Elizabeth Meyette (13 page)

Emily fought the fogginess that trapped her mind trying to recall what happened.

“I was in the parlor, with Deidre … ” she mumbled. She felt Joanna’s grip tighten at her words. “I think I pricked my finger, and Deidre wrapped it for me so I would not stain the baby’s garment.” She held up her hand and examined her finger as if to substantiate it for herself. “I cannot remember anything after that.”

Dr. Anderson felt her forehead and checked her pulse.

“You just need to rest for a while, Mrs. Brentwood,” he said gently. “It would also be beneficial for you to eat a hearty meal,” he winked at Joanna.

Emily’s bewilderment grew at the apparent relief they communicated to one another, but her muddled mind prevented her from concentrating enough to make sense of their behavior. She closed her eyes, sighing. As if from a distance, she heard their conversation.

“Will she be all right, Dr. Anderson?”

“Yes, she and the baby were not in serious harm from what appears to have been a sleeping draught. How did this happen, Mrs. Sutton?”

“We are exploring that question, Doctor.” Joanna’s voice sounded harsher than Emily had ever heard before.

“The effects of the sleeping draught should be wearing off, but it will be gradual. Encourage Mrs. Brentwood to eat and, when she is steady on her feet, to walk a bit. That may help dissipate the drowsiness more rapidly.”

Their voices drifted away as Emily sank into sleep once more.

• • •

Quiet sounds that usher in summer evenings surrounded Brentwood Manor. Cicadas rhythmically predicted a warm tomorrow, workers returned to the outbuildings to replace implements and have supper, and leaves rustled in the soft breeze. The peacefulness that enveloped the exterior of Brentwood Manor belied the tension within. Like a rope held taut to fraying, the group gathered in the parlor barely contained the brittle anger beneath their civility and effort to protect Emily.

Still groggy and bewildered, Emily sat propped on the settee with her feet resting on a footstool. She watched David pace the length of the parlor, hands behind his back, scowling. Joanna watched him, a crease between her brows. Her hands were idle, leaving the embroidery in her lap untouched.

“David, I think we should … ” Joanna began.

“No, Joanna, not yet,” he cut her off, looking at Emily. He went to her and knelt beside the settee. “How are you feeling, Emily? How is the child?” he asked gently.

“I still feel a bit tired, and my brain is full of cotton. My baby has been quiet, but as is often the case, seems livelier as the day winds down,” Emily replied with a smile.

David squeezed her hand and rose. Resuming his pacing, he seemed lost in thought.

Emily looked at Joanna. As muddled as her thoughts were, her mind was clearing enough to realize that something was amiss. And the time it was taking to recover convinced her that this had been no ordinary fainting spell. With the supper she had eaten, and the short stroll, leaning heavily on David’s arm, her senses were returning and with them, suspicion. Sitting up and pushing the footstool aside, she spoke convincingly.

“I believe it is time for you to be truthful with me.”

David looked at Emily, then Joanna, who nodded. He again approached the settee and knelt beside Emily taking her hands.

“Emily, we are not certain of what transpired today. Dr. Anderson believes you ingested a sleeping draught. We are trying to sort out why and how you were given it.” Trying not to alarm her, he looked to Joanna for help.

“Emily, do you remember what occurred when you and Deidre were talking this morning?” she asked.

Emily cast her mind back to the ordinary encounter with Deidre. Vague images emerged, but nothing extraordinary had happened.

“I was embroidering a gown, Deidre came in and we were talking. Oh! I pricked my finger, and she kindly wrapped it in her handkerchief so I would not soil the gown. And wine, she gave me a glass of wine … ” her voice trailed off as the images disappeared.

“I was attempting to help Emily, David. Just what are you implying?”

Golden hair loose and flowing, eyes flaming with indignation, Deidre stood at the door of the parlor.

• • •

Perched above the trees, the waxing moon lent a silvery glow to the forest. With the aid of this light and his own cherished memories of the land, Jonathon navigated smoothly through the trees. Animals scrambled through the undergrowth, and the mournful call of an owl eerily echoed on the night breeze. Jonathon was oblivious to all of this, his heart beating a tattoo of home and Emily.

In the weeks of sailing to New York and back his physical health had improved rapidly, but the gnawing guilt of his encounter with Deidre incessantly ate at his gut. Long conversations with Gates had helped assuage the shame he felt, but imagining Emily seeing the proof of his infidelity scratched across his chest thrust him back into despair. Despite his trepidation, the unremitting longing to be with his wife drove him on. He would face the consequences of his actions and beg her forgiveness. If it meant spending the remainder of his life somehow atoning for this, he would do it. He would do anything for his beloved.

Spurred on by thoughts of seeing Emily, Jonathon persisted on his journey. He had scrabbled together meals from berries, roots and fruit he found along the way. Fleeing from the British guard that had pursued him the previous night had sapped his strength, and the little food he had scavenged barely sated his hunger; it was his determination to see Emily and know that she and their baby were well that drove him on.

His clothes were still damp from his swim that afternoon. After hiding in the swamp, he could barely stand his own reeking smell, and he had deliberately taken the route past the Manning Manor so he could wash in the river. Standing at the bank, he had felt loath to dive in knowing that nearby Robert Manning had been murdered by Deidre. The odor he emitted had overcome his reluctance, and he had surrendered to the cool waters, emerging refreshed.

His heart pounded as he climbed a knoll and caught his first view of Brentwood Manor. Candlelight softly glowed from many of the windows, and the familiar sounds of days-end floated up to him on the evening air. Soon he would see Emily; soon he would beg her forgiveness.

• • •

As if frozen in time, the scene in the parlor hung suspended. Each person grappled with emotions that threatened to explode. Deidre stood with her hands on her hips, chin lifted, eyes defiant.

David rose and stood in front of Emily as if to protect her.

“You have not even bothered to listen to my account, David. You have not even bothered to ask it,” Deidre said.

“I think I know your explanation, Deidre,” he snarled.

Deidre sauntered into the room looking at each in turn.

“So quick to judge, so misguided,” she said over her shoulder as she poured a glass of brandy.

David clenched and unclenched his fists. His knowledge of what had transpired between Deidre and Jonathon gave him a very clear picture of Deidre’s intentions, but to reveal that would betray Jonathon. Jonathon’s deepest wish was that Emily never discover that he had lain with Deidre.

Deidre half-turned and slid her eyes over David, then turned to them all.

“I was trying to help Emily,” she stated.

David snorted and Joanna looked at him, brow furrowed.

“She has not been sleeping and I feared her health and the health of her baby would suffer. I thought if she had something to relax her, she would finally get some much needed rest.” She crossed the room toward the settee, but David would not move away from Emily.

“Deidre, you must leave Brentwood Manor,” David said flatly.

Deidre stepped back as if struck. Emily’s head was spinning; none of this made any sense to her.

The silence in the room was broken when the terrace door opened and Jonathon stepped in.

“Jonathon!” Emily cried struggling to get up from the settee.

He rushed to his wife, kneeling beside her and gathering her into his arms. Burying his head into her hair he fought back sobs that pushed to the surface.

“My love, my love,” he repeated against her cheek.

“You are trembling, Jonathon! David, pour him some brandy, please!”

David had already poured a glass and was bringing it to him. Joanna knelt beside her brother, crying and laughing at the same time. Only Deidre stood off to the side taking in the scene.

Jonathon covered Emily’s face with kisses, and she returned them, tears of joy streaming down her face. Emily’s hands swept over his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, unable to satisfy her need to hold him. Jonathon wept into her neck, embarrassed by his tears yet unable to stop them.

Finally, releasing their embrace, they drank each other in with their eyes, laughing and crying and touching. Jonathon sat back on his heels and took in Emily’s form. His hands stroked her abdomen and the baby gave a hearty kick. His eyes held hers in a gaze of pure joy. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Our baby!” he chortled. “Our baby just greeted his father.”

Emily’s eyes shone with happiness and tears. She could not believe her beloved was right before her. She leaned forward and pulled him into an embrace. Jonathon held her, but when she turned to kiss him full on the mouth, he pulled back and looked away feeling unworthy of the boundless love she offered. Shame stabbed at his heart as he realized that, finally, he must confess to her. She looked at him quizzically, and he stood.

“Jonathon, it is too dangerous for you to be here,” David said. “British troops have been patrolling Brentwood land for weeks looking for you.”

“I had to come back. Emily, I had to see you, to know you were all right … ” his voice trailed off as he noticed Deidre standing nearby.

“Jonathon, your return is perfectly timed. Something has occurred that has been terribly misconstrued,” Deidre said, her eyes soft and pleading.

“Nothing has been misconstrued, Deidre, and you know it,” David countered.

Emily listened to this exchange trying to comprehend it, her mind still muddled. Why was David so angry at Deidre? Awareness dawned on Emily, and her bewildered expression turned to anger as she looked at Deidre.

“What is going on?” Jonathon asked stepping toward Deidre.

David recounted the events of that morning, and as he listened, a knot tightened in Jonathon’s stomach. He knew full well what Deidre was capable of, and had no doubt that David’s version was the truth.

“I just explained that I was trying to help Emily … ” Deidre began, but David cut her off.

“Save it, Deidre. Jonathon, I just told her that she had to leave Brentwood Manor. I defer that decision to you, however, since you are here.”

Jonathon trembled with rage. Even though she had promised, her intent had been to harm, no kill, Emily and their child all along. He fought the urge to strike her, clenching his fists at his side.

“David is correct, Deidre. Gather your things; you will leave Brentwood Manor in the morning,” Jonathon said.

Emily rose and stood beside him.

“I do not think I shall leave Brentwood Manor, Jonathon,” Deidre smirked.

“Yes, Deidre, you will,” he replied.

“I believe not, Jonathon, for I carry your child.”

Once Dr. Anderson had announced that Emily and the baby would be fine, Andrew had been sent to Stephen Alcott’s on another errand for David. He wondered about this since David had been so active in the political discussions in the House of Burgesses until recently. Now he seemed determined to remain at Brentwood Manor, in fact, as close to Brentwood Manor as possible. Perhaps Joanna was with child again; how wonderful that would be. Their love and devotion was so evident that having another child would only enhance their life together. Cheered by this thought, Andrew urged Neptune to a faster pace anxious to return to the peace of Brentwood Manor after learning about the churning events in Williamsburg from Stephen.

Filled with these thoughts and anxious to relay the news to David, Andrew spurred the horse even faster. But it wasn’t just the excitement of the political upheaval that ran through his blood; he wanted to see Jenny. Their encounters had been awkward since the day of their ride. There had been no opportunity for them to speak alone, and Andrew was convinced that Jenny enabled that. He so desperately wanted to explain his pulling away from her that day — but how could he explain his fear of looking the fool to her? Just that explanation would make it so.

His thoughts turned to Deidre. What power did she hold over him to both repel and attract? He avoided her, and when they were in the same gathering, he avoided making eye contact. But he often felt her staring at him, as though somehow her gaze bore a hole right through him. And when she was not watching him, he stole glances at her and — he admitted to himself — wondered what it would be like to lie with her. She was beautiful with her golden hair and her shapely body. Perhaps he should accept her offer and learn the ways of love so that he could be the kind of lover that Jenny deserved. Suddenly he was filled with disgust at the thought of lying with Deidre, and even the thought of her repulsed him.

He shook his head. He wanted no woman but Jenny. He recalled how her dark hair shimmered as auburn highlights danced in the sun. When she laughed that single dimple caused heat to rise from his gut and spread throughout his limbs making him long to reach out and pull her into his embrace. Her skin, so fair and smooth, was golden in the evening candlelight, and he wondered what she would look like totally revealed in the glow of firelight. With these thoughts, he called to Neptune and dug in his heels. Consenting with a powerful neigh, Neptune leapt forward and took the road at a gallop.

• • •

Restless, Jenny paced her room. It had been a strange day at Brentwood Manor. Emily apparently had a fainting spell and the doctor was summoned, but somehow there seemed to be an underlying tension about the whole occurrence. She had been out riding when it happened, but Aunt Joanna had informed her of the incident upon her return. It was Uncle David who surprised her with his pent up emotion. Although she saw him only briefly at supper, his obvious anger was seething just below the surface. She had thought it best to remain in her room and allow events to sort themselves out.