Sea Fire (46 page)

Cathy, seated silently beside her father, drank deeply of the crisp air. She loved South Carolina in the autumn, loved the bright reds and
golds that turned the trees into brilliant splashes of color against the still green grass and the halcyon blue sky, loved the sweet smells of freshly cut hay and open fires and limitless space. She loved the gently rolling countryside and the tall trees that lined the road and protected them from the bright afternoon sun. The thought came to her unbidden that, if she carried through on what she intended, she would soon be returning to England, never to see all this beauty again.

Seated in the back of the open carriage, Cathy strained for a glimpse of Woodham while trying to seem nonchalant. With every clop of the horses’ hooves she was drawing closer and closer to home. Cathy bit the inside of her lower lip, vexed at herself. Woodham wasn’t her home any longer, and she must remember that.

“Daughter, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Sir Thomas, speaking for the first time since they had set out, sounded troubled. Cathy, turning to look at him, saw that a frown wrinkled his brow.

“Get Cray, do you mean? Of course I’m sure.” Deliberately she made her voice light. Sir Thomas was not fooled.

“You know I mean leave Hale—and don’t tell me he left you first, which I see is on the tip of your tongue. I would be the first to agree that he has treated you badly over this business with Harold, and now Cray. And you know that I always thought you could have married someone more—suitable. But before all this came up, you were happy with him. And, Cathy—I think you love him.” This last was said quietly.

Cathy stiffened. “I do not!” she protested fiercely. Then, more calmly, “Papa, you must allow me to know my own mind! I loved Jon once, I admit. But he killed what I felt for him very effectively. I will be quite happy never to set eyes on him again once I have Cray.”

“But. . . .” Sir Thomas began.

“Please
don’t let’s talk about it anymore,” Cathy said almost desperately, and then, “Oh, look, there’s the drive! Driver, turn right up there!”

Sir Thomas said nothing more as they bowled along the dirt road leading up to the white-pillared brick house. But he was troubled.

When the curricle rocked to a halt before the circular stone steps leading to Woodham’s front door, Cathy was out of her seat almost before the carriage stopped. Already the oak front door was opening.

“Miss Cathy! Miss Cathy!” Petersham was running down the steps, closely followed by Martha with Cray by the hand. Cathy, smiling with tears in her eyes, jumped lightly down from the carriage without waiting for Sir Thomas to alight and assist her. Immediately she was enveloped by three pairs of arms, all bestowing crushing hugs. She hugged them back impartially.

“Oh, lovey, it’s good to see you!”

“Mama! Mama, where have you been? Daddy said you were coming soon, but this isn’t very soon, I think!”

Cathy laughed at this without taking time to consider the implications. Freeing herself from Petersham and Martha, she took Cray in her arms. The little boy’s arms closed tightly around her neck. She kissed the top of his silky black head, so absurdly like Jon’s. At the thought tears began to rain freely down her cheeks.

“Mama, you’re making me wet!” This wriggling protest from Cray made Cathy laugh again. Giving him another kiss on his soft little cheek, she turned around with him in her arms so that he could see Sir Thomas, who had alighted rather stiffly from the curricle and was regarding the scene with a thoughtful expression.

“Cray, do you know who this is?” Cathy prompted with a smile. Cray stared hard at Sir Thomas, who smiled at him.

“It’s Grandfather,” Cathy told him. Cray nodded doubtfully,
then said audibly in Cathy’s ear, “Mama, I don’t see why you call him that. He’s nowhere near as grand as my real father. My real father’s much bigger!”

Everybody chuckled at this, including Sir Thomas. Then they were all moving inside. The center hallway with its polished wood floors and hanging mirror was so familiar that Cathy felt her throat tighten up all over again. Home! her wayward senses cried. You’ve come home!

“Miss Cathy, would you like to go upstairs and freshen up? I’ll have hot water sent up.” Petersham was beaming foolishly at her. “We’re all so glad you’ve come home! Master Jon will be so pleased!”

Before Cathy could answer, Martha broke in.

“Where’s the little girl? Master Jon said there was a little girl! He said she looks like you, lovey. I can’t wait to see her!”

They were both staring expectantly at Cathy. She looked rather desperately to her father for assistance. He returned her look stolidly, without making a move to help her out.

“Yes, Martha, there is a little girl. I’ve named her Virginia, and she’s with her nursemaid in town.” She took a deep breath. “Petersham, I’m sorry, but we won’t be staying. I’ve only come for Cray. Martha, will you please go and pack his things? We’ll be going back to town.”

“Miss Cathy, you can’t!”

“Lovey, you’re not serious!”

“I am deadly serious,” Cathy said quietly. “Please, Martha, would you just pack his things? I’ll explain everything later.”

Cray, hearing the sounds of trouble in their voices, looked from one to the other. His small face began to pucker.

“Don’t cry, darling, it’ll be all right,” Cathy whispered to him swiftly, tickling him to make him laugh before passing him across to Martha. Martha took his hand, then shot a troubled look at Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas nodded slowly, and Martha went reluctantly off to do as she was bidden.

“Miss Cathy, I
can’t let you take Master Cray! Master Jon would take me apart!” Petersham sounded anguished.

“I’ll handle Master Jon,” Cathy said, with more assurance than she felt. “Don’t worry, Petersham, I don’t mean to leave without seeing him. Where is he, please?”

“He’s in the west field.” Petersham’s eyes were worried as they fixed her. “But, please, Miss Cathy, whatever’s wrong between you two—and I’ve known all along there’s something, he’s been down in the dumps ever since he got home again—don’t just leave him like this! You’ll break his heart! He loves you, Miss Cathy!”

Cathy laughed.

“Please have the trap brought around, Petersham. I want to drive out to the west field.” Then, to Sir Thomas, she added, “Papa, I’m going to drive myself out there. I want to speak to Jon alone.”

Sir Thomas stared at her hard for a moment, then slowly inclined his head. “I’ll escort Martha and Cray into Charleston and then come back for you,” he said.

“Oh, Papa, there’s no need! I can drive into town very well!”

“There’s every need,” her father said heavily. Then, as Petersham reluctantly departed to do her bidding, his tone gentled. “Cathy, I think you ought to think about this. If Hale is prepared to marry you. . . .”

“I wouldn’t marry him if he was the only man left on earth,” Cathy broke in fiercely. “Papa, my mind is made up! I don’t want to discuss it any more!”

Sir Thomas bowed his head, and said nothing further. It wasn’t long before the trap was brought around, and Cathy, scorning assistance, climbed into it.

“I won’t be gone long,” she told Sir Thomas and Petersham impartially as they watched her, varying degrees of concern on their faces. Then she snapped the reins briskly and the horse moved off.

The west field was
further along the road, down a little dirt track that led over small hillocks and a trickling stream. Cathy drove at a good pace, wishing vainly that she had worn gloves as the leather reins chafed her hands. The late afternoon air, warmed by the still bright sun, caressed her face gently, bringing a glow to her cheeks. Her blue eyes sparkled with the light of approaching battle. She sat very straight in the narrow padded seat, her head protected from the sun by a fringed canopy, her bottom protected from unexpected jolts by well-sprung wheels. Her gorgeous dress with its matching little bonnet looked completely out of place in that homely setting, but she didn’t care. She also didn’t care, or know, that, set within the frame of the dusty black trap, she looked a trifle absurd but wholly beautiful.

As the trap crested the last rise before reaching the west field, Cathy pulled to a halt. For just a moment she sat drinking in the scene below her. The field was waist deep in tall, golden grass that swayed in the gentle wind. The sun shone warmly down on the backs of the slaves, who were wielding long scythes as they cut the grass in rhythmic rows. Directing the operation was Jon. She would know that tall form in the dark a mile away. As she watched, he too picked up a scythe, and set to work.

Cathy felt her throat suddenly go dry, and her heart speed up. The showdown was at hand. Now he would pay—pay in blood for the insults, humiliation, and final outrage he had dealt her!

With a smart snap of her wrists she set the horse in motion. As the trap moved down the hillock to the edge of the field, she felt the eyes of the men turning to stare at her. Jon, busy with his work, was one of the last to look around. After one incredulous glance, she saw him straighten, turn, and start toward her.

Cathy pulled up, and sat waiting for him to reach her. He was leaner than she remembered, but so brown and fit that he looked invincible.
Dressed in a loose white shirt and formfitting buff-colored breeches, a wide-brimmed hat set carelessly on the back of his dark head, he exuded earthy male virility. As he drew closer, Cathy could see the black stubble on that iron jaw, and the odd gleam in the gray eyes as they moved over her. A faint, half-wry smile twisted his mouth. Cathy felt a sudden rush of joy at the sight of him, but fiercely tramped it down. She was here for a purpose, she reminded herself: to teach the black-hearted wretch a lesson that he would never forget!

“Lady Stanhope, I presume?” he drawled with a touch of mocking humor as he came to a halt beside the trap, one foot raised to rest negligently on the step. When he rested his arm on his raised knee, the movement brought him close. So close Cathy could see every individual pore in his dark face. Gulping, she tried to present an outward facade of cool hauteur. Inwardly, she was a trembling mass of nerves.

“Not any longer,” she replied composedly, forcing herself to meet those gleaming gray eyes. “The marriage was annulled. I’m Lady Catherine Aldley again.”

“I see.” The smile playing on his hard mouth widened a little.

“The papers are in my bag. You can look at them, if you like. As I told you, they all attest to the grounds for the annulment: non-consummation.” Despite her best intentions, Cathy could not prevent a touch of asperity from entering her voice.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Cathy stared at him incredulously, hardly able to believe her ears. He didn’t doubt it? Then what in God’s name had he been playing at all this time?

Jon correctly interpreted the disbelieving expression flitting across her face. One corner of his mouth tilted up in a self-mocking grin.

“As soon as I got away from the situation, and had time to think, I knew I’d been a blind fool. Can you forgive me?”

Cathy was so taken
aback that she could only gape at him. After everything he had put her through, he was now prepared to simply admit he had been wrong? Without proof of any kind? It was incredible! She wasn’t going to stand for it! He had put her through an emotional wringer for months, and now he thought he could just apologize, and all would be forgotten? Not on his life!

“How do you feel about exchanging plain Lady Catherine Aldley for Mistress Hale again?” The tone of the question was light, but those gray eyes were not. They were warmly sensuous as they moved over her. Cathy felt rather like an actress who had learned her part by heart, then walked onstage into the wrong play. Nothing was going as she had expected.

When she didn’t answer, Jon cast a quick, impatient glance around.

“We can’t talk here,” he said. “Move over.”

Stepping lightly up into the trap, he took the reins from her nerveless hands. Cathy obediently scooted over as he sat beside her, clucking to the horse. Her mind was in such a turmoil that she hardly felt the trap begin to move. He had apologized—and proposed. It would be so easy to forgive him—until the next time. Cathy, remembering how he had refused to listen to her, refused to believe her when she had told him nothing but the truth, remembering how he had used and abused her, labeling Virginia a bastard and stealing Cray, felt her heart harden.

“I don’t want to marry you.” Cathy’s voice was jerky.

Jon cast a quick, appraising look across at her, but said nothing until he pulled the buggy to a stop. They were in the midst of another tall, golden field, not far from the stream, with a lone oak tree standing sentinel some little distance away. All around them the land rose in a gentle slope, cutting them off from the rest of the world. They were completely alone.

“Why not?” Jon asked calmly, turning to look at her.

Cathy began to feel a trifle annoyed at his coolly reasonable tone. It
was as if he were an indulgent father, giving in to the whims of a fractious child. Well, she was no child, and so she meant to make him well aware!

“Where shall I start?” She looked him fully in the eyes. “First, I’m sick and tired of living with your jealousy. I’ve never given you the least cause to suspect me of anything at all out of the way, yet you’re always accusing me of having lovers. Second, you have a vile, nasty temper, and you can be violent. I’m sick of that, too. Three, talk about being unfaithful! What about Sarita? I refuse to put up with that sort of thing, and if it happened once I don’t doubt it will happen again. Four, you suspected that Virginia wasn’t your child. How do I know you won’t capriciously decide the same about any other children we might have if I was misguided enough to marry you? And five, you stole Cray from me! I find that harder to forgive than anything!”

Jon’s jaw hardened as he listened to this speech. Without a word, when she was finished and sat glaring at him belligerently, he jumped down from the trap, then turned to look at her.

“Get down,” he said sparely, and when she made no move to do as he had said he reached up and caught her under the armpits, lifting her down beside him. Cathy didn’t physically resist. Instead she allowed him to pull her arm through his, and walk her away from the trap toward the stream.