Moonwitch (35 page)

“Do you love Kyle?”

Selena hesitated only a moment. “Yes,” she said before realizing another truth. What she had felt for Edward had been a girl’s love—adoring and starry-eyed and throbbing with idealistic devotion. What she felt for Kyle was far deeper—the love of a woman for a man.

But her consoling words seemed to have the opposite effect from what she had intended. Lydia’s lower lip began to tremble. “I want someone to love,” she whispered, her tears falling again. “I don’t have anyone. Not since Mama and Papa died.”

“Oh, Lydia…” Selena’s throat tightened as she felt the girl’s misery. It went far beyond the disappointment of losing a beau; anguish and desolation lay naked in her dark eyes.

With a murmur of sorrow, Selena gathered her close. Lydia gave in to the grief then. She buried her face in Selena’s shoulder and wept brokenly. “It isn’t fair,” she sobbed in a muffled voice. “Why did they have to die?”

Silently Selena pressed her cheek against Lydia’s shining chestnut curls, rocking her slowly, knowing mere words would never be enough to ease the pain.

Selena kept a close eye on the troubled young beauty during the next few days. Lydia seemed withdrawn and subdued rather than defiant, acting more like her younger sister, the shy, serious Zoe. Felicity, on the other hand, was the same precocious whirlwind as ever. Of the three, she appeared to have had the least difficulty adjusting to their parents’ death. Yet Selena noticed that even Felicity would occasionally suddenly touch her sisters on the arm, as if to reassure herself that they were still there.

Having lost her own parents, Selena could sympathize entirely. She had no trouble remembering her own pain and loneliness, which she tried to explain to Kyle the morning after her discussion with Lydia.

His expression was troubled as he listened to Selena’s account of the conversation. “Is Lydia really in love with the Parkington boy?” he asked finally.

“She’s convinced of it, but I’m not certain. I think the biggest problem is her grief over your parents’ death. What she needs most—what all the girls need—is understanding and love.”

“We can give them that.”

We.
The word warmed her; it rang of duty and companionship, of shared responsibility between husband and wife. Yet Selena had to look away, certain that her feelings for Kyle would be written in her eyes for him to see.

Her yearning for Kyle, however, was matched by her yearning to help the girls through their difficult period, and in the following days, Selena made every effort to show them they were wanted and loved. She found it a joy to assume the supervision of their lessons—directing their study of English, history, ciphering and botany, and the more genteel pastimes of drawing, music and needlework—because it gave her an opportunity to become close to the girls. It wasn’t long before she realized she was growing to love Kyle’s sisters nearly as much as she loved him.

She was also beginning to settle in at Montrose. She took great pleasure in executing her duties as mistress of the plantation, and she enthusiastically aided with preparations for the ball that Bea was holding to welcome her and Kyle to Natchez. And during those early summer days, she met many of their neighbors.

The social life in Natchez, Selena discovered, was genteel, well regulated and indolent. The planters, in their broadcloth suits and broad-brimmed straw hats, spent their time hunting or fishing, paying morning calls, playing whist or chess or lounging the day away under a spreading oak, while their wives followed a similarly leisurely schedule. The gentlemen were all horsemen, always with riding whip in hand, while the ladies drove about in gigs.

Selena’s life at Montrose wasn’t as slow or pampered as that; she approached her responsibilities as mistress there with as much seriousness as she had in Antigua. But it was a life she knew, and she felt as if she belonged.

Her favorite part of the day, though, was the time she spent with Kyle. It became a custom to meet him at breakfast every morning when he returned from town so that they could discuss the plantation’s operation. The topics ranged from how to repair the cotton gin and save the ten percent toll that the public gins charged for those services to developing a training system for their slaves. Selena wanted to expand their proficiency in wood carving, blacksmithing and a dozen other trades to make the plantation more self-sufficient.

Her first priority, however, was teaching their slaves’ children to read and write. In Mississippi there were laws against educating slaves, but she and Kyle talked at length about ways to get around that, and Selena was pleased to know she had his full support. She was even more pleased to see his genuine concern for the welfare of his people. She had expected Kyle to exercise justice and honesty in dealing with his slaves, but he proved to be a staunch champion of their freedom, as well.

“The Negroes at Montrose,” Kyle told her one morning over the breakfast table, “may be as well-off as anyone can be under bondage—at least now that Whitfield is gone—but they still have scarcely more rights than cattle. And I still find it difficult to stomach owning another human being. What would you say if I wanted to free our slaves?”

“I would say,” Selena replied thoughtfully, “that it is a compassionate and noble ideal, and then ask if you were a rich man.” When Kyle raised an eyebrow in query, she explained. “Most of the capital of a cotton plantation is tied up in slaves, so if you freed them all immediately, you would lose thousands of dollars. But worse, you risk losing the plantation entirely. When cotton is fetching a good price and profits are high, you can afford to pay your field hands a wage and support their children. When times are poor, there isn’t enough money to pay wages. Yet you still have to feed and clothe your people—unless you’re prepared to let them starve. Under such circumstances, a plantation couldn’t survive more than a few years. Then everyone loses—owner and worker alike.”

“But didn’t you tell me you had freed some of your slaves in Antigua?”

“Yes, any slave who wished to do so could work out his emancipation. But we did it more slowly. Service was more like a term of indenture. Each person was credited with a regular wage, depending on his contribution, and when he had earned a sum equal to his purchase price, he was given his freedom.”

“Could we do it here?”

“Of course.”

Kyle grinned. “So when do we start?”

We.
There was that word again. Kyle’s growing acceptance of the responsibilities of the plantation gratified her, but the shared endeavor of meeting those responsibilities together made her heart swell.

After that, their discussions centered on establishing a fair wage system and formulating replies for the time when the neighboring slave owners protested, as according to Bea, they were sure to do.

Kyle was quick to grasp the intricacies of the accounting procedures, which surprised Selena a little, until she remembered he had commanded his own ships for most of his adult life. She was quite surprised, however, at how quickly he was learning the business of planting. Without a factor to oversee the operation, he was having to spend most of his time in the fields, but it had the advantage of giving him firsthand knowledge of the operation.

And in spite of his avowed dislike for farming, Kyle seemed bent on succeeding. Often he stayed out in the fields during the dinner hour, and always he was the last to return in the evening. Concerned that he was driving himself too hard, Selena made sure someone carried him a nourishing meal at midday and that a bath was waiting for him when he came home hot and tired.

One of these latter occasions—the first after their passionate night of lovemaking in Natchez-Under—marked a definite change in their relationship. Kyle called her into his dressing room on the excuse that he needed someone to scrub his back, then shocked her by pulling her fully dressed into the large tub with him. Selena flushed furiously, but after his tender and totally thorough assault on her lips and breasts, she was clinging to him with breathless passion. She scarcely noticed the discomfort of squeezing herself into the tub as she straddled Kyle’s powerful body or her wanton moans of pleasure as he surged upward into her delicate warmth.

After that, Kyle made use of every opportunity to involve her in other scandalous situations—which Selena protested only halfheartedly. It was as if he were determined to break down her inhibitions, to make her respond to him without shyness or reserve.

He took her again when he had just stepped out of his bath, this time on the floor, soaking the carpet. He made love to her in the kitchen pantry, a dozen servants within the sound of their voices. He lured her into the deserted summerhouse and took her standing up, her back pressed against the intricately carved paneling. Even on horseback, he found an opportunity to arouse her. Selena never suspected his purpose when Kyle invited her to go riding and then drew her up before him on his horse. But as they rode deeper into the woods, his hand found its way beneath her skirts and worked its magic, bringing her to a climax so shattering that the roan gelding nearly bolted.

But he never came to her bed. The primary reason, she knew, was that he was still spending his nights at Heaven’s Gate, yet Selena sensed he was also holding back part of himself from her. They were lovers, but not husband and wife. Not in the fullest sense. She wondered if he was engaged in a silent rebellion, as if by avoiding her bed, he could avoid admitting the finality of their marriage. But she wouldn’t allow herself to despair just yet. The intimacy between them had deepened into something resembling friendship, and it wasn’t inconceivable that she might someday win Kyle’s heart.

It would help, however, if she could spend more time with him. One day shortly before the ball, she decided to aid her cause by taking Kyle his dinner herself. That morning he had expressed the intention of clearing a huge stump that littered one of the fields and had taken the gigantic Saul with him. When Saul returned at noon alone, Selena discovered Kyle’s direction and rode out to meet him.

She was glad for the protection of her wide-brimmed straw hat. The hot June sun was bearing down on the ripening cotton plants and filling the air with the heavy smell of baking soil. She came upon a sweating group of field hands about to begin their own dinner, led by Rufus, the head driver. Rufus lifted his shapeless hat in greeting and grinned when Selena asked where Master Ramsey was working, pointing toward a distant clump of oaks.

She found him wielding an ax, and her heart leaped at the sight. Kyle had stripped off his shirt, and the hot sun glistened on his naked shoulders and the flexing muscles of his back. Selena pulled her mare to a halt, feeling a deep, secret pleasure in watching him. He was a highly physical man, earthy and sensual, and as vital as the land he had engaged in combat.

Her horse nickered then, making Kyle glance over his shoulder. For a moment his eyes locked with hers, and then his mouth curved in a slow smile, as if he knew she’d been admiring his body.

“I’ve brought your dinner,” Selena said, flustered.

With an easy swing, Kyle sank the ax into the stump and came forward to meet her. “You look good enough to eat yourself.” The heat smoldering in his gaze as he surveyed her gown of cherry-colored muslin emphasized his appreciation, but he didn’t reach up for her as she expected. “Can you dismount on your own?” he asked, wiping his palms on his breeches. “I’m too dirty to touch you.”

He wasn’t, to her mind, but in the interest of modesty, she let his comment pass. She hadn’t yet lost enough of her reserve to tell him that his half-savage state gave him an air of raw strength or that she found the musky male scent of his body more arousing than even the sight of him, since she associated it with their lovemaking.

When she had slipped down, Kyle took the reins from her and led the mare to a nearby oak. While he retrieved the flask of lemonade and bundle of food she had brought, Selena settled herself in the shade and removed her hat.

She caught the flicker of pleasure in Kyle’s eyes as he joined her. Since that morning in Natchez-Under when Kyle had claimed that he preferred her hair loose, she had worn it down in the daytime. Now it was dressed simply, pulled back from her face with combs.

He surveyed her with appreciation, then unwrapped the linen napkin and applied himself to his meal. They chatted amiably while he ate, and when he was done, Kyle put his hands behind his head and lay back on the grass with a contented sigh. “Those apple tarts were the best I’ve ever tasted. I can’t believe they came from Montrose’s kitchens. Not even Martha can cook like that.”

“It was my mother’s recipe. I showed Martha how to make them.”

“Your talents are limitless, Moonwitch.” Glancing up at her, Kyle flashed her a slow grin. “I didn’t realize what a bargain I was getting when I married you.”

It was said in a teasing voice, but it made Selena’s heart ache. She wanted to do more for him than bring him apple tarts. “Kyle,” she said gravely, “do you remember when we talked about Natchez needing a regular steamboat service?”

“Um-hmm.”

“If you were to establish one, how would you go about it?”

“Hypothetically? If I had the necessary capital, I’d commission a shipwright to build a couple of steamboats after Shreve’s design. Then I’d get the legislature to grant a charter and hire a commission agent to handle the business of arranging cargos.”

From his ready answer, she knew he had already given it some thought. “How much capital would it take?” she asked.

Kyle frowned up at the oak branches above his head. “I’d guess about a hundred thousand dollars. But I don’t have that kind of money on hand.”

“What about my dowry?”

“The money from the sale of your plantation? I couldn’t use that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d feel like a blasted fortune hunter, that’s why.” He shook his head. “No, if I wanted to start my own steamboat service, I’d sell one of my ships and try to come up with the rest from private investors.”

“Why, if your ships are making a profit? And wouldn’t private investors demand a say in how the service was run? It would be better if you were solely in control.”