“Simon!” Adam barked. “The place looks like the devil!”
“Very true, sir,” he agreed. “Since dere no money, we t’ink you lucky that we stay at all.”
Cathy squeezed her husband’s hand. “He has a point.”
His face grew darker as they started down the drive. The hedges of sweet lime that bordered the lane were now so overgrown with vines and wild poinsettias that the landau could scarcely fit. Up ahead, Cathy saw palm trees and a battered stucco wall. When they finally reached the gates leading to the house and gardens, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Tempest Hall looked nothing like the romantic estate she’d imagined. Its Jacobean design featured an arcaded veranda supporting an upstairs balcony, above which towered three curved gables and four chimneys.
“It used to be a splendid place,” Adam said, his own voice shadowed by sadness and anger. “It’s been standing since 1650, you know.”
Cathy’s gaze traveled from the broken tile roof to the cracked windows to the last remnants of white paint that clung to the gray coral-stone exterior of the house. “It will be splendid again.”
When Adam had climbed down from the landau and lifted Cathy out to stand beside him, he felt waves of rage surge through his body. “My grandmother would be furious with me for allowing this to happen. And my grandfather... I can’t even bear to think of him now. This plantation was his life.”
Wood doves cooed from nearby tamarind trees. Cathy went ahead, through the broken gates, toward the rectangular gardens that were laid out in front of the house. “Adam, you mustn’t be so hard on yourself. At least you are here now, and together we’ll put Tempest Hall back on its feet. Start by telling me what used to be here.”
He pointed to the north. “That’s the kitchen garden. I see that the servants have kept it up, at least enough to feed themselves.” Walking forward, Adam stared at the plots on the other side of the house. “Those were flower gardens, planted lovingly by Gran, and in the distance was the herb garden. She used to call it the Knot Garden because of the designs.” He started toward the house then. “There was a rose garden as well, with an arbor where my grandparents were married. I used to play there as a child. It’s a strong memory, along with the guinea fowl. Do you hear them, making that squeaky sound? They’re still scratching about, in back by the sandbox tree. I would go to sleep listening to them, and that was the first sound I heard when I awoke each morning.”
Cathy saw two of the hens on the gravel walkway nearby and stared at them in wonder. “Don’t they ever quiet down?”
“You’ll get used to it. It’s rather like the sound of the waves hitting the cliffs in Newport. One doesn’t hear it after while.”
Before she could reply, Simon appeared, carrying Adam’s luggage. “I bring a cart for de lady’s trunk,” he said, then added, “Sir, you go inside. Retta waitin’ for you.”
Seeing Adam brighten, Cathy feared the worst. Was she about to encounter another woman from his past? “Who is Retta?”
“Come with me and you’ll find out.” He took her hand and led her through the gallery encircling the house, with Alice following slowly behind. Passing through glass doors, Cathy found herself in a dim, musty sitting room. Her first impression was of faded lime-green paint, wide-board floors that needed cleaning, tall deep windows framed by peeling jalousie shutters, and Georgian furniture.
“It’s very... impressive,” she said.
“I know it’s nothing compared to any of your family’s homes, but it does have character. I wish you could have seen it when my grandmother was alive.”
“We’ll renew its charm. Look at this furniture! It’s beautiful!
Adam wandered over and ran his hand along the back of a rocking chair. “It’s all made of Barbadian mahogany, and the cane seats and backs have been woven by hand.” He gestured toward the adjacent dining room which was furnished with a magnificent Sheraton sideboard, table, and cane-seated chairs. “Those pieces date back to the late eighteenth century. They were here when Grandfather purchased the plantation.”
Another voice spoke from the doorway. “Not de sideboard, sir. It does come from family house in Connet’cut.”
“Retta! It’s wonderful to see you.” Wearing a wide smile, Adam went to greet the tiny woman who stood with the aid of a walking stick in each hand. Fluffy bits of white hair showed from under the kerchief tied around her head, and her snowy apron fairly shone in the dim light.
“I t’ink you never come back, sir.” Adjusting her spectacles, she smiled up at him. “You look more like Captain Rav’neau than ever. You grown into some fine good looks.”
“Flatterer.” He kissed her withered cheek. “Retta, I’d like you to meet my new bride, Catherine. She comes from America.” Holding out his free hand, Adam welcomed Cathy into their circle and watched as the two women exchanged warm, if uncertain, greetings. “Retta was here on the day my grandparents came together to Tempest Hall. They weren’t even married then, were they, Retta? And how old were you?”
“Still a girl. Fourteen? Who can ‘member such t’ings?”
Adam laughed and met Cathy’s eyes. “That was in 1818!”
“Oh my goodness!”
“You never see a lady so old, hmm?” Retta asked playfully, then looked back at Adam. “Time for dis ole woman to rest. You don’t need me to show you ‘round.”
“No, of course not. Will you let me help you?” He watched as she shook her head proudly and tottered off toward the maid’s room at the back of the house. “Retta? I almost forgot to ask— what other servants are still here?”
She glanced back. “Only Simon’s gran’daughter, June, come t’ help me.”
Trying not to betray his shock, Adam said, “No one else?”
“De others do leave last year, during smallpox time. No money to feed dem, an’ most have fam’ly sick.”
“I had no idea. Is June able to be Cathy’s maid?”
Retta pursed her lips doubtfully. “She may try, but she jus’ a child.”
When they were alone, Adam slammed his fist against the wall. “If I’d known what we were coming home to, I would have encouraged you to bring Isobel.”
“I don’t think Isobel would have adjusted very well,” she said with a wry smile. “I think it’s best that we didn’t bring anyone else from Beechcliff. I have enough adjustments of my own to make without worrying about them.” Seeing the stark look in his eyes, Cathy added, “Don’t worry. We’re here now, and we can restore Tempest Hall to her former glory. Money isn’t an object any longer.”
Adam arched a brow as he watched a huge cockroach scurry across the shadowed stairhall. “No... money isn’t an object and neither is my pride.”
Chapter 14
Cathy stood, dust cloth and furniture polish in hand, and stared at the small portrait of Adrienne Raveneau that hung in Adam’s dressing room. June watched her from the doorway.
“That’s the old mistress, isn’t it?” the girl asked. “I’ve seen that big portrait of her in the dining room.”
“I’ve been trying not to look at it,” Cathy said ruefully.
“Why not?”
“Because she’s so much more beautiful than I am.”
June made no reply, but stared at her mistress, who was looking remarkably common in her long apron and rolled-up sleeves. Retta had shown her how to fasten the kerchief Bajans called a “headtie,” and now Cathy wore one to keep her hair clean when she was working in the house. Rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, she looked more like a girl June’s age than the wife of rakish Lord Raveneau.
“June,” she said now with a crooked smile, “you might at least be polite and argue with me.”
“Argue?”
“Yes— insist that I am mistaken, that I’m every bit as beautiful as Adrienne was!”
“Oh.” The girl’s brown skin flushed darker. “I didn’t know I was allowed to argue with you, ma’am.”
“A very tactful reply!” Laughing, she took another look at Adrienne’s sparkling green eyes and chestnut curls, then regarded her own reflection in her husband’s shaving mirror. Her turned-up nose was smudged with dirt, her eyes were a traditional brown, and she was too petite to be elegant. No wonder Adam had suggested, upon their arrival a week earlier, that it would be more civilized for them to have separate bedrooms. And no wonder he had made no effort to come to her bed yet.
As if reading Cathy’s mind, June came up to peek over her shoulder. “I think you’re a very pretty lady, ma’am. My teacher tells us that what’s inside is more important, though, and we shouldn’t waste time fretting about that package we’re wrapped in. She says if a person is happy and kind and brave, that will show through on her face and she’ll be better than pretty.”
Tears misted her eyes. “Your teacher is a very wise lady.”
“I miss school,” June replied, nodding. “I’ve been reading the books in the master’s library since I came here, but I worry that I’ll fall behind.”