Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

He turned to Nicole and offered her his arm.

Nicole had never seen him in anything except work clothes. Now the man who cut tobacco was transformed into a gentleman worthy of Versailles.

He seemed to understand her hesitation, and he grinned broadly. “I certainly want to seem worthy of appearing with the world’s most beautiful bride, don’t I?”

Nicole smiled up at him, glad she’d taken such care with her dress. Her gown was made of white lingerie silk, very fine and heavenly to touch. It had been hand-embroidered in England with tiny gold-brown jonquils. The bodice was velvet of the same rich, deep gold as the flowers. The collar and cuffs were trimmed in white piping. Her dark curls were entwined with ribbons of gold and white.

As Roger tied the sloop to one of the wharfs at the end of the Backes’s property, Clay said, “I almost forgot! I have something for you.” He reached inside his pocket and produced the gold locket she’d left on the ship so long ago.

Nicole clutched it tightly in her hands, then smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me properly later,” he said, and kissed her forehead. Then he turned to toss baskets to Roger who stood on the edge of the wharf. He held her close for a moment when he lifted her to the wharf.

“Here they are!” someone yelled as they walked toward the house.

“Clay! We thought maybe she was deformed, the way you keep her hidden away.”

“I keep her hidden for the same reason I hide my brandy. Too much exposure isn’t good for brandy or wives,” Clay shouted back.

Nicole looked down at her hands. She was puzzled by this new Clay, by his announcement to the world that she was his wife. It made her feel almost as if she were.

“Hello,” Ellen Backes said. “Clay, let me have her for a while. You’ve had her for months.”

Reluctantly, Clay released her hand. “You won’t forget me, will you?” he said as he winked at her. Then he followed several men toward a race track. She saw him take a long, deep drink out of a stoneware jug.

“You certainly have done wonders with him,” Ellen said. “I haven’t seen Clay so happy since before James and Beth died. It’s almost as if he’d been away for a long time but now he’s come home.”

Nicole could say nothing in reply. The laughing, teasing Clay of today was a stranger to her. Ellen never gave her a chance to speak before she started introducing her to people. Nicole was bombarded with questions about her clothes, her family, how she had met Clay, where they’d been married. She didn’t lie actually, but neither did she tell of being kidnapped and forced into marriage.

The front of Ellen’s enormous house faced the river. She’d seen so few American houses, and this one was a surprise. Clay’s house was pure Georgian, but Ellen’s and Horace’s house was a mixture of every architectural style imaginable. It looked as if each generation had added a wing in its favorite style. The house rambled in several directions with long wings, short wings, passageways leading to separate buildings.

Ellen saw Nicole staring at the house. “Remarkable, isn’t it? I think I lived here a year before I learned my way around the inside. It’s much worse inside than out. It has hallways that lead nowhere and doorways that open into other people’s bedrooms. It’s really frightful.”

“And you obviously love it,” Nicole smiled.

“I wouldn’t change a brick, except I’m thinking of adding another wing.”

Nicole looked at her in astonishment, then laughed. “Maybe another story? Not one wing has a fourth story.”

Ellen grinned. “You are a clever child. I think you truly understand my house.”

Someone called Ellen away, and two women began asking Nicole more questions as she helped set up the food. There were at least twenty trestle tables set about the lawn. Some were laden with food; some had benches set by them. Every family seemed to have brought as much food as Nicole and Janie. A pit had been dug, and hundreds of oysters were being roasted. Some slaves were turning a whole hog over a spit and coating it with a tangy sauce. Someone told Nicole it was a Haitian way of cooking called barbeque.

Suddenly, a horn sounded from far across the plantation.

“It’s time!” Ellen yelled, and removed her apron. “The races are about to begin.”

As a body, all the women pulled off aprons, lifted their skirts, and began to run.

“Now that the beauty is here, we can begin,” a man greeted them.

Nicole stood a little aside from the other women, who were gathering at the edge of the carefully tended oval track. Her hair had fallen somewhat in the wild run. She pushed a glossy curl under a ribbon.

“Here, let me,” Clay said from behind her. His hands did very little for the stray curls, but his fingertips on her neck sent little shivers down her spine. He turned her around. “Enjoying yourself?”

She nodded, staring up at him. His hands were on her shoulders, and his face was close to hers.

“My horse is about to run. Would you give me a kiss for luck?”