Defiant Impostor (49 page)

"If Dominick hadn't been here at Briarwood this
morning while the constable went directly to search his house upon the
baroness's insistence, he might have destroyed the evidence before they ever
found it. Now he's going to hang, and he can only blame himself for ever
allowing Cleo to learn to read and write. His twisted love for her proved his
undoing."

Susanna shivered, wondering what was going to be her
and Adam's fate. They still planned on admitting everything to the magistrate
and taking whatever punishment the court, and Lady Redmayne, now deemed
warranted. But what that might be, they still had no clue.

Other than her explanation for why she had come to
Virginia, the baroness had said little to Susanna while she recounted her tale,
instead staring out the window with tears streaming down her lined face. Yet
Susanna had taken some comfort after she had finished when she had sensed no
anger or resentment from the older woman, receiving instead a few pointed
questions that had caught her completely off guard.

"What are your feelings for Adam Thornton?"
Lady Redmayne had queried, her tear-dimmed hazel eyes intent on Susanna's face.

"I love him," she had said honestly, her own
eyes growing wet as she thought of him receiving care upstairs from the
physician who had pronounced his wound serious but not life-threatening.
"If he had died today . . ." Unable to go on, she had stared down at
her folded hands.

"And what will the two of you do now?"

"Marry again, this time using my own name,"
she had answered. She had purposely skipped over any talk of possible
punishment, fearing even to raise the subject. "Then we'll start a new
life somewhere, maybe on Virginia's frontier. There's land to be had in the
west, good land waiting to be settled. All that really matters to me is that
Adam and I are together."

To her surprise, the baroness had brusquely dismissed
her then, giving her no idea what she planned to do with them.

Suddenly growing apprehensive, Susanna threw her arm
tightly around Adam's lean waist, wondering with dread if tomorrow they might
find themselves separated by prison walls.

"Adam," she murmured, her voice catching as
she hugged him fiercely, "I'm so sorry about what happened this morning.
So terribly sorry. I should have trusted you. I thought . . . I thought you
were going to challenge Dominick—"

"It doesn't matter, my love," he broke in
gently, kissing her forehead. "All that matters is that you brought
Dominick down and saved my life. But now we're starting over, remember? From
this moment on, all of that is behind us. Let's think only of the future. Our
future."

"Oh, I want that so much," she said.
"You know, Lady Redmayne said the strangest thing when she first walked
into the library this morning, something about being so relieved when she heard
from the constable about your marriage to Camille—"

"I think she probably meant she was simply glad to
discover there had been no wedding between her grandniece and Dominick,"
Adam interrupted her, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"I don't know," Susanna persisted, a wild
hope flaring in her heart that it might mean something more. "Lady
Redmayne knew from Mr. Cary's letters to Camille that you were his plantation
manager, Adam. By rights, she should have been enraged by such a match,
considering the rules she had droned into Camille's head about marrying into
wealth and position. Yet she didn't seem in the least dismayed when she said
your name."

"Susanna, I don't think it's wise that we read
anything into Lady Redmayne's words. From what I've heard about her bluntness,
I'm sure she'll clearly state her position toward us when she's ready. Other
than that, we can only wait—"

He stopped at the sudden knock on the door, a firm,
no-nonsense rap. Susanna immediately rose from the bed and, casting a nervous
glance at Adam, hurried across the candlelit room, taking only an instant to
smooth her hair and secure her dressing gown more tightly around her before she
opened the door.

"Your ladyship," she murmured, trembling with
apprehension at the inscrutable expression on the baroness's face. Almost
forgetting herself, she dropped a quick curtsy. "Please . . . come
in."

"Thank you, I will," said the petite older
woman. Her black gown rustled as she swept into the room, her posture as
gracefully erect as ever despite her advancing age. "I hope I'm not
disturbing you."

"Not at all, my lady. Adam and I were just talking
. . ." Susanna's voice trailed off as the baroness seemed not to have
expected any objection to her presence, but moved directly to the bed.

"I need a chair, Susanna."

She hastened to obey, her seven years as a lady's maid
coming to the fore. As she returned with the chair, she noticed Adam's frown
and imagined he didn't like the sight of her waiting upon another person.

As the elegant woman sat down and folded her hands
primly in her lap, she added, "I believe some introductions are in order,
Susanna."

"I'm Adam Thornton," Adam spoke up before
Susanna could reply. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Redmayne. I've
heard a great deal about you."

Susanna winced, wishing she had instructed Adam on the
proper way to address a baroness. But it was too late, and she doubted he would
have listened anyway. He was a stubborn, proud man who demanded to be met on
his own terms.

"And I know a great deal about you as well,"
Lady Redmayne countered cryptically, although her patrician features held no
irritation. "I'm glad to see that you're feeling much better than when I
saw you last, being carried upstairs by that hulking black man."

"Elias."

"Yes, Elias. He seemed protective of you, quite
loyal. It surprised me. I'd heard that these slaves usually despise their
masters."

"Some do," Adam answered frankly. "But
I've found that treating others with respect usually begets the same, as James
Cary also believed."

"Indeed."

Thinking that things weren't exactly getting off to the
best start and wishing Adam would soften his tone, Susanna moved to the bedside
and took his hand, squeezing it gently in reproach. When he squeezed hers back,
she felt some reassurance.

"I'm truly sorry, Lady Redmayne, that you had to
learn about your grandniece's death in such an unexpected manner," Adam
said, obviously having taken Susanna's cue to heart, for his voice was filled
with sincere regret. "We had planned to write you a letter after meeting
with the magistrate—"

"Yes, it has been a day fraught with the most
unsettling confessions," the baroness broke in quietly, her eyes suddenly
glistening. Lowering her head for a moment, she cleared her throat delicately
against the hoarseness that had crept into her voice, then she looked up,
squaring her shoulders. "I have a confession to make myself."

Gripping Adam's hand tightly, Susanna felt her
nervousness mounting as Lady Redmayne withdrew a worn, folded piece of paper
from a side pocket buried in the black satin material of her gown.

"This letter was written to Camille by her father
shortly before his death and arrived only days before she was due to leave
Fairford. I deliberately kept it from her because it held sentiments I did not
wish her to see." The baroness leveled her gaze upon Adam. "It's
about you, Mr. Thornton, every single word." Her ringed fingers were
shaking as she handed him the letter. "You may read it later at your
leisure, I'm giving it to you to keep, but for now I would prefer that you
simply listen to what I have to say."

"As you wish," Adam answered, glancing at
Susanna as he released her hand and took the paper.

"My nephew held a great fondness for you, Mr.
Thornton, and it's echoed in each line of that letter. He looked upon you as a
son, and he wanted you and Camille to marry, believing you would do well by
both her and Briarwood. And although I know now of the vengeful motive that had
driven you to prove to James that you were worthy to wed his daughter, I am
sure he wouldn't have faulted you for it; he loved you that much. You'll find
that he states he had intended to share his feelings and hopes with Camille
when she arrived in Virginia, but something compelled him to write to her
instead. I can only imagine that he must have had some premonition . . ."

As Lady Redmayne paused again to collect herself,
Susanna's thoughts skipped back to that balmy July afternoon when Adam had
asked if he might court her. She hadn't believed James Cary would have given a
common hired man his blessing, but the planter had, and here finally was Adam's
proof.

"That is why I couldn't allow Camille to read the
letter," the baroness continued. "Despite my nephew's wishes, I
didn't think you would make a suitable husband for her, Camille being an
heiress—which I mean as no insult to you personally, Mr. Thornton—"

"None taken," he murmured.

"Yes, well, to be blunt, I had my sights for her
set much higher. I trusted that I had taught her well enough about the
importance of choosing a proper husband, that once you made your marital
intentions known to her, she would reject you outright." Her eyes began to
mist, her voice suddenly catching.

"But I can't tell you, Mr. Thornton, what James's
letter came to mean to me when I learned of his foul murder and that horrible
man Dominick Spencer's intentions toward my beloved Camille. It was the only
thing during that endless ocean crossing that gave me any hope. I can't even
count how many times I reread that letter, especially the words about how
stubborn you were, how hardworking and persevering, and I prayed day and night
that you were using that same dogged persistence against any objections Camille
might give you about your courtship of her. You can't imagine my trepidation
when I disembarked from that ship early this morning and went straight to the
town constable's house and rousted him from bed, only to hear that you had
married my grandniece almost two weeks ago . . ."

Susanna felt a terrible lump rising in her throat as
Lady Redmayne's teary gaze fell upon her. "I'm sorry it was me, your
ladyship, truly I am. If I could have taken the fever from Camille and put it
upon myself, I would have done it gladly. I didn't want her to die . . ."

"Heavens, dear child, I know that," the
baroness murmured, pulling a black handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her
eyes. "And I know how much Camille loved you, like a sister. You were the
only one who could make her truly laugh, and every time I heard it, I thanked
God you had stumbled across our path in London. I fear I was too hard on her,
wishing she could shed her shyness and be more like you. I hope she knew that I
only wanted the best for her—"

"She did, my lady, she did," Susanna
interrupted fervently, grateful for the warmth and strength of Adam's hand once
again grasping her own.

Lady Redmayne rose from the chair, her handkerchief now
limp and sodden. "Forgive me. I didn't come here to make such an emotional
display, only to explain myself and tell you both that I have no intention of
hauling you before any magistrate. As far as I'm concerned, this is a family
matter, and I consider both of you my family now. You're all that I have left
connecting me to the ones I loved."

Her limbs suddenly gone weak with relief, Susanna sank
down next to Adam, scarcely noticing that his arm had slipped around her waist.

"I have only one question to ask you, Mr.
Thornton," the baroness added, drawing back her delicate shoulders as her
expression regained a good measure of its sternness. "Do you love this
young woman?"

"I do," Adam answered, his voice throbbing
with intensity. "She's everything to me. I need nothing else as long as
she is by my side."

"Good. It is just as I expected. Tomorrow I shall
journey into Williamsburg and visit the magistrate myself, where I will explain
everything and then have documents drawn up to deed Briarwood over to you.
James had hoped that someday you might have this plantation, knowing you would
make it prosper, and so you shall. Then I plan to visit the parish church and
see that the proper wedding banns are posted and the wedding license obtained.
If Camille wanted you, Susanna, to carry on in her stead as the mistress of
Briarwood, I can do no less than to honor her dying wish. She was right. No one
deserves it more than you."

Completely stunned, Susanna looked at Adam, who
appeared as astounded as she was.

"Now, if you'll both excuse me, I must
retire," Lady Redmayne said, appearing suddenly very weary, although a
faint smile curved her lips. "I imagine it's going to be a very hectic few
weeks, planning the wedding and all the parties that must go with it, and
seeing a bit of this colony of which James was so proud. I must admit, I never
expected to find Virginia so agreeable, despite the unwelcome downpour that
greeted Mary and me as soon as we came off the ship. Quite civilized, too.
Well, good night."

As the baroness began to walk to the door, Susanna
quickly left Adam's side to catch up with her, saying, "I'll show you to
your room, my lady." She was surprised when Lady Redmayne waved her back
to the bed.

"There's no need to accompany me, Susanna, I can
find my own way down the hall," she insisted. "Go care for your
handsome betrothed and look to yourself, for that matter. From what I've heard
from Ertha, whom I took the liberty of reassuring I might add, and that
charming young Corliss, you two have had quite an interesting past few days.
Lovers' quarrels, spills from balconies, sword fights . . ." She shook her
gray head. "You should both be abed, resting!"

"All—all right, your ladyship," Susanna
murmured, offering another curtsy.

"That's another thing, my dear," Lady
Redmayne added kindly as she opened the door. "From now on, please call me
Aunt Melicent, and the same goes for you, Adam. Remember, I said we're family
now. That means no more curtsying, too. Sleep well."