Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

“That’s about it.” Clay grinned. “You make it sound like something desirable.”

“I could think of worse situations. Being a lonely bachelor like me, for instance.”

Clay snorted. Wes was far from needing more women in his life.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Wes grinned, and slapped Clay on the leg. “I’ll meet both women and take one of them off your hands. You can have whichever one I don’t want, and that way you won’t have to choose between them.” He was teasing, but Clay was serious, and Wes frowned. He didn’t like to see his friend so troubled. “Come on, Clay, it’s bound to work out for the best.”

“I don’t know,” Clay said. “I don’t seem to be sure of anything lately.”

Wes stood up, rubbing his back where the bark had bitten into his skin. “Is this Nicole still at the mill? Do you think I could meet her?” He saw a sudden flash go across Clay’s eyes.

“Sure. She’s there with Janie. I’m sure she’d welcome you. She seems to keep open house for everyone.” There was a trace of disgust in his voice.

Wes promised Clay he’d return to Arundel Hall later for some of Maggie’s cooking. Then he mounted his horse and rode toward the wharf. He rode slowly over the familiar path so he could think. Seeing Clay again after so many months had been a shock. It was almost as if he’d been talking to a stranger. As boys, the two had spent a lot of time together. Then, suddenly, a cholera epidemic had killed Clay’s parents and Wes’s father. Wes’s mother died a short time later. The two families of James and Clay, Travis and Wesley had been drawn closer together by their mutual tragedies. There were long periods of separation as the young men worked the two plantations, but they’d gotten together whenever possible.

Wes smiled as he remembered a party at Arundel Hall when both Clay and Wes were sixteen. The boys had bet each other they could each get one of the luscious Canton twins behind the hedges. They’d both succeeded easily, except that Travis found out about it and grabbed each boy by the scruff of the neck and pitched them into the tile pool.

What had happened to that Clayton? Wes wondered. The Clay he knew would have laughed at this absurd situation with the two women. He would have grabbed the one he wanted and carried her upstairs. He knew the man who arranged the kidnapping of an English lady, but the man who acted as if he were afraid to go home was a stranger.

He dismounted his horse under a tree by the wharf, then unsaddled him. His guess was that what was wrong with him was the Frenchwoman. He’d said she was working for Bianca—her maid, no doubt. Somehow, she’d arranged to substitute herself for Bianca and had gotten herself married to a rich American. No doubt, she was now somehow blackmailing Clay into keeping her as his wife. So far, she’d already managed to get the mill and some property out of him.

And what about Bianca? Wes felt a surge of pity for the woman. She’d come to America expecting to be married to the man she loved, only to find someone else in her place.

He tied his horse and then went to the rowboat and rowed himself across. He was quite familiar with the mill, as it had been one of his favorite places when he was a boy. He smiled as he saw the twins crouched by the bank of the river, intent upon the complete lack of movement of a bored bullfrog.

“What are you two doing?” he demanded sharply.

The twins jumped in unison, then turned and smiled up at him. “Uncle Wes!” they yelled, giving him the honorary title. They scrambled up the bank to where he waited with open arms.

Wes grabbed them both by the waists and swung them around while they giggled uproariously. “Did you miss me?”

“Oh, yes,” Mandy laughed. “Uncle Clay is always gone now, but Nicole is here.”

“Nicole?” Wes asked. “You like her, do you?”

“She’s pretty,” Alex said. “She used to be married to Uncle Clay, but I don’t know if she is now.”

“Of course she is,” Mandy said. “She’s always married to Uncle Clay.”

Wes set the children down on the ground. “Is she at the house?”

“I think so. Sometimes she’s at the mill.”

Wes rubbed the heads of both children. “I’ll see you later. Maybe you can go back across the river with me. I’m meeting your Uncle Clay for supper.”

The twins backed away from him as if he were poisonous. “We stay here now,” Alex said. “We don’t have to go back there.”

Before Wes could ask any questions, the children turned and ran into the woods. He walked up the hill to the little house. Janie was inside, alone, intent over the spinning wheel. Wes opened the door silently and tiptoed behind her. He planted a loud kiss on her neck.

Janie didn’t move or act surprised in any way. “Nice to see you again, Wes,” she said calmly. She turned to him with twinkling eyes. “It’s a good thing you weren’t born an Indian. You couldn’t sneak up on a tornado. I heard you outside with the twins.” She stood up and hugged him.

Wes hugged her hard, lifting her feet off the ground. “You certainly haven’t been starving yourself,” he laughed.

“But you have. You’re getting downright skinny. Sit down, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Not much. I’m supposed to meet Clay for supper.”

“Humph!” Janie said as she filled a bowl with split pea soup with chunks of ham. On a plate she put cold, cracked crab legs and beside that a little bowl of melted butter. “You’d better eat here, then. Maggie’s on the warpath, and her cooking’s not what it can be.”