Less Than a Gentleman (9 page)

“Visitors? Who?” Jane strode toward her.

“Redcoats.”

Jane stumbled to a halt. “Oh, dear. What shall we do?” Her hands shook as she removed her gardening gloves.

“We’ll have to speak to them.” Caroline knelt in front of the children. “Go inside. Tell your mother what has happened and stay in the nursery.”

They nodded and ran into the house.

Jane dropped her gloves on the grass and smoothed out her skirts. “Come with me, please.”

“Of course.” Caroline accompanied her to the front lawn.

The soldiers were approaching the house. A white-wigged officer escorted a young lady. His tall, gaunt appearance was further accentuated by his companion’s short, well-rounded form. Dressed in coral silk with a matching parasol, she released a high-pitched giggle that carried across the lawn.

“How do you do?” the officer called to them. “I’m Captain Ezra Hickman. I’m on my way to General Cornwallis in Camden.”

The captain’s accent sounded familiar, like those heard in Charles Town. He must be a Loyalist, Caroline thought, an American willing to kill his neighbors for the glory of a king three thousand miles away. Or so the Loyalists claimed. She suspected they had other motives—revenge and greed.

“How do you do? I’m Jane Murray Thomas.” Jane’s curtsy faltered.

Caroline stretched out a steadying hand, and Jane gave her a grateful look.

“ ’Twill be all right,” Caroline whispered. She faced the newcomers, and to her dismay, discovered the captain was eyeing her with interest. His female companion took one look at her and dismissed her with a sniff. Apparently, she looked like a servant with her sunburned face and dirty apron.

“As I was traveling from Charles Town, I happened across this admirable young lady in need of an escort.” The captain bowed his head at the woman on his arm. “She assured us you would be most hospitable.”

Jane glanced at Caroline with a worried look. “Yes, of course.”

“Mrs. Thomas, so good to see you again.” The woman stepped forward, closing her parasol. “Surely you remember me? I’m Agatha Ludlow.”

C
HAPTER
N
INE

C
aroline flinched.

This was it. The unmasking.

Jane would demand that she and her family leave at once. Good Lord, Jane could have the soldiers arrest them. Caroline risked a glance to see how angry Jane was, but she had turned away to climb the steps to the front porch.

“Welcome to Loblolly.” Jane hesitated at the front door as if reluctant to open it.

“Thank you.” Agatha Ludlow swished past Caroline without a second glance. “Captain, would your men fetch my trunks, please?”

“Of course.” Hickman motioned to the other soldiers. They paced back to the river, grumbling under their breath.

Agatha lifted her skirts with a gloved hand as she ascended the porch steps. “I simply adore this house.”

Instead of joining the ladies on the porch, the captain stepped back and examined the house. He glanced over his shoulder at the river. “Mrs. Thomas, is your husband home?”

Jane visibly paled. “No, he’s . . . away on business.”

Captain Hickman tucked his tricorne under his arm. “Then you are alone.”

“I have guests staying with me.” Jane glanced at Caroline.

Although Jane’s expression conveyed more of a plea for support than an angry accusation, Caroline still struggled with the guilt of her deception. She remained standing on the lawn, uncertain what to do but convinced that at any moment, the earth would crack open, flames would belch forth, and the devil himself would appear with a personal invitation for her to join him in the bowels of hell.

Captain Hickman turned to her and smiled. A cold, lifeless smile that chilled her to the bone, a smile like a wolf baring its teeth when it had selected which sheep to cut from the herd. Caroline steeled her nerves to keep from shuddering. A fleeting thought skittered through her mind—perhaps the devil preferred ice to fire.

The captain inclined his head. “At your service, mistress. May I inquire your name?”

“Miss Munro. Caroline Munro.” She gave Jane an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. We’ll be on our way now.”

Jane frowned. “Do you truly wish to leave?”

Where could they go? Tears of despair blurred Caroline’s vision. She shook her head. “No.”

“Then you will stay.” Jane opened the door.

Agatha Ludlow followed her into the house. “I was so delighted to receive your invitation. I have such fond memories of this house. Do you still have that marvelous harpsichord in the parlor?”

Caroline trudged up the porch steps, her heart heavy. She should feel relieved. The truth was out, and she and her family still had shelter. But she felt guilty for not confessing the truth to Jane before it was too late.

Captain Hickman touched her elbow with his bony fingers. “You look sad. I trust it is not due to our arrival.”

“No, not at all.” Caroline forced a smile.

“Then you will be pleased to do your duty for your king.” Hickman tightened his grip on her elbow. His gaze wandered down to her low neckline, then back to her face. “I expect to be made . . . comfortable.”

She swallowed hard. Rumors had abounded in Charles Town of soldiers abusing their power with helpless women. “This way, please.” She eased away from his grasp with the pretense of leading him into the foyer.

The captain’s booted steps echoed on the polished floor. How could his blue gaze seem so cold when Haversham’s blue eyes had twinkled with warmth?

“Such a horrendous journey.” With languid, graceful motions, Agatha Ludlow loosened the coral silk ribbons that tied her bonnet beneath her chin. “We were halfway here when my manservant took off with my maid.”

“Oh, dear,” Jane murmured. “How dreadful.”

“I was devastated!” Agatha removed her bonnet and shook out her glossy brown sausage curls. “They abandoned me in a godforsaken inn by the river. Thank goodness Captain Hickman came along when he did.”

The captain bowed. “My pleasure.” He accepted Agatha’s offered hand and kissed her gloved fingers.

Agatha blushed prettily. “Such a relief to know gallantry has survived in these perilous times.” She withdrew her hand slowly with a coy smile.

Caroline breathed easier, relieved to see Hickman’s interest shift to Agatha where it appeared welcome. But why would Agatha flirt with other men when she had journeyed here to marry Jane’s son? And there was another problem. Agatha gave every indication of being a Loyalist. Why would she agree to marry a captain in the Continental Army?

Agatha tilted her head toward Jane with a helpless look. “I do hope you will have a maid available for me?”

“I’m afraid we’re short on help these days,” Jane confessed.

Agatha shuddered. “ ’Tis this dreadful war to blame. I wish they would hang all the rebels and be done with it.”

Hickman bowed his head. “Your wish is my command.”

With a giggle, Agatha deposited her hat on a bombé chest. She gazed in the mirror above it and patted her hair into place.

“If you will excuse me.” Caroline sidled toward the stairs. Her sister would be waiting to hear what was happening.

Agatha turned and inspected Caroline, looking down the considerable length of her nose. “What lovely fair skin you have. Though I suggest you use a parasol from now on. It would do wonders for deterring those ghastly freckles.”

Caroline bit her lip. She would have to be courteous. Agatha had been invited here, not her.

Jane eased closer to her. “Caroline?”

“I must apologize,” Caroline whispered.

“We’ll talk later.” Jane touched her shoulder. “For now, would you please go to the kitchen and ask Dottie to prepare tea for our guests? And have Betsy prepare the bedchambers.”

“Oh, yes. Please do.” Agatha covered her mouth with a gloved hand as she delicately yawned. “I must rest before dinner.”

“Very well.” Caroline headed for the back door.

“One moment.” Hickman raised a hand to stop her. “My men won’t be needing a room. They’ll remain by the barge tonight. The cargo I’m transporting is extremely important. It cannot be left unprotected.”

Caroline nodded. “I understand.” At least there would be only one redcoat in the house tonight.

Hickman continued, “I require a bedchamber overlooking the river, so I can keep an eye on the situation.”

“May I ask how long you will be staying?” Jane asked.

Hickman cocked an eyebrow as if he found the question impertinent. “We leave at dawn.”

Caroline exchanged a glance with Jane, knowing they were both relieved, but unable to show it.

“I prefer a bedchamber overlooking the garden.” Agatha flicked her fingers at her as if dismissing a maid.

“As you wish.” Caroline gritted her teeth as she strode to the back door. This was the woman Jane had chosen for her son? Had Matthias approved of the engagement?

Halfway to the kitchen, she halted with a sudden thought. What if Jane’s son returned home tonight? He wouldn’t stay alive long enough to court Agatha. Three redcoats would be here to greet him.

Her sudden stop had caused the contents of her skirt pocket to knock against her hip. The knife. She’d been using it to prune rosebushes in the garden. She could only hope she wouldn’t need it for protection.

C
aptain Ezra Hickman filled his glass from the brandy decanter Mrs. Thomas had brought to his bedchamber. A shame it hadn’t been the flame-haired Miss Munro or flirtatious Miss Ludlow, for he would have asked either one of them to stay.

Miss Ludlow would possibly agree, but Miss Munro was more of a challenge. He had attempted to engage her in conversation at dinner, and she had barely managed to remain civil.

She had to be a Colonial sympathizer. Ezra smiled, then took a sip of brandy. Watching the rebels squirm was the only bonus to this disastrous assignment. He enjoyed seeing the fear in their eyes whenever he made his appearance, and what a delight to watch them swallow their pride in order to appease him.

Brandy glass in hand, he paced to the window overlooking the river. His men had built a campfire close to the pier to guard the cargo. He wrenched open the glass-paned door and strode onto the balcony.

The Black River lapped lazily against the sides of the barge, the sound carried to his ears on a gentle breeze. He studied the clear night sky, brightened by a full moon. An excellent night for travel. And those damned partisans tended to strike at night. Cornwallis would have his neck if he lost any of the precious cargo.

Ezra gulped down more brandy. If the partisans knew what he was transporting, they’d laugh all the way back to their stinking swamp. A man of his abilities, transporting wigs, furnishings, and lacy white bed linens. What a ridiculous waste of his military skill.

Of course, only a good officer could be trusted to oversee the transport of the general’s personal items, but the assignment was a dead end. He had only two men to command. No chance for glory, no opportunity to shine on the battlefield. Damn, at this rate, he would still be poor and landless at the end of the war. His uncle, a wealthy merchant in Charles Town, would offer him employ as a lowly clerk. Then his cousins would come in their fancy clothes and carriages to gloat.

Damn it to hell! Ezra tossed the rest of the brandy down his throat. He needed a new assignment. Something important. Something that made him stand out.

Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton.
Now there was a man who was making a name for himself. And what a name—the Butcher. Tarleton was famous after his slaughter of rebels at the Waxhaws. He’d probably end up with a title and land in England.

Wouldn’t that be splendid? Ezra wandered back inside and refilled his glass. If only he could distinguish himself in battle, then perhaps he could acquire a title, too. Or at least some land where he could rub his cousins’ noses in the dirt.

There was no doubt about it. The best way to make a name for himself would be through Tarleton. The British lieutenant colonel led a mounted troop of dragoons, all in coats of green.

Once the barge was safely delivered to Cornwallis, Ezra would request a transfer to Tarleton’s troop. But how could he convince the pompous old windbag of a general to agree?

Ezra paced back and forth, sipping the brandy and devising his strategy. First, he’d emphasize the need to eradicate the local militia. He would describe the destruction he had seen along the Black River. The partisans had burned so many bridges and boats that the only way to move supplies would be by barge.

Of course
. Ezra halted in mid-stride. They’d have to move all the supplies by barge. Cornwallis would be looking for a way station halfway between Charles Town and Camden.

Ezra smiled. He had the perfect solution.

Cornwallis would be pleased. Then, in gratitude, the general would honor his request.

Ezra downed the last of the brandy and let the rich liquor linger on his tongue. This was the sort of life he deserved. He ambled toward the large four-poster bed. Mrs. Thomas had said it was the master’s bed. Master of a plantation. That would be title enough for him.

He pulled off his wig and draped it on the bedpost. Then he sat and yanked off his boots. With a yawn, he stretched out on the comfortable bed.

These accursed rebels. How could a pack of uneducated, backward peasants live so well? And what made them think they had some God-given right to it, as if their damned feelings were some sort of justification for treason. Oh, they had
rights
.

They had the right to die, every last one of them.

L
ate that night, Matthias left his horse in the stable and made his way to the kitchen. He hadn’t intended on coming back so soon. He had thought that his burden of guilt would lighten as the day wore on, but on the contrary, it had grown worse. He’d found it nearly impossible to concentrate, knowing that Caroline was here, suffering needlessly.

He ducked into the kitchen. The sound of snores emanated from Dottie’s room in the back. In the bathing room, he washed off the grime and smell of smoke. The dirty clothes he had left two nights ago had been washed, so he slipped them on and hurried to the Great House. He glanced up at the balconies that overlooked the garden. Which bedchamber was Caroline sleeping in tonight?

The back door and servants’ entrance were bolted, so he climbed the lattice to his balcony and slipped inside the room.

The sound of soft breathing came from beneath the mosquito netting. He smiled to himself, liking the thought of Caroline asleep in his bed.

He drew closer, and his heart began to pound. In the dim light, he could barely make out the rounded form under the white bedsheet. He ducked under the netting and sat beside her. Slowly, he stretched out his hand to where the sheet displayed the widest curve. Her hip, soft but firm. The instant reaction in his breeches caught him by surprise, and he removed his hand.

She moaned softly.

“Vixen,” he whispered, fisting his hands to keep from touching her. “Wake up.”

She gasped. “Captain? Is that you?”

He stiffened. How did she know he was a captain? His mother must have told her who he was.
Damn.
Now she would know he was heir to the plantation. “Yes.”

“Captain, you naughty man.” She sat up. “But I have to admit I’m not surprised. I knew you would come to me.”

She was expecting him? “We . . . need to talk.”

“Talk? Is that what you call it?” She giggled and eased closer to him. “This happens to me all the time. Men fall under my spell. They cannot help themselves.”

“Amazing.” What the hell was she talking about?

“Yes.” She sighed. “ ’Tis the curse I must endure for being so beautiful.”

He shoved his damp hair back. This didn’t sound like the vixen. In fact, her voice seemed entirely different. A bit nasal and . . . annoying. He squinted to see her face in the dark. “And your name is . . . ?”

Her high-pitched giggle grated his ears. “Agatha Ludlow, you silly man. You know who I am.”

He clenched his teeth. “Have you taken up lying again?”

“Excuse me? Oh, I see.” She sidled up close to him and skimmed her fingers up his arm. “You’ve caught me, Captain. I’m a very naughty milkmaid. What will you do? Spank me?”