Page 13 of The Indigo Heiress

12

If you want something you never had, you must be willing to do something you have never done.

Unknown

Leith took his time dressing for the function in his honor. Farther down Forrest Bend’s second floor came piping, feminine, American voices. His windows were open even in November—he found unaired rooms insufferable—and he had a view of the bateau that would carry them farther upriver to Royal Vale. Servants readied the boat even as he secured his cravat before his shaving mirror.

He’d arrived at Forrest Bend a sennight before. The Ravenals were exceptional hosts, though their young daughters seemed a frivolous trio. To have no sons seemed an outright calamity, reminding him of home. If he was gone too long, neither Bella nor Cole would ken who he was, another reason to accelerate his scheme if he could. But these indolent Virginians showed little regard for clocks or timetables, especially when it came to pleasurable pursuits.

As their guest, he’d ridden over Ravenal lands in all directions, won bets at horse racing, participated in a neighbor’s fox hunt, endured an endless formal dinner or two, and was now dressing for the Catesbys’ ball. An Irish indentured lad who’d been sent to act as manservant had just brought up shined shoes and was affixing his buckles. Leith took a long look in the mirror, his patch no longer needed, though a faint purplish mark lingered beneath one eye.

With a shrug he turned away from his unsmiling reflection and in a few moments had made it down the wide, curving staircase and out the door with his hosts. Ravenal’s daughters walked slightly ahead with their mother while the men trailed behind.

“I nearly forgot to give you this.” Ravenal reached into his waistcoat and withdrew an engraved silver cuff link. “From York Town.”

Leith stanched his surprise. “From the fracas, you mean, upon my arrival.”

“Your initials gave you away.” Ravenal winked. “I did wonder the Scotsman who’d bested the billiard champion of York Town.”

“’Twas I, but not exactly the welcome I’d anticipated.”

“York Town has a rather rough reputation given the quantity of seamen coming in and out with the tide. On your next visit I’d advise you to proceed upriver as soon as possible.”

Leith put the missing item into his pocket. He’d long since forgotten his tumultuous arrival. The task before him tonight crowded out any other thought.

“You’re not uneasy, I hope.” Assessing eyes turned on him, tempered with concern. Was Ravenal thinking of Havilah? The scandal Leith had left behind in Scotland?

Leith returned his gaze to the rocky path that led to the river. If his heart was involved, he might be. Why would he be nervous over a business venture when he failed in so few? “Nae.”

“Good. The evening calls for a steady hand and a calm head. Women can be somewhat”—Ravenal cleared his throat—“unpredictable.”

With a slight smile, Leith followed him onto the landing. “Even the Misses Catesbys you praised so highly?”

“One never knows how these social occasions will go, nor have they entertained since Mrs. Catesby’s passing, God rest her.”

So he’d have no mother-in-law? Had she been as well-spoken as her daughter? “Now is probably not the best time to tell you I had a, um, verbal exchange with Miss Juliet Catesby in the Apollo Room the other day.”

“At the tobacco meeting?” Ravenal stepped aboard the bateau and sat opposite him, away from the women at the bow. “She has a head for business that rivals many men. A true Proverbs 31 woman.”

Leith regretted that intrigue now rivaled attraction. This was a business deal, nothing more, and he vowed to stop looking at the miniature in spare moments. How had a simple rendering woven such a spell? The affair, such as it was, was definitely one-sided. She didn’t even know her father had sent it to him and asked him to make a choice.

He turned his attention to the river flowing beneath them without so much as a ripple, as the evening was so calm. Boatmen navigated the bateau away from the landing, the only sound the splash of water as the oars pulled against the current. The moon was up, riding the horizon facing him, while at his back the sinking sun seemed to melt into the water. Days were shorter in November, but he could still see the outlines of numerous plantations, each with a river view. The myriad docks and wharves were a calling card to the big houses, some scarcely seen through trees rapidly losing their leaves.

They neared the desired landing in a quarter of an hour, and he noticed a tall, elaborately wrought black-iron gate onshore, open as if in welcome. He was unprepared for Royal Vale’s presence on the hill, a good quarter mile up from the river. Colonials seemed besotted with red brick. It was a handsome house, not nearly so grand as Scottish estates but respectable with its three stories, tall chimneys, and slate roof. Old poplar trees graced the sloping lawn, and an elaborate double doorway served as the mansion’s entrance.

“There’s a dry tunnel nearby leading from the river to the main house, used in times of Indian attacks long ago,” Ravenal told him, gesturing downriver. “Thankfully that’s a thing of the past.”

“Do you hear the violins?” Mrs. Ravenal asked as they disembarked.

“Aye,” Leith answered. Remembering his younger brother’s gallantry, he offered his arm to the eldest Ravenal lass, only he couldn’t recall her name as the sisters looked so alike. Frances?

Flushing, she took his arm, stepping over the dry, leaf-littered ground. He kept his eyes on the house and the front doors, which suddenly opened as if bent by the force of his gaze. From the sound of the music he guessed the ballroom was in the west wing. He wasn’t one for dancing, but if required, he’d dance till dawn.

Ignoring the sudden disquiet that bedeviled him, he prepared himself to join the Catesbys.

One in particular.

“Take a deep breath.” Loveday put a hand to Juliet’s lace sleeve as they came down the staircase. “You’re being a Martha when a Mary is needed. It pains me to see you troubled about a great many unnecessary things, as our Lord said.”

This Juliet couldn’t deny. The syllabub had soured, only half the oysters had been delivered, flowers were wilting in their vases due to a touch of frost, five invited guests had refused to fête the tobacco lord, and Hosea had fallen down the cellar steps that morn, one of the queen’s cakes with him. He was blessedly unhurt, but Rilla had to bake another cake.

Peace. Juliet craved peace, not the presence of a man she disdained who was sending them further into ruin with Father’s elaborate insistence on this extravagant entertainment. And now Mr. Buchanan had arrived early, though she could hardly blame him for that. The Ravenals always arrived early.

Standing at Royal Vale’s entrance, Juliet watched the six walking across the lawn, the women’s colorful skirts swirling in a gentle wind along with the men’s coattails. Frances Ravenal was laughing—dear, irrepressible Frances. Juliet would know that sound anywhere. Her lace-mitted hand was resting on the sleeve of a stranger she guessed was Buchanan, but Juliet refused to look closely at him as they began climbing the front steps.

Servants darted hither and yon, but all now seemed in order—a bountiful supper beautifully laid, the ballroom floor gleaming, endless candles flickering and perfuming the air. Father finally descended the staircase in back of her, Zipporah Payne on his arm. He’d been showing her the house. Juliet smiled at Zipporah, then turned back around to face the Ravenals and their houseguest.

The same man who’d been wearing an eye patch in the Apollo Room.

Surprise snatched all speech. Juliet stood to one side while Father managed introductions, trying to come to terms with what she’d said—and he’d said—at the Raleigh and if it would have any bearing on the present. And the present had him right in front of her, bowing like a seasoned courtier.

“Miss Catesby, I believe we’ve met.” Leith Buchanan took her hand and brought it to his lips before standing tall again, his gaze lingering. “You argue tobacco so well I’m surprised it’s not embroidered on the indigo shawl I saw you wearing.”

“And you’ve since shed your enigmatic eye patch, Mr. Buchanan.” Juliet managed a half smile as all her notions of this man being an aged, uncouth merchant collapsed completely. “I hardly recognize you.”

Father was looking on bemusedly as if wondering why she hadn’t told him about their prior meeting while Loveday was busy beaming at their guest with unfeigned interest. Few could resist her sister’s dimpled smile.

“Welcome to Royal Vale,” Father continued. “Allow me to introduce to you Mistress Payne, lately of Williamsburg from London.”

London? Juliet’s attention swiveled from Buchanan to the widow. Father had not mentioned it till now. A wealthy widow, perhaps. Her sumptuous claret-colored gown with its blond lace seemed to suggest so. Though past the first flush of youth, Zipporah was still a lovely woman and as warm and engaging as a spring day.

In moments they were moving as one toward the ballroom, Hosea lingering at the front doors to manage other arrivals. The noise of carriage wheels from neighbors who hadn’t come by river mingled with the music as the clock crept toward six. Guests were overflowing both front and back doors on their way to the ballroom.

As hostess, wanting Loveday to enjoy herself, Juliet kept to the ballroom’s shadows, intent on overseeing the evening. The ball opened with the French minuet—Lord Catlett partnering with the widowed Lady Norvell, their most prestigious guests—before moving to the more relaxed country dances. Mr. Buchanan partnered with the Ravenal sisters and, as the evening wore on, nearly every other woman present.

Except her.

Each time he came near, Juliet managed to slip into an alcove or weave between guests and disappear to the kitchen or pantry or hall. She was not in a dancing mood. Tonight she especially missed her mother, whose foremost gift had been hospitality. Royal Vale, even decorated and filled to the utmost, seemed empty without her.

Midnight found Juliet up in the cupola, blessedly alone, the moon’s lucent light a stark white. Hobbes trailed her, purring round her petticoats as if asking where his mistress was. Loveday remained below, neither she nor the musicians nor other couples showing any signs of tiring. The jaunty notes of the violins crested clear to the rafters. Here atop the house in the solitude, Juliet wouldn’t be missed.

Her crumpled thoughts seemed to iron out and a plan began to form. Once Father remarried and Loveday made a suitable match, she’d be free to make her own way, perhaps settle in Philadelphia with Aunt Damarus and continue the freedom work there. The thought was exciting, disconcerting, and something she’d not yet prayed about.

Hearing raised voices, Juliet hurried downstairs. There in the entrance hall were two inebriated burgesses, a Patriot and a Loyalist, calling for a duel at dawn over the former’s suit sporting “No Stamp Act” buttons. Before she could intervene, Nathaniel Ravenal, bless him, escorted them outside. Tonight there’d been entirely too much talk of tea and taxes and tobacco.

Nerves frayed, Juliet entered the ballroom, watching the dancers whirl and the punch bowl empty. Mr. Buchanan had been standing with a group of planters to one side by an array of Palladian windows when she left. Where was their guest of honor now?

Despite her feelings, was it not her task as hostess to find out?