True Heart (12 page)

Let her worry. He put on a smile he didn't feel. “Where's Virginia?”

“In the kitchen giving the servants their orders for the day.”

“I'll have coffee there if you'll direct me.”

She almost dropped the keys. “The kitchen?”

He took great pride in saying, “We Scots do not stand on ceremony as our English neighbors or our American kinsmen do.”

“My apologies.” She flushed but did not look away, a result he surmised of her position of authority over so many people. “Our kitchen is outside . . . in a separate building. I'll show you the way.”

He followed her, taking particular notice of the way she tried to hide those keys. For a certainty, she disliked playing the accomplice.

“Virginia said she slept on your ship last night. Planting started today, and we in the house have gotten a late start.”

Did she disapprove? Her days of passing judgment on Virginia MacKenzie were over. Quinten Brown had said the Parker-Joneses were a blessing after the old owner. Rafferty had called her softhearted. What the cooper had said about the Morelands' treatment of Virginia made Cameron's blood boil.

He summoned civility. “You needn't apologize. You'll be forced to find a new housekeeper.”

“That had not occurred to me. I am happy you've found Virginia.”

“As are we. One of her sisters is a portrait artist. For a souvenir I had hoped to bring Mary that small painting in your parlor.”

She stopped, suspicion narrowing her eyes.

He assumed an innocent pose. “Unless you are duly fond of it? Mary studied with Sir Joshua Reynolds. She collects art.”

“You may have it.”

“Where is Lady Agnes?”

She started walking again. “Still aboard your ship. Virginia said her sister had recently given birth and hesitated to awaken her.”

“ 'Tis true, Lady Agnes was but days from her travail when we left Scotland.”

“Virginia is very fortunate.”

“She said you had treated her decently.”

“Of course. We are the new owners of Poplar Knoll and not responsible for whatever misfortune brought her here.”

Or the misfortune the Morelands had visited on Virginia, whatever those were. Rafferty hadn't known the details, only that the former mistress had been overly cruel to Virginia. But what had Mrs. Parker-Jones done for her? “You've seen to it that Virginia attends church?”

She faltered, and Cameron felt a flicker of retribution.

“We don't often go to church ourselves.”

A nonanswer. “You did not give Virginia a choice?”

“Of course we did. She just could not go unescorted.”

Not only did she aid Virginia, she worked at it. Cameron's curiosity grew. With a little effort, he could pry the truth from this woman. Would he? No, he wanted Virginia to tell him herself.

Outside, she led him through the kitchen garden and into the orchard. The absence of both servants and noise surprised him. A plantation this large should be bustling with people. He questioned her about it.

“Planting's begun.” Slowing her steps, she lifted her skirts. “Excuse the poor repair of the walkway. We need everyone, even the mason, in the fields.”

He shouldn't toy with her, but he couldn't help himself. “Sunrise to sunset?”

Halting, she turned and faced him squarely. “We must show a profit, sir. Mr. Parker-Jones hasn't a family from which to inherit.”

Against his will, Cameron felt a measure of respect for her. “We will not inconvenience you for long.”

“You're leaving?” Relief softened her features. “I thought the duke of Ross was coming. Captain Brown said Virginia's parents were on their way.”

Lachian would have to know the truth and who better to find the bastard Scot who'd brought Virginia to America and sold her to Moreland. While Lachian was occupied with revenge against Anthony MacGowan, Cameron could turn all of his attention to Virginia. She needed a friend, and since childhood, Cameron had been her closest companion. Yet she purposefully disavowed any knowledge of their longtime affection for each other.

In his heart he hoped her reasons for the ruse were honorable, but he didn't know this Virginia MacKenzie. He would, though. The woman who'd melted in his arms last night and kissed him with unbridled passion was his. She'd always belonged to Cameron, and in his youth much of his ambition had been predicated on that very fact.

“Have events changed?”

In more ways than he could readily count, but Alice Parker-Jones mustn't know that Cameron had happened upon the cooper and learned the truth. Neither would Virginia know.

“Events remain the same. Carry on.” He waved her ahead, his thoughts turning to strategy.

A smoking chimney identified the kitchen among a grouping of small stone buildings. Cameron had to duck to enter the small structure.

The cook, two slave girls of mixed heritage, and the butler faced Virginia, who stopped in midsentence. Startled, she almost dropped the cup she was holding.

Mrs. Parker-Jones hurried to Virginia's side and handed over the keys. “Captain Cunningham insisted on taking coffee with you. I unlocked the front door.”

“Allow me to serve Captain Cunningham,” said Merriweather, moving to the kettle. “I'm certain you'd rather visit with your friend.”

She was thinking about the kiss they'd shared; he could feel her regrets. That wouldn't do. If she wanted to deny what had passed between them, she was in for a surprise, but she wouldn't get it here, with an audience. “You slept well, Virginia?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes glowed with pleasure, and Cameron thought again of how much she resembled her father. But more than MacKenzie blue eyes linked them.

She wiped her hands and addressed the servants. “You all know your jobs. The Parker-Joneses expect you to do them proud.”

Merriweather handed Cameron a steaming cup of coffee but spoke to Virginia. “Your evening report to the mistress will be brief and glowing, my lady.”

“Thank you, Merriweather.”

Getting her alone was Cameron's primary concern. Ignoring the intense scrutiny of the slave girls, he sipped the strong coffee. Over the rim of the cup, he said, “Do you still ride?”

Virginia slipped the key ring over her wrist. “Ride where?”

The slave girls snickered.

“Quiet,” Merriweather ordered. “If Lady Virginia wants to go riding with Captain Cunningham, that's her affair.”

The girls laughed louder.

Merriweather rolled his eyes.

For a moment Virginia looked bewildered. Then she rallied. Clapping her hands, she told the girls to get back to work. To Cameron, she said, “Pardon them. What were you saying?”

“I've never seen a plantation. I hoped you would show it to me.”

Mrs. Parker-Jones was quick to say, “I'm sorry, but all of the horses are in the field.”

Looking to the mistress, Virginia said, “There's the pony. We could take the cart.”

One of the slave girls guffawed. “Gentry don't ride in a cart.”

Merriweather rounded on the girl again. “Mind yourself, Lizziegirl.”

Cameron should have known that they hadn't let Virginia ride. He put down the cup. “We'll have a walk then.”

She almost ran to the door. “Would you like to see the dogwoods?”

“Of course.” He'd agree to tour a workhouse to have her to himself.

She snatched up her shawl and preceded him out the door.

Looking up at him, she quietly said, “I wasn't completely honest with you last night.”

He held his breath, anticipating a confession. But she must have had second thoughts, for she said no more.

“Here are the dogwoods. Aren't they lovely?”

His patience fled. “You were going to say?”

At his sharp tone, her gaze flew to his. “I'm no walkabout girl if that's what you were thinking.”

“Because you kissed me.”

“Ha!”

Overnight she'd found gumption, but he wouldn't allow her to make light of the passion they'd shared.

“I was not embarrassed that
you
kissed
me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“I will not fall into your arms like a ripe plum.”

“Not if I pluck you from the tree first.”

She fluttered her fingers in a dismissing gesture. “I've given that up.”

She'd always been a bold child, quick to plant her feet and stand for her own, even if it was an event so minor as who was first at the well. Her father had affectionately called her Scrapper, an endearment often accompanying the tending of an injury such as a sore scalp from having her hair pulled. With four older sisters, she'd learned early to fight back.

“Affection for me will come back to you in time.”

“Me and any other woman who strikes your fancy.”

Agnes had been talking to her. He'd deal with Agnes when the time was right. “We'll see.”

She pointed a finger at him. “If, and I say that with great conviction—if I fall in love with you, it will be after I discover who I am and where my life will go.”

He believed her. Other truths would have to wait and patience he had in abundance. No more careless remarks like he'd made in the garden last night when he'd expressed relief that she hadn't been in servitude. Agnes had voiced a similar view. But wasn't Virginia bringing it on herself by not telling them the truth? As long as she denied her servitude, hopes spoken in innocence by the ones who loved her had the power to wound. Expressing strong emotions toward injustice was a way of life for her family, for any honorable person, and the MacKenzies of Ross were quality to the core. It was natural for her loved ones to want the best for her, and no one loved her more than he.

“You mustn't be frightened of the future.”

Her anger had cooled. “I'm not frightened, not precisely. I'm just . . .”

He willed her to unburden herself. “Just what?”

She stopped at an arbor covered with white blossoms. Bees swarmed the flowers. “I honestly feared you'd think me a wanton after that kiss.”

Virginia, a tart? Awareness gripped him.

“You look odd,” she said. “What's amiss?”

He told her the truth. “I keep expecting you to answer as the trusting lass I remember, and I'm sorry that I could not watch you grow up.”

Lowering her hand, she curled her fingers. “I'm sorry that I have no recollection of our childhood.”

That hurt. Even phrased as an apology and punctuated with her special fist, the lie wounded him. She remembered perfectly well. “Virginia?” When she did not look up, he raised her chin. “ 'Twas always our plan that I would be the only man to kiss you.”

“You've kissed many women?”

He wanted to look away, but he could not. He grasped her still-fisted hand and prayed she'd drop the pretense. “Define many.”

She gave him a smile he'd seen hundreds of times, but the mature glimmer in her eyes was all teasing woman. With a twist of her wrist, she slipped her fingers into his. “Two.”

He felt flattered, petted by her, and holding hands brought back fond memories of their past. “Are you flirting with me?”

Shyness cloaked her. “Not with any success. You did not answer me.”

Rather than rejoice, he grew melancholy. He was saddened at the years they'd missed, and he grieved for her, for the suffering she had endured. “Artless questions are not allowed.”

She began walking again; he fell into step beside her. They strolled into a forest lush with hardwoods and ferns.

“There's little to do here,” she said. “You're probably bored.”

“If you think holding hands with you is tedious to me, you lost more than your memory when you fell from that horse.”

Her throaty laughter disturbed a fat squirrel in a nearby oak. Tail twitching, the aggravated creature barked back. “You've crossed an ocean to amuse a tree rodent.”

“We pledged our lives to each other. I came for you, Virginia, to honor our promises.” She grew so pensive, he said, “Do you recall something?”

“No.”

Gaining her trust was like climbing a sand dune. If he moved too quickly, he'd lose ground.

“A pity we cannot sneak aboard the
Maiden Virginia
and sail today.”

Sneak? His senses sharpened. “Just you and I?”

“Yes.”

Her palm had grown damp against his. Although he knew the true answer, he asked her anyway. “Why so soon?”

The moment he'd spoken, he regretted it. Asking her a direct question was the same as soliciting a lie.

“I'd like to see Scotland.”

It was his turn to take up the pretense.
Encourage her,
his heart said.
Shower her with fond memories.
“Your father swears that he suffers when he leaves the Highlands.”

“I've not suffered,” she said much too quickly.

“Are you frightened of meeting your parents?”

“Intimidated better suits my feelings—except when I am with you.”

Cameron ignored her reasons and accepted the remark as flattery. “Good, but what about MacAdoo? I need him to help pilot the ship.”

She squeezed his hand. “Teach me. I'm a very fast learner, and I'll make you proud.”

Stating qualifications was normal for a servant, and beneath the fine trappings of a noblewoman, a glimpse of the forlorn girl shone through. As much as he wanted to please her, he owed her honesty. “If we sail without a chaperon, your father will force a wedding between us.”

“We wouldn't . . .” Flustered, she let go of his hand and stepped back. “I promise not to let you kiss me again. You aren't obligated to me because of a promise you made as a boy.”

Had Agnes told her about Adrienne? Cameron had worried about that before meeting the cooper. The affair was a mutual convenience. He'd explain to Virginia but not until she bared her soul to him. “The voyage is enough, and I cannot leave Agnes here.”