I am sorry.”

“I am, too.” Her eyes mirrored her regret. “Let’s go find your grandmother. She’s probably been driving Luther mad these last days.”

Deciding she couldn’t hate him more than she already did, Nick pulled her close and hugged her shoulders to his side. “Jackass, is it?”

“Yes, Mr. Beaumont. And I’m sure your grandmother would agree.”

For the briefest moment, a worried look crossed his face. Surely she wasn’t planning on telling Gran about their disaster in the barn.

She punched his arm and laughed out loud. “Jackass,” she declared firmly, smiling up at him for the first time that day as they entered the house.

“Well, you two certainly took your own sweet time in coming!”

Nick turned to Sarah and shook his head. “Some things never change” he whispered.

But to Sarah, things had changed and not for the better. At first she thought the candles not bright enough, for Agatha had no color in her pale cheeks. Then, as she approached the bed, she felt her anxiety grow. Never had she seen Agatha look so frail. She sat propped against the pillows, new lines ringing her eyes and mouth. Sarah could hardly believe the transformation. It was as if the woman was wasting away before her very eyes. She turned to Nick, but he had already moved to sit on the bed beside her.

“So how are you, Gran? I was hoping to see you up and in your chair.”

Agatha shrugged her thin shoulders. “My arm’s been aching. Besides, with you and Sarah gone, there was nothing to get up for. Now tell me, how was the wedding? Did you give my best to Mrs. Carlson and that rascal husband of hers?”

Nick turned to Sarah. “Gran is especially fond of Mr. Carlson because of his outrageous behavior. He flirts with her constantly.”

Agatha snorted at the expression on Sarah’s face. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We never did anything. Not that the man didn’t invite me down to the barn a time or two.”

Nick had the grace to cough and Sarah blushed, but Agatha’s once-sharp eyes never noticed. “I don’t think I ever had as much fun as that summer in ’74. Do you remember that, Nicky?” she questioned. “The time right after you and Chris finished school.”

Nick smiled and nodded. “If I remember correctly, you enjoyed yourself because you and Mrs. Carlson played whist for twenty-four hours straight.”

“Ah, those were the days,” Agatha sighed. “Tell me, did they set up a room for gaming this time?”

“Three rooms,” Sarah stated primly, her voice full of censure.

Nick looked from Sarah’s stiff form back to his grandmother. “I don’t think Sarah quite approved.”

“Bah,” Agatha waved a hand. “There’s no sin in a good game of whist. Now, dice – that’s another thing entirely.”

Nick’s rich laughter filled the room. “That’s because you always lose at dice,” he chuckled. He turned to see Sarah leaning wearily against the bedpost. “Gran . . .” he bent to kiss her cheek. “I’m going to leave now. Sarah is exhausted and you look like you could use some rest as well.”

Agatha sighed. As much as she hated to see him go, she was tired, and lately it was becoming more difficult to catch her breath. But now that she knew they were home, maybe she’d sleep better. “You’ll come for breakfast tomorrow,” she stated firmly, giving him a look that dared contradiction.

Nick shook his head. “I’ve been away for three days, and I’ll need to be at the docks all the earlier. I’ll stop by on my return, but it might be late.”

Agatha huffed. “When are you ever going to come when I want you to?” she challenged.

Nick dropped a kiss on her snowy white head. “Maybe when you ask instead of giving me a command.” He rose to go, and Sarah straightened.

“I’ll see Mr. Beaumont to the door and be right back,” she said softly.

“He knows where the door is,” Agatha snapped, “and I want to hear all the gossip from the wedding.”

“I’ll only be a moment.” Sarah smiled, then, turning, she left the room with Nick, pulling him away from Agatha’s door. “I think you should call the doctor. She looks terrible.”

Nick’s smile was full of compassion, and he gently patted her hand. “I do see that,” he said, “but it’s not really that bad.”

“Not really that bad!” Sarah gasped in a hushed whisper. “How can you say that? Luther said she’s been off her food. Can you not see how poorly she’s become? She’s practically emaciated.”

“What I meant was I understand your surprise.” Nick took her hand. “The first time I had to make a trip after Gran took ill, I returned to find her at death’s door, or so I thought. The household was in an uproar. Gran hadn’t eaten since I left, they told me. Well I went to the cookhouse to have a talk with Mrs. Hempsted to see what she could prepare to tempt Gran’s appetite. Only I found Mrs. Hempsted in a tizzy because someone was stealing food. Gran walked with a cane then and it didn’t take much work to find that the old faker had been refusing the meals in her room and then sneaking into her own cookhouse by night and raiding the larder.

“But now she can’t even leave her bed without assistance.”

Nick smiled. “And can you really be that sure that she hasn’t bribed a maid to bring her a snack? A coin here or there will buy you almost anything, including silence.”

Sarah shook her head, not ready to give in. “but she looks so . . .”

“Old?” Nick said quietly.

“Yes!” she gasped. “I don’t remember her looking so fragile, and we’ve only been gone three days.”

Again Nick nodded. “In the beginning, each time I went away for a few days, I was startled at her appearance when I returned. How could a person age before my eyes, I would think.”

“That’s it exactly.”

“Then as the months turned to years, I began to realize that that was how Gran really looked. The longer you’re around her, her fiery temper and wicked disposition make you forget that, beneath it all, she’s still an old woman. So to return home and see her thus was indeed a shock. Trust me, by tomorrow, you’ll think she’s improved, and within a few days she’ll seem just like always.”

Sarah’s brow wrinkled with thought. “You might be right, but I’m still not sure. I think I’ll keep a close watch anyway.”

Before she could object, Nick raised her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “Thank you for caring about her,” he whispered as he closed her hand around the kiss. “I’ll be back late tomorrow. You try to get some rest and don’t let Gran run you ragged.”

Sarah smiled and clenched her fist tighter. “Until tomorrow,” she whispered to his retreating back.

“So . . .” Agatha challenged when Sarah entered her room. “Did you get him to kiss you good-bye?”

Sarah held her fist tight and slipped it into the deep pocket of her skirt. “Now, Mrs. Beaumont,” she chastised, “What ever would make you think that?”

Agatha chuckled. “Just because my legs don’t work, don’t be foolish enough to think my mind doesn’t. I can see the way Nicky looks at you. Now tell me, what did you think of Julie?

Sarah perched on the corner of the bed and leaned her back gratefully against the bedpost. “She was lovely. Her gown was the most delicate shade of pink and covered with lace and beads. She sparkled like a jewel every time she made a move. But her wig . . .” Sarah’s eyes grew wide from the memory. “Mrs. Beaumont, never in all my life have I seen such a creation. It was nearly this tall.” She gestured with her hands above her head. “It was pure white and decorated with pearls and the tiniest pink ribbons. All in all it was quite beautiful.”

“But . . .” Agatha prompted as her eyes began to sparkle.

Sarah gave a tired sigh. “I can’t imagine how she managed to walk around all day with such a huge thing on her head. If you ask my opinion,” she glanced over her shoulder as if assuring their privacy, “I think it would have done better as a centerpiece.”

Agatha chuckled and clapped her gnarled hands together. “That child always was spoiled rotten. Was she up to mischief as usual?”

Already feeling guilty for her comment on the wig, Sarah could bring herself to say no more. Carefully she smoothed her skirt and folded her hands. “She made a beautiful bride.”

Agatha winced from the sudden twinge in her arm. “Damn these old bones,” she swore. “Did you get to meet Marigold?”

Sarah’s brow wrinkled in thought as she tried to remember all the names and faces of the past two days. “I don’t think so. Did you expect her to be there?”

Agatha snorted. “Wherever my Nicky goes, you can just bet that Marigold Thurmont will be there, sniffing at his heels.”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m sure I would have remembered a name as lovely as Marigold.”

“Bah,” Agatha sneezed loudly. “Lovely isn’t the word for it. Marigold has hair the color of mud and a voice that’s just as pleasant.”

Sarah smiled despite herself. “No, I don’t remember seeing any mud, on the ground or otherwise.”

“Good.” Agatha folded her hands on the coverlet. “Maybe her parents have finally pounded some sense in her head. Now, tell me, what did people think of your new dress?”

Sarah stretched and tried to settle more comfortably. “Thanks to you, I was a complete success. I actually lost count of how many asked me where it came from.”

“And what did you say?”

Sarah smiled and suppressed a yawn. “Why, I told them it had been designed by Madam Rousseau, the best dressmaker in town.”

Agatha’s pale eyes began to sparkle. “You know, I think if I play my cards right, I might make a profit at this after all.” She grinned at Sarah’s confused expression. “I made Charlotte promise me a slight commission from any referrals that came from that dress. It cost a fortune, so it’s the least she could do.”

Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “You are terrible,” she chuckled, wondering why she had ever imagined Agatha to be failing. The woman might be old, but she was still sharper than a tack.

“Not terrible,” Agatha’s expression was smug, “just a clever businesswoman.”

“Speaking of business . . .” Sarah sat up straighter. “I have some to attend to myself. I promised Madame Rousseau that I would bring Catherine to meet her."

"Catherine who?" Agatha demanded with a frown. "I know no Catherine."

"Catherine Richardson," Sarah said slowly, removing her brooch. "She made this." She placed the brooch in Agatha's palm. "Look at how delicate the stitches are. Isn't she talented?"

" 'Tis indeed good work." Agatha examined the piece closely. "I wouldn't mind having one myself. Is she going to sell these to Charlotte?"

"I really couldn't say." Sarah tucked the brooch back into her pocket. "Catherine and her family live near the end of the south road. They are in desperate want of common necessities, and if Catherine could get employment with Madame Rousseau, her family would benefit greatly."

"And what is your profit in this arrangement?" Agatha challenged.

Sarah's eyes filled with surprise. "Why, nothing."

Agatha shook her head. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," she said slowly. "When are you ever going to learn? There is always a profit to be made. The trick is to find out how to make it yours."

Sarah looked confused. "But why should I expect a profit from Catherine's labor? I'm not doing any of the work."

"No, but you
are
presenting her with the opportunity, are you not?" Sarah nodded slowly. "Then you should be compensated."

"But I'm not even sure that things will work out."

Agatha gestured toward the brooch. "Charlotte is a businesswoman even if you are not. She'll not be so foolish as to turn down the fingers that hold this talent."

Sarah clapped her hands together. "I do hope you are right. But I must ask a favor of you."

Agatha's eyes rounded with surprise, for in all the weeks Sarah had been with her, never once had she asked for a thing. "What do you need?"