The Maid of Fairbourne Hall(22)
As Nathaniel served Helen brills in shrimp sauce, he again surveyed the evening gown he had seen her wear a few times already. He waited until the footman replaced the soup tureen with a platter of lamb cutlets, then said, “And I take it you have had no new gowns recently?”
She took a sip of wine. “What need have I for new gowns? Mamma’s lady’s maid made over some of my frocks before she retired, to disguise the wear. I would have thought you would be glad of the economy.”
“We are not so poor you cannot dress well, Helen. Or attend an occasional entertainment. I guarantee Lewis has not forgone the latest in haberdashery, nor every lavish party of the season.”
She shook her head. “Do not speak against Lewis, Nathaniel. I will not hear a word against him.”
Nathaniel took a deep breath. “My point was not to disparage Lewis, but to express my concern for you. I hate to see you trapped here. Not living your life.”
She slowly shook her head. “Can you not conceive—a least a little—how I might feel? My chance at happiness was denied me.”
Yes, I do understand, Nathaniel thought, but he refused to admit it aloud. “I am sorry for your loss, Helen. I am. But that was years ago. Do you mean to go on living as though a widow forever?”
“Why not?” Helen’s eyes flashed. “What use have I for frivolous entertainments or to pretend an interest in other men I can never feel? And now . . . now I am a spinster. On the shelf. Do you know how people would talk if I showed up at a ball after all this time? ‘Does she not realize she is too old?’ they would say. ‘Who does she think she is, a debutante?’ ”
“If you think yourself the topic of conversation after all this time, you overestimate yourself.”
Helen’s mouth fell ajar. “What an unkind thing to say!”
“I did not mean . . .” He grimaced. “Why is it you seem determined to twist my every word? I only meant you worry too much—the gossips have moved on a hundred times over.”
She winced. “You still hope to marry me off, then—get me off your hands?”
“Of course not, Helen. I did not say you ought to cast a net for a husband. But could you not socialize with other women?”
“And do what? Play cards? Gossip? I have no taste for either.”
“But it does you no good, living in seclusion like this.”
“How do you know? Excuse me, Nathaniel, but how would you know? You have been gone these two years with little thought to my well-being. Why now do you suddenly care?”
“That is not fair, Helen. You know it was Father’s decision to summon me to Barbados when Lewis chose to return. I know I was not faithful in writing letters, but my every hour was taken up in plantation affairs.”
One eyebrow rose. “Your every hour?” She leaned back, hazel eyes alert. “Did you meet no interesting young ladies your entire time there?”
He inhaled deeply. “I did, actually. Well, one.”
“Oh?”
“Ava DeSante. Her father owns a neighboring plantation. She is accomplished, intelligent, beautiful . . .”
“But?”
“But she could not understand nor respect my objections to slavery.”
Helen blinked. “I am sorry to hear it, but really, were you surprised? From what I understand, slaves are the very lifeblood of plantations. No slaves, no profits—or at least, greatly diminished profits.”
Nathaniel slumped back in his chair. “Yes, as Father never tires of reminding me.”
His sister studied him over her glass while the footmen removed the entrees and laid the next course. “You have changed, Nathaniel, while you were away.”
He paused, his own glass held midair. “For the better or worse? I hate to ask.”
“Both, I think. Your new fervor makes me wary, I admit. But I do respect your stance.” She tilted her head to one side, regarding him. “But you seem, well, harder somehow. Guarded. Did Barbados do that to you, or did she?”
He swallowed. Did Helen refer to Ava, or to her? The truth was, Nathaniel had been illogically relieved when his courtship in Barbados had ended. He shook his head. “If you had seen what I’ve seen, Helen. The vile things men do to other men for the sake of money. . . .”
She asked quietly, “But is that really all it is?”
He did not answer. What did she want him to say—that he was still hurt over his disappointment with Margaret Macy? After all this time? It was imbecilic. He would not do it.
Helen dabbed her lips with a table napkin. “I support emancipation and the need to retrench.” Her mouth rose in a one-sided grin. “Even if it does mean I shall have to curtail my excessive visits to the modiste.”
Nathaniel grinned in return, thankful for her attempt to lighten the moment. Perhaps his sister might warm to him yet.
His grin faded, and he continued to eat without tasting a thing. As much as he tried to fight it, his mind reeled back to the still-painful day Miss Macy cast him aside.
Nathaniel waited in the drawing room of the Macys’ modest town house while the footman went to announce him. His hands shook. His pulse pounded. He paced the room, rehearsing the words that would change their lives forever. Yes, a kernel of insecurity lodged within his heart. He was not blind. He had not missed the attention Lewis had paid Margaret since his return. But surely she realized Lewis was only flirting with her. It was his way. Margaret’s feelings, Margaret herself, meant little to his brother and everything to him. She must know that.
A few minutes later, Margaret swept into the room, an expectant smile on her lovely face.
Nathaniel rose, his heart lifting at the sight of her. “Miss Macy.”
“Oh . . .” she faltered. “Mr. Upchurch.” She glanced toward the mantel clock.
Had she been expecting someone else? Nathaniel remained standing, suddenly ill at ease.
Margaret sat stiffly in an armchair and gestured to the settee across from her. “Please, won’t you be seated?”
He considered his options, then sat at the end nearest her chair.
“I wish to speak to you,” he began, a drop of perspiration rolling down his hairline. “About Barbados. About . . . you and me. Our future.” Why must his voice shake like a schoolboy’s?
She stared at him, lips parted.
Nathaniel hurried on, “Because of Lewis’s return, my father has asked me to travel to Barbados to take his place.”
Still she said nothing.
He swallowed and continued, “I realize it might be difficult for you were we to live in Barbados for a time, but when I spoke with your father, he—”
“Live in Barbados?” she sputtered. “I am not moving to Barbados, Mr. Upchurch. I hope I never gave you that impression. I could never leave my family—live at such a distance to them.”
He hesitated, taken aback. He would forgo Barbados for her in a heartbeat, but he hated to disappoint his father. “Ah . . . Well then. I shall write to my father and inform him—”
She rose abruptly. “Don’t. Please don’t say another word, Mr. Upchurch. I fear a misunderstanding has occurred between us. I have no plans to marry in the near future. No plans to marry anyone. If I have led you to believe otherwise, I apologize. I see how you might have thought—earlier in the season, I mean. But at present, no.”
An invisible fist struck him. Pain lanced his chest and his vision blurred. What was happening? He blinked and blinked again.
She clasped her hands before her. “I apologize, Mr. Upchurch, but I cannot marry you. There was a time I thought I could. But things have changed and I am sorry.”
He tasted bile. “Because of Lewis?”
Shame colored her cheeks, yet she lifted her chin. “Yes, I do admire your brother. I cannot deny it.”
Another blow. A kick in the ribs. He drew a painful, jagged breath and said quietly, “I think it only fair to warn you. Lewis is unlikely to marry you.”
Irritation flashed on her face. “And so I should ignore my feelings for him and marry you instead?”
His heart deflated. His hopes . . . crumbled. “Margaret . . . Miss Macy. I . . .” He pressed his eyes shut and cleared his throat. “I had no idea things had gone so far . . . had . . . come to this. I must say, I . . . I am deeply disappointed.”
“Can you not be happy for Lewis and me?”
He stared at her, bewildered. “That I cannot do. Nor can I stand by and watch the two of you and pretend . . .” He slowly shook his head. “I think, after all, I shall sail for Barbados without delay.”
“Then I wish you safe journey, Mr. Upchurch.”
He flinched at her indifference. He shook his head again, stunned and bemused. This was not how he had imagined the events of this day. His gut twisted as he crossed the room. At the door, he turned back. “I wish you never feel as I do at this moment, Miss Macy.” He opened the door, then hesitated. “Or, perhaps . . . I hope you do.”
“Again, I am sor—”
He held up his palm, anger flaring. “Enough. I don’t want your pity. I bid you good-day, madam. And good-bye.”
He turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Nathaniel could still hear it, that door slamming shut in his past . . . and on his fondest dream.
The upper housemaids undertook the lighter jobs,