Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Yeah, I’ll just bet you have things for her, Brent thought, disgusted. “She’s been assigned to my wife as her maid,” he said. For a moment he thought Paxton would object. His thin lips pursed and his pale gray eyes narrowed. But he held his peace.

“The girl’s awfully young to wait on your wife,” was all he said.

Young enough to be your daughter, Brent thought. She was even a bit young for Josh, but at least he loved her, wanted to marry her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Brent said, and turned

away.

Two hours later, all the Hammonds left Wakehurst for Natchez, a carriage ride of ten miles along the bluffs overlooking the river.

“Did you enjoy your ride with Drew, my dear?” Laurel asked Byrony.

“It was informative,” Byrony said.

“Oh?” Her one drawled-out word carrying a wealth of innuendo.

“Indeed,” Drew said easily. “I had intended showing Byrony the lovely flora and fauna, but she wanted to see the slaves’ compound. She was greeted royally, since she is, of course, the mistress of Wakehurst.” Drew saw Laurel’s lips purse, and continued to his brother, “I understand you and Josh spent most of the night together, old man, talking over bygone days.”

Brent grinned at his wife. “Yes, that and current events, as it were. Josh is the headman,” he added for Byrony’s benefit. “We grew up together. Josh was fascinated by my stories of California. I hope he and Lizzie will accompany us when we return to San Francisco.”

“When you return to San Francisco,” Laurel repeated.

“I thought California was a free state,” Drew said on a frown.

“It is.”

“Surely you don’t mean to free him, Brent,” Laurel said. “Why, he’s worth at least three thousand dollars.”

“True enough,” Brent said.

“And Lizzie. She’s a strong girl and still a virgin—”

“I should trust so. She’s only thirteen years old.”

“Come, Brent,” Laurel said, anger surfacing now, “even though you’ve been gone awhile, you must know that the plantation can’t exist without slaves. And Frank Paxton wants Lizzie, if Drew doesn’t take her first.”

All eyes turned abruptly toward Byrony, whose incredulous gasp hung in the silence.

“No,” she said. “You can’t mean that, Laurel. Frank Paxton is a white man, and he’s old. Surely he doesn’t—”

She was cut off by Laurel’s high, patronizing laugh. She reached out a lavender-gloved hand and patted Byrony’s knee. “My dear, you have quite a bit to learn about our ways. Slaves are dealt with as one sees fit.”

“Laurel is perfectly right, Byrony,” Brent said. “And I’ve dealt with Lizzie as I deemed appropriate. She will remain your personal maid until we leave or until I decide otherwise. She will not share Paxton’s bed.”

Brent intercepted Byrony’s look filled with warmth and gratitude. Did she think she was the only one who found the prospect repulsive? He could well imagine how the slaves greeted her that morning. Petitions, requests for cloth, food, easier work. He wondered cynically if it had made her feel like the lady bountiful.

Laurel said, “Are you certain you’re saving the girl for Josh? Or do you want her for yourself, Brent? Your father told me stories of all the slave girls you took to your bed.”

Brent reached over and calmly grasped Byrony’s hand in his. “Boys will be boys, right, Laurel? Now, enough. Byrony, did you know that the Spanish owned all this territory until 1795? I believe I mentioned that to you, didn’t I? Thus the Spanish influence at Wakehurst.”

“Yes,” Byrony said quietly, “you did.”

Brent continued talking of the different landmarks they passed. She felt again that he’d outflanked her. Why hadn’t he simply told her that he’d spent the night with a friend, a male friend? Would she never understand him? She understood well enough that Laurel was the reason for his distrust of women. Maybe too there had been others during the years before she’d met him. But he had to know that she hadn’t married him to use him, for heaven’s sake. She heard him ask Drew, “Do you intend to remain at Wakehurst or return to Europe?”

“I’ll probably return to Paris. I couldn’t leave, though, until I’d seen you again.”

“I am glad you stayed. So you wish to pursue your art and not become a plantation owner?”