Page 25 of The Indigo Heiress
24
We steal if we touch tomorrow. It is God’s.
Henry Ward Beecher
The townhouse was blessedly quiet. Father and Zipporah had gone to the governor’s palace for some sort of seasonal fête. In the kitchen the servants were all abuzz with last-minute preparations for Christmas Day, and a hundred different fragrances threaded through the townhouse. But Juliet’s usual joy in the season’s details was benumbed.
Telling her sister about their change in fortune—and future—was not something she’d envisioned doing on Christmas Eve. To cushion the news, Juliet did what she could to help set the scene. A fire made brighter with pine knots. A dozen fragrant bayberry candles shining like starlight in each parlor window. Hot cocoa and biscuits. Even another light snow fell in windswept flakes beyond the windowpanes.
“A cozy evening for just us two. I could ask for nothing better,” Loveday said with a smile as she sank down atop a Chippendale chair. “Though I can’t imagine why you look so glum.”
Juliet tried to smile but couldn’t. Time to be done with dissembling and subterfuge. “Actually, Father asked me to tell you his news ... which has a direct bearing on us both.”
A maid served the fragrant hot chocolate, setting the tray before the fire so that the silver pot and porcelain cups shone.
“Why, you’re shaking. So unlike you.” Loveday looked alarmed, taking the cup from Juliet’s unsteady hand. “Please tell me everything at once.”
Juliet tried to quiet her whirling thoughts. Where to begin? “First, Father is to sell everything.”
“What?” Loveday’s arched brows nearly reached her hairline.
“In his words, he is done with debt. He fears there’s to be a war and Royal Vale will be confiscated by the new American government as loyalist property in the near future.”
“Our home? The only home we’ve ever known?”
“To circumvent that, he’s selling all his holdings in the colonies and the Caribbean. Royal Vale will become Mr. Buchanan’s, and he has agreed to settle Father’s vast debts on one condition.” Despite her roiling insides, Juliet paused to take a steadying sip of chocolate. “That he marry me.”
Loveday set her cup down so hard it rattled. “ You? ”
“Somewhat ironic, isn’t it, given I’ve been foisting him upon you, as he so succinctly put it?”
For once, Loveday was speechless.
“Remember the miniatures painted by Copley and how odd we thought it that we never saw them again? I assumed Father carried them on his person, but instead he sent them to Scotland by way of his factor with a proposition to Mr. Buchanan.”
“To marry one of us? To choose between us?” Loveday stared at her uncomprehendingly. “And he chose ... you.”
“Perhaps Father isn’t telling us the entirety of it.” Juliet lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Perhaps he emphasized I am the eldest and that had some bearing on Mr. Buchanan’s decision.”
“You’ve always thought so little of yourself and been dismissive of your many merits.”
“And you’ve always been so very gracious. We shan’t be parted, thankfully. Father intends for us all to sail to Scotland and to make a marriage for you there.”
“Scotland, a place we’ve never been.”
“Mr. Buchanan’s younger brother is in need of a wife, which makes me wonder if Father doesn’t have that in mind too.”
“The braw bruiser, Zipporah calls him. Ah, how the plot thickens very much upon us, as the duke of Buckingham once said.” Loveday smiled, ever the optimist. “Surely there’s a silver lining somewhere. Though I prefer the words of Saint Paul—in everything give thanks. Why not think of our sudden and precipitous situation in those terms?”
“We have no choice in the matter, it seems.”
Loveday reached over and squeezed Juliet’s hand. “So Father has arranged a Scottish marriage for you. You’ll be mistress of Ardraigh Hall with its lovely gardens. More importantly, you’ll be stepmother to the twins. Though we don’t know their names and ages yet, that seems a delightful prospect.”
“Delightful? More daunting.”
“Perhaps a blend of both.” Sympathy clouded her pale features. “But I shall be there to help you in any way possible. If we were to be separated, I couldn’t bear it.”
“Nor I.” Expelling a sigh helped Juliet not at all. “But there’s tomorrow to get through first, when I must go to the Ravenals’ for Christmas dinner and meet my intended, knowing all the facts and figures. How can I possibly face Mr. Buchanan when I feel such mortification over the matter?”
Her pride was wounded. Her independence. Though he’d seen through her own matchmaking, she’d not had a whiff of his—rather, her father’s—scheme. The secrecy of it still stung. Amid the marriage negotiations, she felt a deep hurt. A betrayal.
“He wanted to tell you how matters stand from the first, but I objected.”
At least Leith Buchanan had attempted to deal forthrightly. Father had likely objected because he knew she would refuse.
“I know ’tis difficult.” Loveday’s dulcet voice returned her to the present. “As for tomorrow, remember Christmas Day. Think of our sudden change of fortune as a gift.”