Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

“I think they’re tied,” Nicole laughed, glad to change the subject. “But would you like to hear about my plans for a new red cloak?”

It was a rule of Virginia house parties that all of the guests took care of themselves. There was food constantly in view, every game imaginable, servants to help with every wish. So, when the horn sounded for the morning’s races to begin, the women felt free to leave Bianca to herself when she refused their invitations to attend the races with them. But Bianca’s eyes couldn’t leave the food on the tables. That horrible Maggie had all but refused to cook for her after Clay had left.

“Are you the Maleson woman I been hearin’ about?”

Bianca looked across the plate she was filling to the t

all man. He was thin to the point of emaciation. His worn, dirty coat hung on him. His face was obscured by long, straggling black hair and a thin black beard. His nose was large, his lips almost nonexistent, but his eyes were like two black coals peering out of the brush of beard and hair. His eyes were small and so close together that the inner corners seemed to overlap.

Bianca grimaced and looked away from the man.

“I asked you a question, woman! Are you a Maleson?”

She glared at him. “I don’t see that it’s any concern of yours. Now let me pass.”

“A glutton!” he said, eying her heaping platter. “Gluttony is a sin, and you’ll pay for it.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call someone.”

“Pa, let me talk to her. I think she’s kinda pretty.”

Bianca looked with interest at the man who now stepped from behind his father. He was a strong, healthy young man, no more than twenty-five years old, but unfortunately with his father’s face. The little dark eyes went over Bianca’s soft white body.

“Our mother’s maiden name was Maleson. We heard you was gonna marry Clayton Armstrong, and we wrote you in England. I don’t know if you ever got the letter or not.”

Bianca remembered the letter quite well. So this was the riffraff that dared to claim to be related to her. “I received no letter.”

“The wages of sin are death!” the old man said in a voice that would carry across the plantation.

“Pa, those people over there are gamblin’ and bettin’ on horses. You oughtta go talk to them while we get to know our cousin.”

Bianca turned and walked away from the group. She had no intention of talking with any of them. She had no more than sat down when two young men came to sit by her. Across from her sat the man who’d spoken before, and beside her was another man, a shorter, younger boy, about sixteen. The boy’s looks were softened by lighter-colored eyes, the shape of them rounder, farther apart.

“This here’s Isaac,” said the older son, “and I’m Abraham Simmons. That man was our pa.” He nodded to the old man hurrying toward the racetrack with a large Bible under his arm. “Pa don’t care nothin’ about anythin’ except preachin’. But Ike and me got other plans.”

“Would you please go somewhere else? I would like to enjoy my breakfast.”

“That’s enough for three meals, lady,” Ike said.

“You sure are uppity, ain’t you?” Abe said. “You’d think you’d be glad to talk to us, bein’ as we’re related and all.”

“I am not related to you!” Bianca said fiercely.

Abe leaned away from the table and stared at her. His little beady eyes narrowed until they were only slits of black light. “It don’t look to me like you’re over-flowin’ with friends. We heard you was to marry Armstrong and own Arundel Hall.”

“I am mistress of the Armstrong plantation,” she said smugly between mouthfuls.

“Then who’s that pretty little woman Clay says is his wife?”

Bianca set her jaw as she chewed steadily. She was still burning over the fact that Clay had left her to take Nicole with him. He’d behaved strangely toward her after the night that nice Mr. Wesley Stanford had joined them for supper. Clay had seemed to be watching her constantly since then, and Bianca had begun to feel ill at ease. She’d broached the idea of adding a wing to the house, and he’d merely sat and stared at her. Bianca had angrily left the room. She vowed she’d repay him for his rudeness.

Then suddenly he’d left the plantation. She was glad when he was gone; his constant presence made her nervous. She’d spent hours planning menus for her meals while he was gone. She was livid when that disgusting Maggie prepared less than half the dishes she’d ordered. While she was in the kitchen telling the cook that if she valued her job she’d better get busy, Wesley reappeared. He told her of the party and that Clay had taken Nicole.

Reluctantly, Bianca had readied herself to travel to the Backes’s plantation early the next morning. How dare that horrible Nicole try to take what was hers! She’d show her! All she had to do was smile at Clay, and he’d act like he did the first night he saw her. Oh, yes, she knew what charms the women of her family had.

“The woman was once my maid,” Bianca said loftily.

“Your maid!” Abe laughed. “It looks like she’s Clay’s maid now.”