Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“The males slaves wear only short trousers, some even loincloths. I can’t imagine that Brent would want you eyeing his property.”

But Brent was thinking about the unhealthy part. He remembered well the conditions in the fields. There was a chance of infection, and he had no intention of allowing Byrony to expose herself.

“No, Byrony,” he said. “You will remain here, or visit the local ladies with Laurel.”

As they were walking from the dining room after lunch, Byrony laid her hand on Brent’s sleeve. “May I speak to you before you leave?”

“Very well. Shall we go into the library?” She was silent a moment, and he added in a deeply drawling voice, “Would you prefer the bedroom? Perhaps you would have another surprise for me?”

“The library.”

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “What is your pleasure, sweetheart?”

“Did you not say that I have the responsibility for the house?”

“Did I? You seem so certain, that I must have.”

He saw the frustration in her eyes. “Yes, Byrony, you are the mistress of Wakehurst. Come, you didn’t need to ask me that.”

“I need to spend money for material for clothes. The servants have only one allotment of cloth a year, Brent, and it’s wool! It must be utterly wretched for them in the summer months. And I need to hire a seamstress. I wasn’t certain if I needed your permission. Laurel said that I would.”

“Yes,” he said, “you do need my permission.”

“Do I have it?”

He flicked a bit of lint from his coat sleeve. “Your request sounds reasonable enough.” He heard her sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Brent.”

“There is one thing, Byrony. Normally, in the South, expenses are handled through the overseer. However, I wish everything to be cleared through me. I do not want you ever to speak to Frank Paxton about any money needs you might have. Do you understand?”

“It would never have occurred to me to ask Frank Paxton for anything. Why may I not accompany you this afternoon?”

“Because I said so.” he knew he sounded curt, but he didn’t want her to worry, and he knew she would if he told her his reasons. “Now, my dear, if there’s nothing else, I will bid you a fond farewell.” He opened the door, then paused. “Oh, Byrony, if you take a rest this afternoon, think of me, all right?”

Again he paused, his eyes searching her face. “You might also think about anything you wish to say to me during your pleasure, that is. I truly would like to know what you think.”

He left her standing alone in the middle of the library, trying to fathom what was in his mind. He’s a man, you silly ninny, and a man doesn’t have to make sense.

Byrony didn’t nap that afternoon, though she thought about it. Word had gotten about that the new missis was providing the slaves with clothes. Several women slaves, so tired and miserable-looking that Byrony wanted to cry, approached her. She was still taken aback at their flow of outrageous flattery to the little missis, the beautiful, kind little missis. Ophelia, ebony-black and so bent she came to Byrony’s shoulder, begged for an allotment of meat for her six children. Shy, furtive Sabilla was pregnant and her back hurt her so badly from the field work that she was afraid she would lose the child. It was her first child and she was only fifteen. Old Die wanted relief from her work because of all the canker sores on her body. The list went on and on. Byrony felt helpless to the point of tears at their plight. To each she repeated that she would speak to the master. She was in her bathtub, thinking longingly of San Francisco and her friends. What would Saint say, she wondered, if he were confronted with all the misery? She would tell him about it when they returned home. Ah yes, home as Maggie, the Saxtons, the Newtons—

Laurel walked lazily into the bedroom.

“Doesn’t one knock in the South?” Byrony asked, pushing back wet hair that had escaped the cluster tied atop her head.

“I told you what would happen,” Laurel said, disregarding Byrony’s words. “I can’t imagine Brent appreciating you mucking in his affairs.”

“Laurel, these people are wretched. It staggers me that human beings are treated worse than animals.”

“What is Brent going to do with Wakehurst?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

“Oh, I will, you may be certain of that. Where did you grow up, anyway, to be such a pious little preacher?”

“In Boston.”

“Ah.” Laurel gave her a long look, then turned to leave. At the door she said over her shoulder, “You do realize, don’t you, that several of the slaves who spoke to you today are field slaves. Each field slave has so much to accomplish every day. If they don’t complete their work, they’re flogged.”