Page 20 of The Indigo Heiress

19

A plump widow needs no advertisement.

Scottish proverb

The Sabbath was followed by a tumultuous sennight. Two runaways arrived at the tunnel after dark, and Juliet and Loveday went below to meet them. Seldom did fugitives arrive in late fall or winter. The weather forbade it. There wasn’t enough brush for cover as they traveled, not to mention scavenging in the woods. But somehow these two, a mother and daughter, had defied the odds.

Father never came near the tunnel. It led from the river’s edge to the winter kitchen and cellar. This was the servants’ domain, accessed by the servants’ back stair leading to Juliet’s and Loveday’s chambers. The few house servants were closemouthed, respecting what the sisters did as they carried on their mother’s work, knowing they could be in the runaways’ shoes. Juliet never worried about a betrayal from within. Without was another matter.

Having become increasingly wary of Riggs and anything that might signal harm, she hardly slept. Thankfully, Fa ther soon left for Williamsburg. With him away, all breathed easier.

It was rare to house any runaways for long. Usually they were equipped and sent on their way, but within moments of seeing these new arrivals, Juliet realized they required a longer stay. Exhausted and rail-thin, they were in desperate need of a haven till they grew stronger. Especially when the weather took a bitter turn and ice gathered at the river’s edges.

Knowing their unexpected guests were hidden and in good hands, Juliet and Loveday accepted Zipporah Payne’s invitation to her Williamsburg townhouse for tea. Bundled up in the coach, coal braziers at their feet, they traveled the distance, overshadowed by the memory of their mother.

“’Tis the anniversary of her death, which makes me less inclined to travel.” Loveday’s voice wavered, and she buried her hands deeper into her fur muff. “And that December day was much like this one.”

“To think we almost went with her and then at the last caught colds that kept us home.”

Juliet closed the window curtains more tightly against the gloom. She wanted to shut out the sight as they neared the bridge that had ended Charlotte Catesby’s life. The carriage horses had bolted over it during a sudden storm, leading to their mother’s death. Her maid had also died. In his grief, Father had even put down the injured horses so they wouldn’t be a reminder.

“The one comfort I have is that it was no accident,” Juliet said in reassuring tones. “Our day of birth and death are in the Lord’s keeping, as Scripture says.”

“Cold comfort.” Loveday gave a little shudder as they passed over the bridge. “Why did she have to die so tragically and unexpectedly? She was even doing good at the very end, visiting a shut-in neighbor. I cannot make peace with her passing. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.”

“A mother’s loss is especially hard. Royal Vale seems empty without her—just a house, not a home.”

At last they rolled up to the England Street townhouse during what seemed dusk, not midday. Cut holly and ivy adorned myriad windows amid bursts of yellow candlelight, a cheerful sight. A maid met them and took their wraps. Zipporah was waiting in the parlor, a cozy room painted a rich ocher, where a fire blazed in the hearth.

She held out her hands to them and kissed them on both cheeks. “Such a winter’s day calls for hot chocolate. I sent for some at Shaw’s in York just last week. They have a new master chocolate grinder who is the talk of town.”

Demitasse cups shone white on a tray alongside a tall chocolate pot. Juliet detected vanilla and dried orange rind and cinnamon. “Your home is lovely.”

“Not mine, dearest, though I am glad to have let it from a relative now in Maryland. Town suits me well. Everything is within reach, and I enjoy walking about to the shops close by.” She darted a look at a window. “With the weather worsening, you’ll stay the night, won’t you? Your father shall join us for supper.”

“Of course,” Loveday assured her, though Juliet was already beset by the need to return to Royal Vale. Riggs and the tenuous situation there were a continual thorn. “Father said you wanted to talk with us about the twelve days of Christmas and your nuptials.”

“Yes, we hope to begin the new year married and feel the holiday season is a lovely time to exchange our vows. But aside from that, I do hope you feel free to spend as much time here as you can, enjoying Williamsburg’s festive parties and balls.”

“I do miss our townhouse, especially during the holidays,” Loveday said, taking a first sip. “So many of our neighbors along the James winter here, including the Ravenals.”

Zipporah smiled, her crimson silk gown already proclaiming the season. “How convenient that the Ravenals are just two houses down from here. I find their Glasgow guest quite engaging.”

“Mr. Buchanan has likely never celebrated a colonial Christmas,” Loveday mused. “We must take pains to make it memorable for him.”

Pains? Juliet stared at her sister with renewed hope as Zipporah continued. “Kind of you, my dear. A grieving widower needs such solicitations, surely. To be far from hearth and home at such a festive time must take a toll, especially given he has a large extended family.”

Loveday seemed transfixed. “So the Buchanans are a large clan?”

“Quite. I have Glaswegian kin who know them. They’re frequently in society and mentioned in the newspapers too.”

Loveday leaned forward slightly in anticipation. “I’d love to hear more about his children, the twins.”

“Ah, yes, where to begin...”

Juliet waited, equally curious. Mr. Buchanan had revealed little about himself so far, skillfully evading questions that didn’t pertain to tobacco and other exports. Had anyone noticed but she?

“The twins are kept at Ardraigh Hall, Mr. Buchanan’s country estate, though I’ve heard Paisley is even grander. That’s the residence of his brother. Well, one of them. Mr. Euan Buchanan of Paisley is wed to a lovely lady from Edinburgh, while the younger brother, a renowned pugilist, is very much unmarried.”

“A pugilist?” Loveday made a face. “I know little about bare-knuckle boxing. It sounds a bit ... bloody.”

Zipporah chuckled. “Only if you’re on the receiving end, of which he is seldom. Sometimes the broadsheets print his exploits.”

“But isn’t boxing illegal?”

“When you’re a Buchanan you make your own rules, my dear.” Zipporah looked to the hearth as a footman added wood to the fire. “Though young, he’s also a noted art collector, having toured Europe. He calls himself a dabbler in antiquities, but it’s rumored his new estate—I forget its name—has an enviable array of Greek statuary in particular. He’s a braw bruiser, as the Scots say.”

“So there are three Buchanan brothers,” Juliet observed, still stung by the fact the eldest wasn’t as aged or as homely as she’d been hoping.

“All three form Buchanan and Company, a family enterprise begun by their great-grandfather. But you’re already familiar with the firm, as they deal in your tobacco.”

Loveday’s brow tightened. “Tobacco aside, I do wonder what became of his first wife. And what he named his children. The sort of questions that are none of my business and I daren’t ask.”

With a nod, Zipporah poured more chocolate. “A person’s past is best left for them to divulge in their own time.”

“Yes, ’tis best,” Loveday said. “I admire Mr. Buchanan’s fortitude. Atlantic crossings, especially in autumn, are fraught with danger. I’ve only been to England and back, though Juliet braved a voyage with Father when she was but sixteen.”

“Only to the West Indies, which is a much shorter sailing time.” Juliet took another sip. “How long is Mr. Buchanan to be here?”

“Your father said he came to find a colonial bride.” Zipporah passed a dish of small sugar-dusted cakes. “I don’t know that he’ll leave without one.”

Juliet took a cake and could hardly contain a smile, delighted their conversation kept circling back to the Scot.

“Well, he certainly has a bevy of beauties to choose from, staying with the Ravenals,” Loveday replied with a sudden nonchalance that pained Juliet.

“But aren’t they a bit youthful and overly frivolous for a man like himself?” Juliet countered. “Besides, Frances is nearly affianced with one of the Byrds, and there’s talk of Lucy aligning with the Lees. That leaves Judith, who is entirely too young. Surely a man of Mr. Buchanan’s stature and sphere needs a more mature partner. Someone who has a fondness for small children and an understanding of estate management. Someone with a head and heart for entertaining.”

Both Zipporah and Loveday stared at her, cups suspended.

“Think of all the possibilities with such a fortune,” Juliet said with relish. “One could share the wealth, invest in the lives of others less fortunate, do all manner of good.”

“Indeed,” Zipporah replied, a mischievous light in her eyes. “We shall be considering all you’ve said most seriously.”

Loveday gave an equally disconcerting wink. “And in the meantime we must hang some mistletoe.”