Veil of Pearls Page 24

  “Trying to spur you on.” Franklin huffed, pointing his cigar at him. “Encourage you to do better.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “Ah, good. You’ve finally grown a spine. Believe me, you’ll need it to run this place.” Franklin marched to his desk and glanced at a group of papers. “We’ll start with the books first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Morgan swallowed down what felt like a brick. It landed in his belly like ballast in a ship’s hold. Running the estate would keep Morgan landlocked, imprisoning him in a life worse than death. A life of ledgers and planting and harvesting and managing and lording it over a swarm of slaves and servants who would hate him for his position and power.

  He shifted his stance and gripped the back of the chair. This was the first time his father had displayed an ounce of confidence in him. Part of Morgan came to life beneath his approval.

  And part of him felt as though he was about to make a pact with the devil.

  Speaking of the devil, a devilishly grand idea occurred to Morgan. For the first time in his life, he may have the upper hand with his father. He lengthened his stance and met his father’s critical glare. “I came here to discuss Miss Winston. I intend to court her formally.”

  Franklin stared at him as if Morgan had asked to marry a horse. “She’s comely, I’ll give her that. So bed her and get her out of your system. But courting? Marriage? Impossible! Miss Emerald has always been our choice for you. She has every quality benefitting a man of your pedigree and status. Not to mention a substantial dowry. We cannot risk tainting our blood with a woman we know very little about or even who her parents were.” His face folded in his usual disapproving frown. “Marry Miss Emerald, and keep this tart on the side if you must.”

  Blood surged into Morgan’s fists. “Do not speak of her in that way.”

  Franklin chortled, a wicked sort of incredulous chortle. He stood to his full imposing height, planting his knuckles on his desk, leaning toward Morgan. “If you marry that commoner, you will never see a penny of the Rutledge fortune.”

  Standing on the front porch of the Rutledge home, Emerald handed Hadley a glass of cool tea. “Here, drink this. Perhaps it will dilute the alcohol in your blood.”

  Taking the glass, Hadley set it down and slouched back in the chair, his eyes closed against what he claimed was the worst headache of his life. “Never fear, Emerald, once my father rejects Miss Winston, that will be the end of her.”

  The sorrow in his voice reminded Emerald that much the same thing had happened with Hadley’s infatuation with Miss Sarah. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Morgan would not be willing to forsake everything for the petty chit. But the man had been acting so befuddled lately, she couldn’t take the chance. She must follow through with her plan.

  Turning, she gazed over the oaks lining the front drive, watching the Spanish moss sway in the breeze.

  “Enjoying the scenery?” Mr. Saville’s sudden appearance beside Emerald gave her a start.

  “Where have you been?” she snapped.

  “Good day to you as well.” He gave a mock bow.

  Emerald sighed. “Have you heard back from the Miles Plantation?”

  “It’s far too soon.” He shrugged and ran a finger over both sides of his mustache. “And I can find nothing incriminating about the woman either. She is a saint. She won’t steal, she works hard, she has no lovers, and she won’t drink unless fooled.” His voice was incredulous, as if the very idea of not partaking in at least one of those vices was beyond his comprehension.

  “What about her past? Surely there’s something.”

  “All I can discover is that she came here from the islands. Jamaica, they say.” He withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed his neck. “But my inquiries have come up empty. Apparently her family was not prominent, for no one on the island recalls the Winston name.”

  “Well, of course, her family was not prominent. That’s the bloody point.” Emerald huffed, feeling her insides tangle into a hopeless knot. “Nothing seems to work. I try to make her sick, and her kindness causes me to poison my friend, Caroline.” Guilt pinched Emerald once again for the unfortunate incident. “She returns your money, Fabian, and Morgan’s admiration for her rises. She drinks too much, and Morgan protects and defends her. Everything I do, every plan to separate them, only draws them closer.”

  “Perhaps you should stop trying,” Hadley mumbled.

  She gave him a venomous look, but his eyes were still closed.

  “Are you sure this new plan will work?” Fabian asked, leaning back on the porch railing.

  “I have no idea. But I won’t waste the opportunity.”

  “But we’ve sent the letter.” He shrugged, running a finger through the lace at his sleeve. “Perhaps that is all you need.”

  “Who knows if anything will come of it?” Emerald gave him a look of disgust. For goodness’ sake, did he or did he not want to punish Morgan?

  Fabian pursed his lips. “You know I’d do anything to get back at Morgan. But poor Miss Winston—I have no beef with her.”

  “Don’t be such a ninny, Fabian. She will not be harmed.”

  Hadley chuckled.

  Emerald found her patience wearing thin. “Just hide behind the dressing screen. If she doesn’t disrobe, you know what to do.”

  “How will you get her to follow you?” Fabian shifted his hips and wiped dust from his coat. “She doesn’t exactly trust you.”

  “Caroline will help. She does whatever I ask.”

  “Hmm, must be nice.” He gave a devilish grin.

  “You just do what you’re told, and I’ll bring Morgan along at the right time.” Then turning on her heels, she headed into the house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Adalia threw a hand to her throat to stifle the shriek rising to her lips. Morgan’s father had certainly made his feelings clear. Heart hammering in her chest, she hesitated at the door, listening, waiting to hear Morgan’s answer. Waiting—with her heart in the balance—for him to tell his father that his wealth and position meant nothing to him if he couldn’t have her.

  But only silence slunk from the room. That and the light notes of the orchestra and the prattle of the partygoers drifting in from outside. The paneled hallway began to spin, and she leaned her head on the wall when the door jerked open, and Morgan stormed out of the library down the hall, his face bunched tight in anger. He hadn’t seen her.

  And she didn’t want to see him right now. He had not countered his father’s threat! He had not stood up for her. Tears blurred her vision as Adalia tore down the hallway, pushing her way past servants and guests, with one thought on her mind. Leaving. She had to get away from this place—this world where she didn’t belong. From Morgan. She’d been a fool. A complete and utter fool! Wiping her face, she barreled around the corner toward the front foyer.

  A figure leapt from the side. Miss Emerald plowed into her with a shriek. Orange liquid splashed over the front of Adalia’s gown. She gasped and stared down at the mess as Caroline hurried up to her, a horrified look on her face.

  Emerald clicked her tongue. “My, my, my, look what you have done. Well, at least you didn’t spill any on me. Caroline, would you take Miss Winston upstairs to Mrs. Rutledge’s dressing room and try and salvage this lovely gown?”

  “No, that’s quite alright.” Adalia refused Caroline’s outstretched hand. “I’m very sorry, Emerald. This was all my fault. But, I must go.” She tried to push past the ladies, hoping they hadn’t seen the tears in her eyes.

  “Nonsense, Miss Winston.” Emerald looked truly alarmed. “This fabric will stain if you don’t take care of it immediately. It will only take a moment.”

  Caroline looped an arm through Adalia’s and smiled, tugging her toward the stairway. “Come along. It will be all right.”

  “I’ll send up the chambermaid,” Emerald called after them.

  Though suspicion rankled across Adalia’s mind at what Emerald might be up to, she had no reason to doubt Caroli
ne. Besides, Emerald was right. There was no sense in ruining her new gown. And she could use the time to gather her emotions before she saw Morgan. Now that her mind had stopped reeling, she realized she had neither horse nor carriage to take her home.

  She depended entirely on the man who’d just ripped her heart in two.

  Still in a daze, Adalia allowed Caroline to lead her upstairs and into a room at the far end of the hall. Thick velvet curtains draped elegantly around windows through which sunlight streamed onto a Turkish carpet. Paintings of ladies in finery hung above dressing screens and vanities littered with powders and perfumes.

  Caroline closed the door and started unbuttoning Adalia’s gown.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to remove your gown, so the maid can treat it properly.”

  “No, please.” Adalia spun around. “I’ll keep it on.”

  Caroline gazed at her curiously. “Don’t be shy. It will be far easier with it off.”

  A knock sounded, and an older lady entered, wearing a plain dress and a mobcap and carrying a rag and some jars in her hand. “Oh, my goodness,” she said as she approached.

  “She wants to keep her gown on,” Caroline stated.

  “Very well, I’ll do what I can. Have a seat, miss.”

  Adalia slid onto one of the cushioned chairs, glad to take the weight off of her trembling legs. Still trembling from anger and sorrow. She wiped the remaining moisture from her eyes and drew in a deep breath while the maid went to work.

  “Powdered starch and vinegar should do the trick,” the woman said as she fluffed out Adalia’s skirts and sprinkled white powder on the stains. “But you’ll have to wash it properly when you get home.”

  “Are you all right, Miss Winston?” Caroline knelt to look up at her. “You seem out of sorts, and your eyes are red.” She took her hand. “It was only an accident. Nothing to be overwrought about.”

  Muffled voices came from the hallway. One of them male. And it sounded like Morgan.

  Adalia’s heart caught in her throat. Movement behind one of the dressing screens in the corner drew her gaze. Fabian Saville stepped out from behind it, his eyes on the door and, his face tight.

  The maid gasped. Caroline jumped to her feet. “What are you doing here, Fabian? Get out at once!”

  Ignoring her, Fabian, a determined, nearly frightened look on his face, dashed toward Adalia and just as the door opened, grabbed the collar of her gown and tore it down her back. The force of his wrench ripped her petticoat and chemise as well, leaving her back exposed for all to see.

  Morgan entered the room, Emerald on his heels. His quick glance shifted over Adalia, Caroline, and finally Mr. Saville. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Mr. Saville grinned.

  Morgan stormed toward him. “What are you doing in a ladies’ dressing room, Fabian? And with Miss Winston and Miss Caroline?”

  Saville backed away and held up his hands. “Just showing you the truth.”

  Emerald, her face aglow with delight, rushed over to Adalia and pointed at her back. “See, Morgan! See the stripes on her back?”

  Adalia tried to stand, but her legs gave out. She attempted to shift her back away as Morgan’s gaze bounced from Emerald to Adalia. Finally, he cornered the chair she sat upon and studied the bare flesh on her back. Lowering her face, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression, not able to stand the disgust, the repulsion she knew would be there.

  “What?” was all she heard him say. But then something unexpected proceeded from his mouth.

  “Did you tear her gown, sir?” “I did.”

  “And you! You forced me up here to see this.”

  Emerald groaned. “I tried to tell you, Morgan, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “This means nothing!” Morgan huffed.

  Adalia opened her eyes, wondering if she were hearing things. Her gaze met his, and the concern she saw in them took her aback. But then that concern turned to fury as he faced Mr. Saville.

  “Tearing a lady’s gown! You have gone too far, Fabian!” He slowly made his way over to the fop, anger seething in the air around him. “Spiking a lady’s drink and now this … this I cannot let pass without repercussion.”

  One cultured brow rose. “Grand! A duel, perhaps?”

  Clutching the man by his cravat, Morgan dragged him out of the room. Mr. Saville’s protests and groans faded down the hall.

  With a tight purse of her lips and a lift of her chin, Emerald followed after them. The maid finally rose and began muttering under her breath.

  Caroline turned to Adalia, a stricken look on her comely features. “I’m sorry, Miss Winston, I didn’t know what they had planned.” She handed her a shawl.

  Adalia smiled. “I believe you.” Yet she didn’t know what to believe about what had just happened. No time to think now. She had to stop Morgan from killing Fabian. Swinging the shawl over her shoulders, she grabbed Caroline’s hand and darted from the room.

  Morgan slammed his fist across the man’s jaw, sending him flying over the porch railing into a huckleberry bush.

  Emerald let out a tiny shriek.

  Hadley, who had been sitting in a chair on the porch when Morgan dragged Fabian outside, chuckled and rubbed his forehead.

  The other guests mulling about turned to stare.

  Morgan thundered down the steps just as Fabian rose from the bushes, curses shooting from his lips and twigs littering his fine coat.

  Grabbing his lapels, Morgan plucked him from the shrubbery. “You are a cad, sir.”

  “Only trying to help, ole chap. Since you are obviously too beef-witted to believe the truth.” Fabian smiled at the crowd growing around them.

  Incensed, Morgan drew back to strike him again, but Fabian slammed his fist into Morgan’s belly. Doubling over, Morgan tumbled backward, allowing the pain to feed his anger.

  Adalia appeared on the top step. “Stop it this instant!” She stomped her foot.

  Fabian shook his hand, wincing, though a smirk remained on his face. Morgan started for him, but strong arms held him back. Hadley blocked his way, one hand on Morgan’s chest, one hand rubbing his temples. “You should settle this like gentlemen.”

  “As I have been telling him.” Fabian flung a hand in the air, his tone victorious.

  The fiend was right. For once. “Indeed, you shall finally have your satisfaction.” Jerking from his brother’s grip, Morgan wiped the sweat from his brow and narrowed his eyes. “You have insulted Miss Winston. I demand reparation. Pistols or swords?”

  “Why, pistols of course.” The confidence in Fabian’s tone ignited Morgan’s alarm. Why had he given him the choice? Morgan was much more proficient at swords.

  “Then I shall see you at dawn.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Weaving around a newly arrived phaeton, Adalia headed down the driveway, ignoring the stares that followed her. No doubt the elite were anxious for their daily entertainment from the lowly maid who’d forced her way into their formidable circle.

  A duel? The thought of it, the thought of anything happening to Morgan, caused the blood to race from her heart. Foolish man! Foolish, wonderful man! One minute he was unwilling to lose his fortune for her, the next he was willing to lose his life. Nothing made sense anymore. She didn’t know whether to be furious with him or love him all the more.

  Good heavens, he had seen her scars! What he must be thinking. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away. She had been so looking forward to this party, to this day, and now everything was ruined.

  Boot steps pounded behind her. She hastened her pace.

  “Adalia. Please stop.”

  “Go back to your guests, Morgan.”

  “Adalia.” Gripping her arm, he swung her about.

  Gone was the charming smile that graced his lips. In its stead, a mixture of panic and remorse thundered across his face. “Why are you leaving? If it’s because I fought, I had to defend your honor.”


  “But a duel, Morgan? You could die.”

  “I won’t. Fabian is a featherhead.”

  Yet Adalia saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  “Besides, he’s been begging me to duel for years.”

  “It’s far too dangerous. Go tell him you won’t do it. I’m not worth it.”

  Morgan grabbed her shoulders. “What are you saying? Of course you are.”

  She jerked from his grip. “Worth dying for but not worth losing your fortune over!”