Petals on the River (23 page)

his bride.
 
No longer was she a young lady of leisure, but a bondslave,

bought and paid for by a colonial who scraped and worked to make

something of himself and his aspirations!

Shemaine tried tenaciously to summon forth a clear image of her

betrothed in her mind, and it was an uncommonly long moment before she

realized the difficulty in conjuring a noble semblance of her fiance

stemmed basically from the fact that the sun-bronzed, hard-muscled and

very vibrant Mr.
 
Thornton was there in front of her where he could be

closely observed each and every time she glanced up.

Gage closed his ledger, thrust the quill into the well and pushed his

stool back from the desk.
 
Taking up a candlestick, he touched the wick

to a lighted taper and then snuffed the other candles in the room.

Leaving the corridor, he approached the rocking chair as Shemaine

hurriedly folded the chemise that she had been hemming "You'll need this

to find your way upstairs," he said, offering her the lighted candle.

"There's a quilt in the chest near the bed if you have need of it.
 
I

strung a line across the balustrade and hung canvas over it while you

were finishing up in the kitchen.
 
All you need do is draw it closed."

Thanking him, Shemaine accepted the candlestick and watched in confusion

as he picked up a nearby lantern, bade her good night, and made his way

toward his bedroom.
 
Refusing to embarrass herself by confessing her

failure to provide herself with sleeping attire from Victoria's trunk

earlier that afternoon, she gathered the garments she had mended and

moved toward the kitchen door.

Gage reached the entrance of his bedroom before he remembered .

his servant's sparse clothing.
 
He turned, drawing her attention as he

spoke.
 
"I'm sorry, Shemaine.
 
I quite forgot to ask if you might need

anything else from Victoria's trunk."

"A nightgown and robe would be nice, sir, if you don't mind," she

admitted shyly.
 
"I didn't think of them earlier."

"Then come and fetch them.
 
There's no need for you to be timid." He

beckoned to her before turning away and entering his bedroom.

By the time Shemaine followed, Gage had already lifted the trunk lid and

was sorting through the contents.
 
As she watched, he dug past a torn

nightgown that lay near the top and delved deeper through the clothes,

finally setting aside a gown which she had previously admired as the

prettiest of the lot.
 
He chose another for her, heedless of its better

quality and dainty smocking, added the only robe to be found in the

trunk, and handed the three garments to her.

"But these are much too fine for a servant to wear," Shemaine insisted,

making no attempt to take them.

Gage pushed them toward her, forcing her to take them.
 
"There's no

sense in letting them go to waste, Shemaine."

"You can save them for your wife when you get married again," she

argued, helplessly clasping the bundle to her.

As if considering her suggestion, Gage set his jaw thoughtfully askew as

he slowly contemplated her.
 
Seeming to come to a sudden decision, he

gave a slight nod.
 
"If I like the way you look in them, perhaps I'll

take your advice and marry you."

Shemaine stared at him agog, incapable of forcing any words past her

gaping lips.
 
She was too astounded by his suggestion to even mutter a

refusal.

With a devilishly smug iook, Gage placed a forefinger beneath her small

chin and slowly closed her mouth.
 
"Don't look so shocked, Shemaine.
 
It

wouldn't be the first time a marriage of convenience has taken place

here in the colonies, nor would it be the last.
 
With such a shortage of

available women, it's not an uncommon occurrence for a man to take a

stranger to wife.
 
If he's too shy, he'll likely find the maid snatched

away by another before he can loosen his tongue to propose."

Shemaine finally found her voice and hastened to assure him, "I didn't

mean to suggest that we should marry, Mr.
 
Thornton .
 
.
 
.
 
I mean .
 
.

.
 
I certainly never thought of such a thing .
 
.
 
.
 
I would never

presume ...

I ...
 
couldn't ...
 
I was betrothed, you see...." She stumbled to a

sudden halt, realizing she was protesting far too much.

" Tis a late hour for us to be quibbling over such matters, Shemaine.

Wear one of the nightgowns and go to bed.
 
Rest yourself.

Regain your strength.
 
Hopefully, before too much time has elapsed my

men and I can deliver the furniture we've finished to our customers in

Williamsburg.
 
Whenever we go, whether a couple of weeks or even a month

from now, I would like to take Andrew with me, but I'll need you to come

with us to watch after him.
 
The men and I will have to carry the pieces

from the barge, load them on wagons and then take them into

Williamsburg.
 
I can't rightly do that and look after the boy too.
 
I'm

sure you'll need all the strength you can muster to keep up with him the

whole day long."' "I'll try to be fit whenever you decide to go, Mr.

Thornton," she answered, retreating through the doorway.

Gage followed as far as the door and, lifting a forearm, braced it

across the jamb as he caught her gaze and held it with unwavering brown

eyes.
 
"If you aren't aware of it, Shemaine O'Hearn, you speak with a

very nice brogue.
 
I hear it quite clearly when you address me by my

proper name, and since you seem disinclined to use my given name, you

may continue calling me Mr.
 
Thornton with my wholehearted approval."' A

quick grin flashed, and his eyes gleamed teasingly.
 
"Until that day we

marry, of course."

"Warts off a toad," Shemaine mumbled petulantly as she turned crisply on

a heel, but his laughter made her break into a smile as she dispatched

herself with haste toward the back room.

In the silence of the cabin the hurried slip-slap of her slippers

drifted back to the man, and for a long passage of time he listened to

her movements upstairs, thankful there was something more pleasurable

for him to hear than the haunting screams of his dead wife.

CHAPTER 5

It had long been the custom for the adult members in the Thornton

household to begin stirring ere the sun showed its face above the

treetops.
 
Shemaine was unacquainted with predawn risings, for in

England she had been allowed to slumber well past the daily appearance

of the solar orb.
 
She had been pampered to a goodly extent, being the

only child.

Nevertheless, she had been repeatedly cautioned by her mother and the

old family cook that things would change drastically once she became

mistress of her own house.
 
On the London Pride she had slept whenever

she could, but those tormented attempts had been anything but soothing.

In contrast, her first night in the Thornton cabin had been both

physically relaxing and mentally nurturing.
 
Her awakening, however,

came with the harsh reality that she could no longer lie abed until a

leisurely hour.
 
She was a bondswoman now and was therefore expected to

function as one, serving instead of being served.

She had first been roused to a vague awareness of her surroundings when

Gage's bedroom door had opened that morning, but when his footfalls

progressed across the parlor and entered the back corridor, she came

fully awake, expecting her new master to climb up the stairs and roust

her out of bed.
 
Then the subtle squeak of the porch door as it was

opened and closed indicated his departure from the cabin, and the

frantic beating of her heart eased to a steadier pace.

Shemaine was still a-tremble as she scrambled from the cot and L struck

sparks from a tinderbox to light a candle.
 
Dragging the dead woman's

robe over the nightgown she'd been given, she took up the taper and

hastened from the loft.
 
The tiny flame dipped and sputtered in the

breeze she created in her brisk descent to the kitchen.
 
Despite her

state of dishabille, she lit a lantern, stirred up the fire in the

hearth and started putting a meal together, having already decided that

her morning toilette would have to wait until a later hour.
 
As for now,

she had work to do.

Having planned the morning fare the night before and set a batch of buns

to rising away from the heat of the hearth, Shemaine had managed to

avoid the folly of being ill prepared.
 
Bess Huxley had once lauded the

wisdom and importance of a woman being well organized in whatever task

she set herself to and had tried to instill such motivations in her

young student.
 
But it was only now, when Shemaine felt pressed to prove

her merits to the man who owned her, that the benefits of good, orderly

timing were finally recognized and appreciated.
 
The pleasure Shemaine

derived at seeing the hot cross buns browning in the hearth oven, the

smoked strips of venison sizzling on a griddle, and eggs thickening as

she stirred them in a skillet above an open fire was totally different

from the boredom she had once suffered when pressed to do such

monotonous tasks.
 
While still at home with her parents, she had

considered any assignment in the kitchen a loathsome imposition and had

done what had been required only to mollify Cook or to perhaps win a few

days of reprieve from the tedium of her instructions.

The first rays of the morning sun streamed in through the windowpanes

when Gage began folding back the shutters.
 
By the time he finished his

outside chores and returned to the cabin with a pail of fresh milk and a

basket of eggs, the interior abounded with light and the delectable

aromas of hot buns and venison.
 
Upon passing Shemaine in the kitchen,

Gage stared in amazement at the fare she was dishing up.