The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

"Charles Grammond. Some say he wishes to move to Virginia—'tis one of the colonial states to the north—but it is a lame reason, one with little cre­dence, for he knows nothing of the colonies or their customs and manners. He has four children who haven't become a father's pride, all of them sons, none of them ambitious

or willing to work. His wife is difficult, I've heard it said. It's a pity, yes, a pity."

Ryder was certain he'd heard the man's name in the tavern. He said slowly, "I understand that this woman, this Sophia Stanton-Greville, has three men currently in her bed. I seem to recall that one of them is this Charles Grammond."

Grayson flushed to the roots of his gray hair. "You have but just arrived, sir!"

"It is the first topic of conversation I heard at the coffeehouse, the Gold Doubloon, I believe the name is. And I heard it spoken of in great detail."

"No, no, sir, she is a goddess. She is good and pure. It is all a lie. There are many men here who are not gentlemen."

"But it is the gossip, is it not?"

"Yes, it is, but you mustn't believe it, Ryder. No, it's a vicious lie. Don't mistake me. Customs, the local mores, if you will, are different here. All white men have black mistresses. They're called housekeepers here and it is considered a respectable position. I have seen men come from England, some to work on the plantations as bookkeepers, some to earn their fortune, and most change. They take wives and they take mistresses. Their thinking changes. But a lady remains a lady."

"Has your life changed, Grayson?"

"Yes, for a while it certainly did. I was my father's son, after all, but my wife was French and I loved her dearly. Only after her death did I succumb to local custom and take a mistress or a housekeeper. Life here is different, Ryder, very different."

Ryder subsided, letting his body relax and roll gently in the comfortable Spanish saddle. He closed his eyes a moment, breathing in the salty fresh smell of the sea, the coastline no longer obscured by thick clumps of mangrove. "Why is Grammond selling out then, in your opinion?"

"I'm not completely certain, but there are, of course, rumors. It was a sudden decision, that I do know. He and his family are leaving next week, I have heard it said. The plantation is quite profitable. It is said he lost a lot of money to Lord David Lochridge, a young wastrel with whom you must avoid gambling, sir, at all costs. It is said he has sold his soul to the devil, and thus his incredible luck."

Ryder turned to face Samuel Grayson, saying in a meditative voice, "There is every bit as much talk here as there is in England. I had believed to be bored. Perhaps we will have some mysterious mani­festations this very night, to welcome me here. Yes, I should enjoy even a ghostly spectacle, if it is poss­ible. Isn't this young Lord David reputed also to be one of her lovers?"

Ryder wondered if Grayson would have an apo­plectic attack. He opened his mouth, realized that his employer was seated next to him and closed it. He managed to say in a fairly calm way, "I repeat, Ryder, all of it is nonsense. Her uncle, Theodore Burgess, is a solid man, as we say here in Jamaica. His reputation is good. He is amiable, his business dealings honorable. He loves his niece and nephew very much. I imagine that the vicious rumors of Miss Stanton-Greville's reputation hurt him very much. He never speaks of it, of course, for he is a gentle­man. His overseer, however, is another matter. His name is Eli Thomas and he is a rotten fellow, overly cruel to the slaves."

"If Uncle Burgess is such a fine man, why does he have this crooked stick as his overseer?"

"I don't know. Some say he must have Thomas else the plantation wouldn't make any money. Bur­gess is too easy on the slaves, you see."

"And this Charles Grammond is selling out to the woman's uncle? This Theodore Burgess?"

"Yes. Perhaps Burgess feels pity for Grammond and is simply buying the plantation to assist him and his family. Burgess is the younger brother of Miss Sophia and Master Jeremy's mother."

"How do the girl and boy happen to be here on Jamaica?"

"Their parents were drowned some five years ago. The children were made wards of their uncle."

"I haven't heard the name Stanton-Greville. Are they English?"

"Yes. They lived in Fowey, in Cornwall. The house and grounds are in a caretaker's hands until the boy is old enough to manage for himself."

Ryder was silent, chewing over all the facts. So the girl had been raised in Cornwall. And now she was here and she was a tart. His thinking turned back to the problem that had brought him here. Ryder strongly doubted the supernatural had any­thing to do with the problems occurring at Kimberly Hall. Oh no, greed was the same all over the world. Gaining one's greedy ends evidently conformed to local custom. He said, "Did Mr. Grammond have any problems before he agreed to sell to this Burgess?"

"Not that I know of. Oh, I see the direction of your thoughts, Ryder, but I cannot credit them. Burgess, as I said, has a fine reputation; he is honest; he gives to local charities. No, if Grammond were having financial problems or if he were being besieged as we are at Kimberly, Burgess certainly wouldn't be behind it."

Ryder wondered if Grayson spoke so positively about the Sherbrookes. He'd never met a man before in his life who deserved such accolades. Well, he would soon see. The island was small; society inter­mingled continuously and he would meet this Mr. Burgess and his niece soon enough.

Grayson directed them inland, away from the blessed breeze from the water. The air was heavy with dirt and the sickly sweet smell of the sugar­cane. They came shortly to the top of a rise and he looked back at the Caribbean, stretched as far as the eye could see, brilliant blue, topaz in shallower water, silver-capped waves rolling onto the white beaches. He wanted nothing more than to strip off his clothes and swim in the Caribbean until he sank like a stone.

"All this is Sherbrooke land, sir. Ah, look upward at the top of the rise, in amongst the pink cas­sias." He heard Ryder suck in his breath and smiled. "They're also called pink shower trees. They're at their most beautiful right now. And there are gold­en shower trees, and mango trees and the ever-present palm trees. There, sir, just beyond is the great house. You cannot see it from here, but the coastline curves quite sharply just yon and is quite close to the back of the house."

Ryder drew in his breath yet again.

"Most of the great plantation houses here on Jamaica are built in the traditional manner of three stories and huge Doric columns, only here we have verandas and balconies off nearly every room, for fresh air, you understand. You will see that all the bedchambers are at the back of the house and all have balconies that face the water. The back lawn slopes down to the beach and is always well tended. You will be able to sleep, even in the deepest part of the summer, though I think you're doubting that right now."

"You're right about that," Ryder said, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand.