Adam's Promise (2 page)

The British Colony of Nova Scotia
Seven weeks later

C
harlie Coates nearly skidded sideways into the large cherry oak table in the dining room. “The ship's in the Basin!”

His father, Adam, seated at the table, looked up from his book and calmly removed his spectacles. He set them down beside the sterling silver candelabra.

“Calm down, son, and catch your breath. It's just a ship.”

“But it's
her
ship, Father!”

“Yes, that it is.” Adam couldn't deny the tremor of anticipation that moved through him at his son's reminder. “I suppose I should go and greet her, shouldn't I?”

He gave his youngest son a smile and rose to stand.

“I'll hitch up the buggy!” Charlie offered. The boy spun on his heel and dashed out of the house.

Adam stood at the dining room table for a moment and listened to the mantel clock ticking.

How many years had it been? Twenty? No, not twenty. Fifteen. He couldn't pretend, not even to himself, not to remember the exact day Diana had jilted him to marry another.

Nor could he forget how long he had been married to Jane, God rest her soul, for her violent outbursts had taken their toll on him, to be sure. He was not the idealistic man he used to be….

Glancing down at his simple clothing—his plain white shirt and tawny breeches—Adam wondered what Diana would think when she first saw him. Would she recognize him?

His appearance hadn't changed that much over the years, except for perhaps a few gray patches in his hair and the lines around his eyes. He was forty-three now, but he was as strong and vigorous as any man half his age. Stronger, even. He held out his rough, callused hands and looked them over. Most of the changes, he supposed, she would not be able to see. At least not right away.

Good Lord, what would
she
look like? How had the years treated her? Had they darkened her exquisite golden hair or tarnished the clean, pale complexion he remembered?

Not that it mattered, he decided. She would still be Diana—
his
Diana—and he would adore the changes, whatever they were.

With a mingling of euphoria and nervous anticipation, he walked out of the dining room and went upstairs to quickly change his clothes.

 

Madeline stood with her hands tight on the rail, her feet braced apart on the rolling deck of the
Liberty.
The glorious wind whipped her skirts and cloak, and a salty spray cooled her cheeks. She closed her eyes to breathe in the moist, clean scent of the sea and listen to the schooner's heavy keel slice through the frothy waves below.

It wouldn't be long now, she thought dreamily. Then there would be no more waiting, no more imagining what it would be like to see Adam again after all these years.

Adam.
Should she call him that when she first saw him? How strange to use his Christian name, when he'd always been Mr. Coates to her. She wasn't sure she'd be able to force the word past her lips with any measure of casual dignity and sound like a wife.

Well, she wasn't his wife yet, but she would be soon. Very soon.

Her heart did a little dance inside her chest at the thought of marrying her ideal, even though she had been just a child when she'd last seen him.

Anxious gulls squawked against the blue sky overhead, swooping over the billowing sails as the boat neared the dock at the mouth of Cumberland Creek. The schooner docked smoothly and surely. Soon Madeline was stepping down the gangplank to the wharf below and gazing eagerly up at Fort Cumberland on the hill in the distance.

Madeline paused there a moment to take in her surroundings while the crewmen unloaded her trunks. The salty tang of the sea whisked by on a fast wind, whipping her skirts around her ankles and tugging at her dainty bergère hat. She reached a hand up to keep
it from flying off, while the ribbons flew wildly beneath her chin. She squinted toward the rolling, windswept expanse of grass that stretched for acres and acres into the distance, flanked on either side by ridges of wooded upland.

This land—this magnificent land—it would be her home. It hardly seemed possible!

“Come along! This way!” Mr. Ripley called out, waving toward his family. He and his wife had been Madeline's guardians and companions during the crossing. Madeline hoped the kind family, who knew nothing of her scandal, would find land nearby and become her neighbors here.

“You, too, Madeline!” Mr. Ripley called to her. “Follow us this way to the fort. We had your trunks put in the wagon with ours.” Madeline picked up her skirts and began the long trek along the cart road, stepping carefully over the loose stones. They reached the top of the hill and made their way to the fort's entrance.

While Mr. Ripley located an empty room for his family in one of the barracks, Madeline glanced around the courtyard. Wondering if Adam was already there waiting, she searched the faces of the tradesmen and farmers.

Good heavens, her heart was beating like a wild thing in her chest. It had been a lifetime since she'd last seen Adam, but there was no way on God's green earth she would not recognize him. She would know his eyes the moment she caught them in her eager gaze. They were the bluest eyes she'd ever seen in her life. Unforgettable.

Doris Ripley appeared beside her. “Is he here yet?”

“I don't see him,” Madeline said. “Perhaps he doesn't know the schooner has arrived. I should send a message to him.”

“I'll find someone,” Mrs. Ripley quickly offered. She looked around, anxious to help.

At that moment, a tall man walked into the courtyard. He wore a finely made black coat, the ruffles of a clean white shirt visible at his collar, and a black tricorn hat. He carried himself with a grace and confidence that made most heads in the yard turn and stare.

Even from a distance, Madeline knew. It was Adam.

Her blood rushed to her head, and her knees came dangerously close to buckling beneath her skirts.

She grabbed blindly for Mrs. Ripley's sleeve before the woman walked away. “He's here!”

Mrs. Ripley looked toward the fort's entrance. “My word, Madeline” was all she said, in a breathy voice.

Fighting the crippling sensation that had taken over her legs, Madeline watched him. Dear God, he was a magnificent man, even more handsome than she remembered, if that was possible. The years had been good to him. There was a confident manliness in him now. A maturity.

Madeline quickly straightened her fichu, ran her hands over her tight, boned bodice and down her striped cotton skirt.

Adam walked toward a man just inside the en
trance, and spoke to him. The man pointed a powder horn toward Madeline and the other passengers from the
Liberty,
who were all standing in a crowd outside the barracks. The next moment, Adam was walking toward them, his long strides full of purpose, his gaze searching over everyone. There was anticipation in his eyes.

Could it be he was as ardent in his yearning as she?

Mrs. Ripley nudged Madeline a few times in the arm, and she heard someone behind her whisper with interest, “Is that Miss Oxley's fellow? Goodness…”

What was said after that, she had no idea. It was all Madeline could do to keep a calm, composed expression on her face and prepare herself to say hello.

Adam stopped in front of Mrs. Ripley, removed his hat and slid it under his arm. His dark hair—lightened with a hint of gray here and there—was tied back with a ribbon. His eyes were still as blue as an autumn sky, framed with black brows and black lashes, and he wore a polite yet confident expression.

Madeline's heart warmed at the sight of him. Though she knew he was a stranger to her now, she felt as if she'd known him all her life, which, in a way, she had. The idea of him was a part of who she was, a part of her identity.

He glanced once at Madeline—rather indifferently—then turned his attention back to Mrs. Ripley again. “Good afternoon, madam. I'm here to meet someone, and I wonder if you could tell me—”

Before he had a chance to finish, Mrs. Ripley put her arm around Madeline's waist, pushed her forward
and said with a warm smile, “Yes, Mr. Coates, she's right here.”

Adam's gaze fell upon Madeline again, a little more attentively this time. For a long moment, he studied her face.

Madeline felt suddenly self-conscious in front of all these onlookers.

She cleared her throat to say
How do you do, Mr. Coates,
but before she had the chance, his dark brows drew together with a look of concern.

“No, it's someone else I'm looking for. We're to be married. Her name is Lady Thurston.”

M
adeline felt the color drain from her face like a slow, painful torture. No one spoke. There was only the uncomfortable rustle of skirts behind her, the sound of a knife whittling somewhere off to the side, then a woman cleared her throat.

“Is she here?” Adam finally asked, looking hopeful.

Madeline's whole body went numb.

Mrs. Ripley struggled for a reply. She knew that Madeline had first met Adam when he was courting her older sister, Diana, so Mrs. Ripley must have understood that a mistake had been made.

“I'm afraid Madeline's sister did not accompany her.” It was a tactful, clever response, and Madeline was thankful for it.

Adam turned his gaze toward her again and she knew the precise instant he understood who she was. His disappointment was clear in the depths of his eyes and in the set of his shoulders. The color drained from his face, too.

“I'm sorry, I—” He stumbled over his words.
“You're Diana's
sister?
What was your name again?”

Madeline squared her shoulders against the stinging humiliation and labored to speak in a steady, dignified voice. “My name is Madeline.”

Adam stared at her for another few seconds. “Yes, I think I remember you now.” He paused again. It was the most acrid silence she'd ever experienced. “Was there some kind of problem? Why did
you
come?”

This couldn't be happening….

Dear God, she felt as if she were going to be ill. “I…I was told you wished it.”

“No.” He paused. “Well, this is awkward, indeed.”

“Awkward for whom, sir?” Madeline replied sternly. “For you? Or for these people standing behind me?”

Thankfully, the others recognized the hint and casually dispersed, including Mrs. Ripley, who gave Madeline a sympathetic pat on the arm before turning away.

She was now standing alone, face-to-face with Adam Coates, not knowing what in the world to say to him—to this man who only a moment ago she had thought was her husband-to-be.

“Who told you I wished for you to come?” he asked directly.

“My father. He said you wrote him a letter.”

Adam's mouth tightened into a hard line. “I did write to him, and to Diana, as well. Did he not deliver my note to her?”

“Not to my knowledge. She was away in London when your proposal arrived. I never saw the letter and I never even said goodbye to her. I barely had time to write and tell her where I was going.”

The muscles in Adam's jaw clenched visibly as his anger took root and burst forth. He began to pace in front of Madeline. “I was more than clear about wanting to marry
Diana.
He had no right to send you instead. What was he thinking of?”

Madeline had to work hard to maintain her dignity, when her whole being was winding tight with rage at her father.

At Adam, as well, for humiliating her like this in front of everyone. Not to mention for crushing her dreams without even noticing, or taking the time to consider the fact that she, too, might be disappointed.

“My apologies for the misunderstanding, sir. My father has a tendency to manipulate things to his liking.”

“Manipulate? He sent me the wrong bride!”

Madeline gritted her teeth together, unable to hide her fury any longer. “Sir, you are not the only one who has been inconvenienced by this. I just spent forty-six days on a damp, creaky ship eating dry oatmeal and drinking stale water, and now you tell me in front of everyone that I'm not the one you ordered, and I shouldn't have bothered. I believe I've had quite enough insults and frustrations for one day.”

He stopped pacing and looked at her—
really
looked at her—as if for the first time. “Didn't you think it strange that I would ask for your hand? Didn't you question what your father was telling you? Diana
and I have a history together, a past, and you were just a child then. You're still a child now.”

“I'm twenty-two, sir.” She was quite unable at this point to keep the ire out of her tone.

“Ah, I see. Twenty-two, and wanting marriage so badly you were willing to deceive a man to get it.”

“It was my father who deceived you, not I!”

He did not accept her declaration of innocence; he merely continued to pace back and forth in front of her. “Whether you knew the truth or not, you played a part in it. Diana was the obvious choice. Lord in heaven, what were
you
thinking?”

What was she to tell him? That she had been thinking with her foolish, lovesick heart? That she had dreamed of marrying him since she was a child and had spent the past six weeks fantasizing about a wedding night in his arms? A lifetime in his heart? That she'd believed he wanted to marry her, too, because she'd
wanted
to believe it?

What a fantasy it had been! The man in her dreams had been full of mirth and adoration. This bitter, belligerent man was nothing like the young man she remembered.

“My father assured me you had asked for my hand. I had no reason to question the truth of it.”

Someone nearby split a log with an ax. The sharp
crack
made Madeline jump. She felt as if someone were taking an ax to her heart as well.

Adam's chest heaved with a sigh. “No reason to question it? Do you not have a mind of your own?”

Oh, this was too much. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Coates, I do have a mind of my own—a mind to poke
my father with a knitting needle, and if I may say so, you could use a poke yourself.”

His dark eyes narrowed. She wasn't certain if he was furious with her, or just plain shocked out of his shiny black boots.

The man with the ax swung again and the sound of splitting wood cut through the silence. Madeline kept her eyes on Adam.

“What are we to do, then?” he asked, his tone finally softening a bit.

“I don't know, Mr. Coates. As you said earlier, this is indeed awkward.”

“Well, I can't just leave you here.”

Good God, if he thought he was going to make her feel like a helpless orphan who had been flung upon him against his will, he was mistaken. She was a grown woman and she was innocent in all this. She had not asked him to write that letter to her father and she would find her own way out of this. With or without his help.

“Your father trusted me with your safety,” he added, “and I know for a fact that this schooner isn't returning to England. It's going to Boston, and God knows when the next ship will arrive.” She heard him whisper, “What a bloody mess.”

Madeline took a deep breath and counted to ten, fighting the urge to poke Adam not just with a knitting needle, but with anything she could get her hands on.

“You needn't worry about me, Mr. Coates. I'm sure the Ripleys would be pleased to have me stay
with them. I've been teaching their children to read the past few weeks.”

He considered that a moment. “Do they have land yet?”

“No, but Mr. Ripley plans to purchase something as soon as he finds a—”

“It'll take the man some time to familiarize himself with the area. A few weeks at least before he finds what he's looking for.”

A tattered-looking tradesman walked by, the barrel of his musket resting on his shoulder. He tipped his hat and smiled admiringly at Madeline. Adam watched the man's back as he crossed the courtyard.

“Well, you can't stay here,” he said flatly, turning to face her again.

“Why not?”

“Because you're practically a child and you're alone and it would be unthinkable for me to leave you here.”

“I'm not a child,” she reminded him again.

He sighed and shook his head at her argument, and once more, she felt like a burden. An insolent one, too, this time around. She had thought, when she'd said goodbye to her father, that she was finally escaping those wretched feelings.

“You'll stay in my home until we decide what to do. You'll be good company for my daughter-in-law. She's nearing the end of her confinement.”

All this was happening too fast—the confusion, the humiliation, the collapse of Madeline's dreams. She wasn't about to be shuffled off anywhere before she
had a chance to think about what
she
wanted. “I will
not
come and stay with you, Mr. Coates.”

“Why not?” he asked, as if her refusal were completely inconceivable.

“Because…because I don't want to.” Oh, why couldn't she come up with something better than that? She sounded like the child he believed her to be.

“What we want isn't always what's best for us,” he told her. “Or what we get.”

Madeline bristled at his paternal tone. He sounded like her father—lecturing her, pointing out her constant rebellion. She hadn't liked hearing it from her father and she certainly didn't wish to hear it from the man who had just publicly rejected her.

Then she wondered if there was a double meaning to Adam's words. Perhaps he was referring to Diana breaking
his
heart all those years ago to marry a baronet.

Madeline wet her parched lips. “As I said before, I'll stay with the Ripleys.”

“You will do no such thing. You're my responsibility now. You're Diana's sister, for pity's sake, and I will not leave you here.”

Madeline could feel the frustration building up inside of her like a rising tide about to overflow.

All at once, an image of Adam's first visit to her home in Yorkshire years ago flooded back. She remembered how he had ruffled her hair like a puppy and shown her a magic trick. Good God, what had she been dreaming of? He was four times her age then, and he was twice her age now. She'd been so foolish!

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling rankled all over again. She didn't want to spend any more time with Adam Coates. She didn't want to look at his irritatingly handsome face and relive this embarrassing stupidity over and over in her mind.

“Where are your belongings?”

“My belongings?” she asked, caught off guard.

“Yes, your trunks. I'll have them delivered to my home.”

She tried to say no, but he was already going to find someone to do it. She followed him. “I told you I don't want to go with you.”

“I'm not giving you a choice. You're Diana's sister and I mean to look after you.”

“I don't need looking after!”

He stopped at that and turned to glare at her. She saw an unyielding conviction in his eyes and noted the lines around his mouth. The lines gave him the appearance of a man stuck in a permanent frown.

Those lines had not existed fifteen years ago—at least she didn't remember them—nor had they existed in her dreams of him. She did her best to appear unperturbed by all that had happened, and began to think that maybe she should count herself lucky to be spared having to marry him today.

“I see you're still as headstrong as ever,” he said sharply.

His comment struck her hard. She hadn't thought Adam had remembered anything about her, or known that she was headstrong in the first place.

Then she recalled all the times Diana and Adam had gone for walks across the moors, wanting to be
alone. Diana would beg Madeline to go home, but she was too young to understand why, so she'd argued with Diana and followed them anyway.

So that's what Adam remembered—the troublesome little sister.

Madeline stood there, saying nothing, waiting for him to give in.

He didn't. He simply rephrased his intentions. “I genuinely wish for you to come and be my guest. As I said, my daughter-in-law is confined to her room and she'll be disappointed if you do not come. In addition, both my daughter and my youngest son could use some instruction in reading and arithmetic. You have experience, you say?”

“Yes,” she replied, before she had a chance to think about it.

“It will work out well, then.” He started off again to fetch a driver to deliver the trunks, and Madeline stood there in the middle of the courtyard, feeling depleted and exhausted, and as if she'd just been manipulated all over again.

 

Sitting in the buggy beside Madeline, Adam flicked the lines and began the trip home along Cumberland Ridge, laboring to block out everything he had expected and hoped for today.

Of course, he couldn't. Inside he was reeling with a mixture of disappointment and rage. Over the past few weeks, since the letter had arrived saying his “bride” was on her way, crossing an ocean to be with him, Adam had somehow managed to fall in love with Diana all over again. He'd spent too many hours re
membering how she'd made him feel years ago, how the sight of her lovely face had brought him to his knees. She was the first woman he had ever loved; they had been young and desperate for each other and had wanted to be together every minute of every day for the rest of their lives.

God, how he'd loved her—with all the fiery, intense passion of his youth. No one had known him like she had, and he'd thought he'd known her deeply, too. He
had.
All these years later, he still believed it. They had once told each other everything, expressed every feeling and desire. He'd held her in his arms and wanted to be with her forever.

Unfortunately, forever hadn't lasted very long. There had been no warning that the end was coming. No disagreements or falling out of love. No natural conclusion. She'd told him she was leaving him—crying her heart out on his shoulder—making him love her more than ever.

Of course, through the years, he'd come to understand why she'd made that choice. How could she not? Adam was the third son of a tenant farmer—a prosperous one, yes, but by no means anything close to gentry, and with no hope of ever becoming a landowner. Diana had married a baronet. She'd chosen wisely, as any prudent young woman would have.

The memories these past few weeks, thinking she wanted him back, had stirred his blood and made him feel young again, as if their lifetime apart were a mere heartbeat. Ever since he'd learned of her husband's death and known she was free, he hadn't been able to stop thinking of her, and when he let his mind
return to those intimate, glorious moments they'd shared in their youth, it seemed like yesterday.