“Horace was here,” Ashton stated as he went to refill his cup from the silver coffeepot. “He might still be, for all I know. Harvey asked him some questions, but there’s no real proof that he had anything to do with setting the fire. I thought of putting out some men to watch over the house, just to make sure nothing happens to Lierin while he’s here.” Ashton laughed in wry amusement. “But Malcolm has put out some rather unsightly pawns to perform a similar service…mainly to keep me away from her.”
“Pawns?” Charles frowned thoughtfully at the characterization. “Are you playing some kind of game here, Ashton?”
“Aye, Charles. A game of chess, except my heart is caught up in this one.”
Now that Ashton had visitors, Malcolm saw a chance to whisk his young wife into Biloxi without the other man being aware of it. When he strolled down the hall to her room, he gave no heed to the fact that Meghan had not yet awakened her. The door was locked, but his insistent knock brought Lenore stumbling sleepily to the door. She groaned in mute agony when she saw him dressed and ready to be about his affairs, which she hoped had nothing to do with her. As he pushed his way into the chamber, she returned to her bed and pulled the sheet high over her head, wishing she could dismiss him from the room as easily as she had banished him from sight.
“I have some business to attend to in Biloxi this morning, madam, and I would delight in your company. If you can extract yourself posthaste from the comfort of your bed and get dressed, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Oh, Malcolm,” she moaned. “Please go without me today. I am truly sick, and I don’t relish the idea of waiting in the carriage for you when I’m feeling this way.”
“Come now, Lenore. You’ll feel better once we’re under way. The ride will do you good.” Malcolm held up a hand, halting any argument she might have made as she lowered her arm and, with it, the sheet. “I’ll hear no more of it, my sweet. I’ll send Meghan up with some tea, and she’ll help you get dressed. Please be quick about it. My appointment is important, and I’d like to be there on time.”
He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, giving her no opportunity to deny him. As his footsteps moved away, Lenore stared listlessly around the room. The breeze wafting through the open windows was warm and humid, giving no relief from the sweltering heat that consumed the days. Her gown clung to her clammy skin, while tiny beads of moisture trickled down between her breasts. Gingerly she pushed away the sheet and rose from the bed. She waited, hardly daring to breathe as her stomach rebelled against the motion; then she carefully crossed the room to the washstand. One glance in the small mirror, which hung above it, confirmed the fact that she was not feeling her best. She looked tired and pale, and the usual sparkle was gone from her eyes. She heaved a long sigh, resigning herself to a day of activity, and splashed tepid water on her face and arms, hoping it would revive her flagging energy. The effort proved of meager benefit, and it was not until Meghan brought tea and biscuits that she was able to make a somewhat firmer resolution to endure the outing. The toilette, however, was almost her undoing, and she had to fight against an overwhelming revulsion when Meghan offered an open vial of perfume for her to sample.
“Please,” Lenore murmured, turning her head aside and thrusting up a hand. Its sweet, flowery essence sent a shudder through her. “Something lighter today, Meghan, please.”
The maid studied her young mistress closely and watched her press a wet cloth to a wan cheek. “Mum, if ye don’t mind me askin’, do ye know what be ailin’ ye?”
Lenore shrugged the question away with a lame excuse. “This heat. I don’t know how you can bear it so well, Meghan.”
“I guess I do all right, mum, but then, I’ve nothin’ else botherin’ me.”
Lenore could not meet the woman’s gaze as she asked cautiously, “Do you think there’s something else bothering me?”
“Well, mum, I’ve had none o’ me own, but I have a sister what acted the same way as yerself whene’er she got with babe.”
The silky lashes fluttered downward as Lenore released a quavering sigh. Had she still been at Belle Chêne with Ashton, she would have gladly welcomed her childbearing state, but now the problems associated with her condition loomed monstrously large and foreboding before her. She could only foresee serious difficulties in store for her, and she was not quite sure how she was going to handle them all. It might have been better had she admitted her intimacy with Ashton from the beginning; then her condition at least would have been considered a possibility, and the two men would be braced for the news. She could only wonder how long it would take them to notice without an announcement. If she held silent for a while and gave herself a little time to prepare, perhaps she could figure out a way to avoid a violent scene. It seemed logical at least to make an attempt. “Meghan, I must ask a favor of you.”
“Yes, mum?”
“I beg of you to keep this matter a secret between us until a more appropriate time. I doubt if Mr. Sinclair will appreciate the idea of my being with child.”
“I understand, mum,” the maid responded kindly. “An’ ye can count on me keepin’ me tongue.”
Lifting her head, Lenore stared at the gently smiling woman. “Do you really understand, Meghan?”
The servant nodded slowly. “It’s that Mr. Wingate, isn’t it? You’re carrying his child.”
Lenore hid her worry, hoping the two men would not be as perceptive as the maid. The fear of what Malcolm might do or at least attempt to do to Ashton literally sickened her, and she flung out a shaking hand in mute appeal to Meghan as the nausea came in a sudden wave. The servant quickly interpreted the gesture and scurried to present a basin. A long moment passed before Lenore dared to raise her eyes, even to Meghan’s sympathetic gaze.
“I’ll never make it through the day if I have to go with Malcolm,” she declared weakly.
“Never ye mind ’bout that, mum,” Meghan soothed, removing the basin. “I’ll deliver the message to Mr. Sinclair that you won’t be able to go, and if he insists, then perhaps he needs to be shown proof.”
Lenore shook her head, aghast at the workings of the maid’s mind. “You wouldn’t…”
“Ye need yer rest, mum,” Meghan insisted. “An’ there may be no other way to convince him.” Having formed a dislike for her employer for the callous way he treated the mistress, she mumbled beneath her breath as she left the room, “’Twould serve him right if it raises his gorge a mite.”
The days were noticeably longer now with summer fully upon them. Dusk was short, and there were only shreds of the spectacular sunset left when Ashton stepped from his tent. He stretched his arms over his head and surveyed the darkening sky and the multitude of stars that were gathering in the heavens. The slim, sleek silhouette of the Gray Eagle lay against the deepening magenta hues on the western horizon, and the dim glow of the watchman’s lantern gave proof that his orders were being followed and they were keeping wary of any intruders. Beyond the ship the waters of the gulf stretched endlessly on into the horizon.
Somewhere in the swamp that lay behind him, the brassy call of a heron broke the quiet as Ashton turned his gaze toward the house. He searched the lighted windows, hoping to glimpse a shadow of the one he longed to see, but he saw nothing which gave him relief from the gnawing, aching loneliness in his breast. Lighting a cheroot, he strolled down to where the ebbing tide left a strip of wet sand along the water’s edge. The tidal creek lay like a dark barrier across the sand, setting a boundary between him and his love. The cheroot died in his fingers as his gaze again lifted to the house.