Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 2
More than a month passed before James next met the princess. He escorted his mother and sister to dinner at the Cameron's because Will's mother wanted to consult James's about the engagement party and ball the Camerons would soon hold for the couple. James thought it odd the woman chose his mother to help plan the event rather than Beth. Perhaps the little princess thought participating in such a mundane task was beneath her, but he didn't think so. She hadn't struck him as the type to leave tasks to others that might be best done herself, and he suspected she might be a woman who knew her own mind.
He had continued to think of her as Beth, though he shouldn't in the event he slipped and called her that in company. He liked Beth, but as he sat through dinner and the rest of the evening, he didn't think he much liked the princess.
During the meal she sat stiffly, and he was once again reminded of Katy's china dolls. She said little, but to be fair, almost no one spoke to her. She concentrated on her bowls and plates, never once looked up at the table's other occupants. James would have thought she would at least have looked at those with whom she dined. When the last plates were cleared, she retired to the parlor with the rest of the women while James followed Will and his father to a drawing room separated from the parlor by pocket doors. After brandy, cigars, and dull discussions of horse breeding and the potential markets for their crops if the war continued to drag on, the doors were opened, and they joined the women.
Beth sat alone in an armchair while Will's mother and James's had their heads together on one of the sofas with Will's oldest sister. Will's other two sisters and Katy sat on the other sofa chatting. James briefly wondered if she had chosen to isolate herself or if she had been intentionally excluded. There was an empty chair next to Beth. As Will went to claim it, James took one of the empty chairs across from them.
He watched the couple through the evening, noted that Will rarely spoke to or looked at Beth. Will's mother made pronouncements about the party and the wedding, but she never asked for Beth's opinion. Beth, in turn, offered none. James got the feeling she would have been ignored had she done so. Eventually, Honoria, Will's oldest sister, rose and crossed to the piano where she played a pretty but not very challenging piece. Each of the girls took turns, and James observed Beth as the others played or sang. She sat rigidly upright and studied her hands in her lap. He tried to decide if she was bored, rude, or some combination of the two.
It finally occurred to him to wonder where her chaperone was. It was not unusual for chaperones to join families in the evening, but Beth's Mrs. MacKay was nowhere in sight. Nor had he seen her at the Collins's, he realized. During a lull in the conversation, he asked after her.
Beth opened her mouth to answer, but Helen Cameron cut in before she could. "Mrs. MacKay left to join relatives in Virginia once Anna-Elizabeth was settled," she primly informed James.
He gave Beth a sympathetic look. She was alone, then, with no one she knew to keep her company or to back her in a fight if she wished to pick one, and it had grown obvious the Camerons largely ignored her. He couldn't imagine travelling far from home where he knew only a single soul and feeling comfortable there. Beth had made such a move, though, and part of him wondered if she made any attempts to acclimate, to adjust to the strangers around her.
"Will any of your family come for the wedding?" he asked.
She didn't answer at first, and from the look she slid toward Helen, she apparently expected one of the Camerons to answer for her. Given what he'd observed that evening, he was surprised one of them didn't. When none of the others did so, she said, "Jorie and Arianna will come. I don't know if anyone else will."
"Who is Arianna?" James's mother asked.
"Anna-Elizabeth's youngest sister," Will said.
Will's mother frowned. "Will she be your witness, then?"
It was quite easy to see that would ruin her plans. James knew Helen exercised complete control over her family, and her husband was apparently content to let her do so. He liked Robert Cameron, always had, but he had never understood the leeway the man gave his wife. He had never much liked Will's mother, though. He watched Beth, noted her resignation in the wake of Helen's question.
Finally, Beth said quietly, "Arie is only seven. I do not intend to ask her. If Ghislaine were to come, I would want her for my witness."
"Ghislaine?" Will's mother asked, and James noted her voice rose sharply.
"My other sister," Beth explained. "I did write and invite Father, but he is unable to come."
James remembered then that her father was a British admiral. He wasn't surprised the man would miss his daughter's marriage. The British navy was keeping busy, and he doubted the King could spare an admiral even for the wedding of the man's daughter.
Will's mother moved the conversation to the guest list for the wedding, and Beth returned once more to staring at her hands folded in her lap. James presumed that was because she knew few of those named, though he thought it more likely that she had learned her wishes would not be heeded. Helen Cameron, after all, had broken her husband and her children of broaching any opinion of their own. Not only that, but James was certain she had Will's marriage planned to the tiniest detail, and a little thing like the wishes of the bride wouldn't sway her. Helen likely told Beth, had she dared to assert herself, that her unfamiliarity with local customs would embarrass not only the princess but the Cameron family. At the evening's close, James was more than glad to head for Oak Point, though a momentary dismay crossed Beth's face as they took their leave.
When they arrived home, James said goodnight to his mother and Katy, but he retired to his study downstairs while they went upstairs to their rooms. He poured a glass of rye and stood at the window, looked out into the darkness. He was worried about Beth, and he shouldn't be. The little princess was not his concern, but James disliked seeing someone mistreated. The way Will's family ignored her, failed, apparently, to even consider what she might wish for her own wedding, struck him as a kind of abuse. As he sipped his whiskey, it did occur to him that she was certainly capable of exerting her wishes if she so desired, but, he knew, women didn't always play fairly.
And who would support her? Will, presumably, but Will wasn't much of a fighter, especially not against his mother. James knew Will's mother, like his own, had been plotting his marriage most if not all of his life. Will was now marrying a foreigner, and that obviously didn't sit well with Helen Cameron. She wouldn't let the princess ruin her carefully made plans.
That, James acknowledged, as he splashed more rye in his glass, was what truly bothered him. He didn't know a single female who had not spent most of her life planning her eventual wedding in the most meticulous detail and who would not insist on getting her own way. Beth appeared absolutely apathetic about her future mother-in-law's plans. He wondered again why she was marrying Will. It was clear that rather than being happy about her marriage, Beth was merely resigned.
It wouldn't be the first time someone had sold a daughter off, but James figured a royal daughter could be bartered for a very dear price, so marrying her to Will made no sense. She could have been used to seal an alliance, head off an enemy, but, instead, she was allowed to marry an American planter, one who had apparently been her own choice. Will Cameron was wealthy, it was true, but her family could gain nothing by marrying her to Will unless there was some reason they needed her out of sight, out of mind. James rubbed the back of his neck. It simply made no sense. If her mother's life was not scandalous enough to banish her, what could Beth have done that would make them need to send her to America permanently?
-X-
James was surprised to the see the princess when he set off early the next morning for one of his other properties. She wore the claret riding habit again, and he remembered that other morning when they had ridden together. This morning Lem, his manservant, rode with him, but Beth was alone. Her mare danced sideways a moment as James reached her. "Your Highness," he said, tipping his hat.
"Mr. Wilkins," she said with a nod and then nodded in turn at Lem. His startled manservant looked away.
"Do you have an escort?" he asked, though he was certain she did not. He began to wonder if she chose to ride alone out of ignorance, arrogance, or a desire to get away from the Cameron family.
She blushed prettily. "No, Mr. Wilkins, I do not. I'm afraid I chose to run away this morning."
He smiled at her, perfectly able to understand the impulse, though it wasn't in the least humorous. "It's not wise to ride alone here," he said, echoing that morning at the Collins's. Beth's lips gave him a gentle smile. He hadn't found her a stupid woman, so he wondered why she persisted in ignoring warnings. Once again, he wondered if she had somehow compromised herself and if her family had sent her to South Carolina to escape a scandal. "Allow me to escort you back to Hart's Crossing."
She frowned. "Am I no longer on Will's property, then?"
"I'm afraid not," he answered. "This is my land."
"I do apologize for trespassing, Sir," she said.
He grinned at her prim tone, suspected it was not a sincere regret, but he played his part. "No apology necessary, Your Highness."
Lem dropped back as they rode, giving them some privacy. James asked her how she was. She looked at him but didn't answer. He saw the answer in her eyes, though. She looked disconsolate, and James felt an odd urge to protect her from whatever made her look that unhappy. He changed the subject, asked if she had heard from her family. She told him that she hadn't recently, but her brother and sister were expected in a few weeks. She asked after his mother and sister, and he told her they were well.
Beth was clearly cognizant of Lem behind them. She barely looked at James, and she kept the conversation on the social niceties. He followed her lead, despite knowing Lem would not gossip.
They came, eventually, to a lane James knew well. He drew up, and pointed down it with his quirt. "If you take that," he said quietly, "you'll arrive at the Cameron's stables."
She looked at him solemnly. "Thank you, Mr. Wilkins."
He nodded once more, and she turned her horse and urged it to a trot down the lane.
Once she was out of earshot, Lem rode closer. "That girl's trouble, Mr. James."
James ignored his manservant and rode on. He suspected Lem was absolutely right.
-X-
He saw her again the following week. He had ridden to a shaded, isolated spot on the river late in the afternoon hoping for a quick swim to wash the sweat off him, but someone had managed to get there before him. He saw the black mare first, and then he spied Beth. She sat beneath a tree, clad only in her chemise, and from her still-damp hair, he realized she had had the same idea he had. When she heard his horse break a branch, she startled, much as he had seen deer do, and she snatched up her dress and ducked behind the broad oak's trunk.
James walked his horse closer, his eyes on her pale face where she peeked around the trunk. "You do have a habit of going places alone."
He was close enough to see the color run up her face. "You do have a habit of finding me alone, Mr. Wilkins."
For a moment, he wondered if she intentionally put herself where he could. However, he had come here on a whim, not through any plan, so she could not have known he'd find her here.
"James," he said.
She nodded warily.
"How's the water?" he asked. She seemed startled by the question, and he grinned. This was wildly inappropriate, and not simply because she was barely dressed. They were completely alone in a spot where they could easily be found. He should have turned back, ridden elsewhere when he saw her black mare, but he had been curious.
"Cool," she said, and there was a hint a frost in her voice.
The shoulder he could see around the tree's trunk was bare, her chemise having slipped down her arm. Her damp hair appeared darker, redder, and hung loose. She looked even younger than he knew her to be except for her eyes. They were shadowed, ancient, but she didn't seem to fear him. There were many things to fear here, but James decided not to tell her about the alligators, rattlesnakes, or poisonous black water snakes with their pale, white mouths. No, she needed to consider other, more dangerous risks. He reached for the ties of his shirt and opened them. Her eyes followed his movements. Her breath quickened, and James realized from her avid stare that she found him as attractive as he found her.
She ducked further behind the tree's trunk when he dismounted, but her face remained where he could see it. "Mind if I bathe?" he asked, and she went crimson. He stepped closer to her tree, told himself he would only try and frighten her enough that she understood the risk she took coming out alone, especially to bathe.
Always an honest man, he admitted he was suddenly curious what he might have seen if he had come upon her earlier.
He slowly tied his horse and asked, "Why did you not have your maid draw a bath?"
"Mrs. Cameron says they can't do so as often as I prefer, so I—." She stopped abruptly, and James wished he could hear the rest of that.
"How often do you bathe?" he asked, curious. Few people he knew did so more than weekly at best. Most made do with what his nursemaid, to his mother's horror, used to call a whore's bath, a basin of water and washing the important bits between the major undertaking involved in a full bath. James imagined Beth's milky skin slick and shiny with soap and water, and his body reacted to the image.
"That's a rather impertinent question, don't you think, Mr. Wilkins?" she snapped.
"James," he said again, dropping his voice, and oddly glad to hear that bit of starch in her voice. He watched her, stepped closer to her tree. He didn't lean around to look at her, but he propped his shoulder against the trunk near where her hand rested against the bark.
Her tongue darted out. James watched the pink tip skim her lips and fought the urge to bend down and help her moisten them. "If you would be so kind," she began, and for a moment, he thought she was inviting him to do precisely that, "I would like to get dressed now."
He frowned, and then he realized she was asking him to give her some privacy. The breeze lifted some of her long hair, and James watched it flutter a moment. He reached out and caught a strand before he thought about what he was doing. It was fine, soft, silky between his fingers. He caught an unfamiliar floral scent. "James," she whispered, and her voice was so quiet it barely carried to him. He let her hair go and put his fingers over her hand, trapped it against the tree trunk.
Beth's eyes were deep fields of green, and he slipped the tips of his fingers between hers. Her fingers trembled beneath his. Her skin was soft, smooth, warm, and he lifted her hand from the bark. He stared at her as he turned her hand and placed his mouth on her palm. She whispered his name again, and he slid his tongue out and ran it over the spot where his open mouth rested against her skin.
This was dangerous, and he knew it. Everything he'd been taught, all the rules he'd been raised with told him to let her go, get back on his horse and ride away. She was marrying his best friend soon, and even if she weren't, even if she were his, it was not permissible to do this. The second he had seen her on the deck of The Delilah, he had been captivated by her, but seeing her like this, he was enthralled.
He lowered her hand, tugged her from behind the tree. She didn't resist, and James's mouth went dry when he saw her body through the thin, fine, linen. Her nipples pushed against the soft fabric, and he could see the shadow of her in the dappled sunlight. He pulled her closer, folded his arms around her, and when she lifted her face to him, he kissed her.
She had clearly never been properly kissed before, and he thought Will a complete fool for not having done at least that. He lifted his head and whispered, "Open your mouth, Beth." She looked up at him, puzzled, and he cupped her cheek, used his thumb to part her lips before fitting his own to hers. When he ran his tongue over her lower lip, she made a smothered moan, and her chin dropped, giving him access to the inner recesses of her mouth.
It didn't take long for Beth to catch on, to move her tongue and her mouth against his. He pulled her closer to him, and her arms crept around his waist. She flattened her hands against his back, and his blood ran hot through his veins as her breasts pushed against him. Their skin was separated by two layers of linen, and James was very aware of what faint barriers those were as he felt the heat of her through those thin layers of fabric.
His mouth traced over her cheek to her throat, and his hands moved down her body, cradled her closer. He kissed his way up the opposite side of her throat and sought her mouth once more. This time she didn't hesitate, and when he broke the kiss, it was her mouth moving over his skin, her tongue darting out now and then to taste him. His breathing was ragged, and he moved a hand to cup her breast. Her firm flesh filled his palm, and she moaned as he stroked over it, formed his hand to it.
The sound brought him to his senses. He had no right. No right at all. He sucked in air and held her to him a moment, willed himself to let her go. "Beth?" he asked on a ragged breath.
She lifted her head from his chest, and stared up at him. James watched the passion drain from her face to be replaced by embarrassment. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. "Get dressed," he whispered, and turned and walked away from her.
He stared down the water, thought about how anyone could have come across them—Will, slaves from either Hart's Crossing or Oak Point, someone in a boat on the river. Surely someone had noticed she was missing, was looking for her. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, once, twice. He fought the temptation to go back to her, to put her on his horse and take her somewhere they wouldn't be found.
His head jerked around when he heard her skirts brushing the grass behind him.
Beth was dressed once more, her hair queued back, but she held the bodice of her dress against her. "Mr. Wilkins," she said quietly, her face flaming, "I fear I need your assistance."
James frowned, but then she turned her back to him, and he realized she couldn't reach the last few buttons. He stepped toward her, gently moved the smooth braid of her hair over her shoulder, and pushed her buttons through their loops and wondered how she got them undone in the first place. He breathed in the scent of Beth and of whatever flower had scented her soap. He was tempted to slide his arms around her again, to bury his face in her hair or against her skin.
She stepped away from him and turned to face him again, but her eyes remained firmly fixed on the ground. "Thank you," she said so softly he barely heard her.
He reached out and cupped her chin, tilted her face up so he could see her. She looked miserable, and James hated that he had been the one to make her feel that way. "Beth," he said gently, "allow me to apologize for my behavior."
"The fault was mine," she said.
"No," he told her, "it was mine." Curious, he watched her reaction. She studied his face, hunted for something. He shifted his hold on her chin, slid his hand up to cup her cheek. "You are to marry Will, and I should not have touched you." He shouldn't be touching her now, he reminded himself. His thumb slid over her lower lip, noted it was slightly swollen from his kisses. Her eyes shifted once more, darkened with desire, and James knew that if he didn't send her away now, he wouldn't stop until she was screaming his name as he rode her. "Go home, Beth. Go back to Hart's Crossing, and stay there."
-X-
After a sleepless night, James decided he had business in Charles Town that couldn't wait. He told his mother after breakfast he needed to make the trip. Katy wanted to go as well, so after he informed his overseer he would be away several days on business, he waited impatiently for her and their mother to prepare for the journey. He had spent the night tormented by memories of how Beth had felt in his arms, of the taste of her, of her scent. He decided a night or two with his mistress would erase the memory.
After he settled Katy and his mother in their townhouse, he visited a tavern where he could find a boy who would carry a message to Theresa.
His mistress was a few years older than he. She was the widow of a wealthy merchant, and she oversaw her late husband's affairs. Nominally, she had a manager for that, but James had noticed she made the decisions. The businesses prospered, but James wasn't surprised. Theresa was an astute businesswoman, and at least once he had successfully taken her advice about a venture.
He met with his attorney, ordered some needed supplies, and then had supper with his family before he left for the evening. Theresa's butler opened the door to him, and he was shown upstairs to the sitting room she kept next to her bedroom. It occurred to him, as he sat back with a glass of whiskey, that only a few weeks ago he had planned to end his understanding with her, but here he was, intent on using her to purge Beth's ghost.
Theresa was an attractive woman, and James looked at her appreciatively as she entered the room. She wore something thin and semi-transparent that exposed a lot of her lush breasts. He was strangely unmoved by the sight. Beth in her chemise, on the other hand, had set his body on fire. Theresa merely earned an acknowledgement that she was lovely. It was the first time he had seen his mistress ready for him that his body had not snapped to attention.
She slid astride his thighs and took his mouth hungrily. James kissed her back, but his heart wasn't in it. More importantly, his body, apparently, wasn't going to rise to the occasion. Theresa tried, and James appreciated the effort she made, but she finally sat back and turned her dark eyes on him. Performance had never been an issue, so he felt more than a little embarrassed as she coolly surveyed him. "Is this because I asked if you had thought about marriage?"
The last time they had been together, she had asked him if he intended to marry, had asked if he had found a candidate, and then asked if he had considered a widow. He had known she was fishing, seeing what her chances were, but even if he had truly loved her, he would never have installed her as the mistress of Oak Point. Theresa's lovers were legion. He was but one of many, and they had never had an exclusive agreement. That had never especially bothered him, probably because he took pleasure from their arrangement even as he had made it plain that it was never going to be more than what it was.
"No," he said gruffly, though he had nearly seized on her question as an explanation. He wouldn't be the first man to balk at the idea of matrimony.
She slid off his lap and settled herself on a chair next to the sofa where he sat. She poured herself a whiskey and crossed her legs. "Then what's wrong, James?"
"I think," he said, sitting up and straightening his clothes, "that our time is at an end."
He faced her, felt he owed her the truth, but he was unwilling to hand her a weapon. Women in her position often exploited certain kinds of information, and James had no desire to have Will learn of James's interest in his fiancée.
As he watched, Theresa sipped her whiskey and said, "I admire your courtesy, James." He raised a brow. "Most men either send me a note or simply never return."
Truthfully, he had intended to do the latter, to simply fail to turn up again. He eyed her body, willed himself to respond, but he didn't, at least not until an image of Beth as he'd seen her the day he kissed her slid into his head when Theresa asked if he had found a bride. She gave him a knowing smile at his blush. "Who is she?"
"Actually," he said, "I've only just met her." He declined to tell her who the other woman was, and she stopped prying when it became apparent that he wouldn't tell her.
Finally, she gave him a warm smile and said, "Well, then, I wish you luck, James."
They talked about mutual friends a while, about the war, and James listened as she shared gossip about acquaintances. He declined a refill when his glass was empty. He stood to go, and Theresa stood with him. He reached into his coat, but she stopped him, shook her head sadly. "Keep it," she said softly, so he withdrew his hand. She leaned in and kissed him gently. "Be happy, James."
On his way home, he wondered what had happened. He had just left a willing woman, a woman whom he should have been able to bed without complications but one who, when it came down to it, he had not wanted. Theresa's lush body, dark hair and dark eyes no longer appealed to him, not when he found himself burning for a tiny doll of a woman, one who was Theresa's exact physical opposite and one who was completely out of his reach.
But not forever, he thought. When she had given Will his heir, she could be his then. They all pretended such liaisons didn't happen amongst them, but two of James's previous mistresses had been married women.
The next night he accompanied his mother and sister to a ball at the Graham's, and he eyed the young, marriageable women present. He talked to a few, danced with several, but even as he determined it was time he found a bride of his own so that he wouldn't covet Will's, he failed to find even a single female who engaged his attention quite the way Beth did.
When Katy had gone up to bed afterward, his mother had taken a seat in his study and said, "Well, Will's engagement seems to be having a positive effect on you."
He handed his mother a glass of sherry and picked up his own whiskey. "How's that?"
"That's the first time I've ever seen you actively engaged in looking for a bride." She sipped her sherry before adding, "The youngest Haynes girl would make you a good wife."
"Her eyes are too close together," he said absently.
His mother snorted. "Gabriel Fauberg's oldest girl came out this last season."
James stared at his glass trying to place the girl. He finally did, the slim, bashful creature with the faint French accent. "Dark hair and eyes, rather tall?"
She nodded. "She has her mother's grace and beauty, and her height would complement your own."
He made a face. "She's empty-headed."
His mother's lips twitched. "Granted, and I would rather not have halfwits for grandchildren. I noticed you speaking to Luiza D'Oliviera."
James knew where this would go. He'd long liked Luiza, but he wasn't going to marry her, and not for the reason his mother was likely about to raise. "She's a nice girl, intelligent, and from a good family."
"She's a Jewess, James," his mother chided. "It's bad enough Will's marrying a Catholic." She finished her drink and sat her empty glass on the table next to her. "There will be other opportunities to wife hunt," she said, "but I am pleased you've begun to think about your duty."
He stood when she did and bent and kissed her cheek. She bid him goodnight, and when she was gone, he splashed another measure of whiskey in his glass. His duty. Perhaps if he found a wife, he could forget the woman who would be Will's.
-X-
As Beth's marriage moved slowly closer, he didn't forget her. Instead, he dreamed of her. He woke in the night or early morning in a sweat and sometimes rock hard having seen her naked in his arms. He went back to the river one afternoon, but she wasn't there. When he saw her next, it was from a distance, and she rode with a groom and Honoria. Apparently, she had finally taken his admonishments to heart. He should be glad, but he wasn't. He would give anything to catch her alone once more and see if he could purge her from his thoughts.
-X-
One afternoon, Will rode over for a visit. James was in the fields when Will stopped his horse nearby.
His old friend dismounted and shook hands. "James, I wondered if you might have time for a ride."
There was still work to do, but he excused himself from his overseer and mounted his horse. He and Will chased down the lane toward the river as they had often done as boys, slowed only when they reached the trees near the river bank and turned their horses to follow the river's course. "Clearly you've got something on your mind," James said. He certainly had something on his when he recognized the tree where he had discovered Beth in her chemise.
Will laughed. "My mother pointed out to me that I had failed to secure my witness for my wedding," he said. "I wondered if you might help me find someone who would stand up for me."
James pretended concern. He knew what Will was there to ask, knew he would agree, but he also knew he would rather do anything than stand beside his old friend while Will married Beth. "Well, Will, that may take some doing. Have any distant relatives outside South Carolina who don't really know you?"
Will laughed again. "Sorry, old man, but all my people are here. Seriously, James, I assumed you'd stand up for me, and when Mother started in this morning, I realized I hadn't asked. I'm asking."
"I'd be honored," James said, feeling anything but.
"Good," Will said. "Honoria shall stand up for Anna-Elizabeth, so you'll be her escort."
James almost objected at that point. Honoria was their mothers' favorite when it came to matching a Cameron daughter to James. After two social events where his mother had found no suitable potential brides for her son, she had begun telling James that Honoria might best suit him. He had tensed to stop the shudder of revulsion he felt at the idea. He supposed, though, that he could put up with the girl for one day. "Has your princess not met anyone else whom she could ask?"
Will frowned at him, clearly puzzled by the question James asked. "Why would she not ask Honoria?"
Shaking his head, James said, "Why would she not, indeed?"