Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) (36 page)

Over the next few weeks Season's health continued to improve. By the middle of November she was feeling her old self again. Sometimes she would think of the baby she had lost and feel sad, and in the night she was often haunted by the realization that she had killed Edmund; but these depressing thoughts seemed to occur less and less.

Since Season's accident, Lucas had acted more like a polite stranger than her husband. While she had been ill, he had slept in the connecting room, and now that she was recovered, he had not moved back into their bedroom. One night when Season was having a nightmare, Lucas had come to her and held her in his arms, keeping all the dark shadows at bay, and she often found him watching her, a strange expression in his golden eyes; but she never really knew what he was thinking.

Now, however, Season pulled on her white rabbit-fur cap and tied the silken ribbon under her chin. Lucas was taking her to see Rebecca and Robert, and she was excited since it was the first time she had been out of the house since the accident.

She slipped into her fur-lined cape and rushed downstairs, where she found Lucas awaiting her. Her heart felt lighter than it had for many days as she watched Lucas hitch a pair of white horses to a bright red sleigh trimmed with holly and strings of silver-colored bells.

He smiled at her and lifted her into the sleigh, placing a warm, fur lap robe about her. Then Lucas climbed in beside her and urged the team forward. The tinkling bells on the sleigh made a merry sound. It had been snowing intermittently for over a week, and drifts were piled high across the countryside and along the roadways.

"You are in for a real treat today, Season," Lucas said, smiling down at her. "We are invited for a Thanksgiving feast—I hope you brought along your appetite."

"I know all about your Thanksgiving feast. Since Rebecca told me about it, I have read a book on the subject. Your first Thanksgiving was held in the year 1621 in Plymouth, Massachusetts. The Indians were invited, and everyone gave thanks to God for a bountiful harvest."

He smiled, thinking how she always delighted him with her thirst for knowledge. "You seem to know more about Thanksgiving than I do."

She snuggled close to Lucas and smiled up at him. "That's because I want to know all about my adopted country."

"Careful," he said, arching an eyebrow. "You are well on your way to becoming a true American."

"Oh, I am already an American by marriage. You are a staunch Tory, Lucas, but if I'm not careful, I will become a Whig." She giggled and her green eyes danced merrily. "Wouldn't my father be horrified if he heard me make such a statement? I wonder what he would say?"

"You aren't turning into a patriot, are you?"

"I don't know—perhaps. Would you be too disappointed in me if I were?"

"That would depend on why you chose the opposite view, Season."

"It's hard to explain, Lucas, but I have come to realize that King George has not dealt very fairly with America. I always thought of him as a grandfatherly type, but he has not treated the Colonies like family."

"You aren't trying to turn me into a patriot are you, Season?" he said, chuckling.

She linked her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Perhaps I am." Her heart seemed to lighten because she and Lucas had put their differences aside for the moment. It had been a long time since she had seen her husband happy.

He smiled down at her, now, and his golden eyes seemed to dance. "Don't try your wiles on me, Season. I have found myself to be very susceptible to your fatal charm."

She gave him an answering smile, and then her brow wrinkled thoughtfully. "Lucas, there is another thing I'm not sure I approve of. Must we have slaves on Rosemont?"

Lucas laughed delightedly. "Please, hit me with one thing at a time, Season. The world wasn't created in one day, and it cannot be changed overnight."

"Lucas, I believe if I were a man I might take up arms against the king. We should show him that he cannot push us around. After that we should start a campaign to free all slaves."

"We?"

"Yes, we."

"When did you decide this?"

"I believe it was while I was aboard the
Andromeda
."

Lucas' mouth curved into a grim line. Season didn't even realize she had implied that The Raven had influenced her thinking. "It would be many years before you could convince the people of the South to give up their slaves, Season. You should also realize that should you become a patriot, you and I would be on opposite sides, Season?"

Her mouth flew open. "I would never disagree with you openly, Lucas—you are my husband. I know that you believe the king is right, but are you aware that my father and many of his friends in The House of Lords favor allowing America to govern herself?"

The snow had begun to drift earthward again, and a chilled wind blew down the valley. Season snuggled closer to Lucas to keep warm. He glanced down at her through half-closed eyes. "I see I am going to have my hands full with you, Season," he said in an amused voice. "You are not satisfied with trying to change me—you want to take on the whole South."

She blinked her eyes against the brilliant gold of his eyes. "I have always thought you deserved better than you have with me, Lucas."

"One day, Season, all that is wrong between the two of us will come full circle. Until that time, I am content to let matters ride."

What does he mean? she wondered. "Lucas, you have been a very kind and patient husband. Most men would have lost patience with a wife like me long ago."

He laughed. "Any man would give his right eye and his left leg to have you in his bed, my lady." He lifted her chin and kissed her on her pert little nose. "The day may come, Season, when I will ask more from you than you are willing to give. Don't praise me too highly, for when that time comes, you might rue your choice."

"I don't know what you mean, Lucas."

He turned his attention back to the horses. "One day you will know, Season."

She was confused. Lucas often spoke in riddles, and she didn't always follow his logic. Will I ever truly understand the man who is my husband? she wondered.

As Lucas guided the horses into the wide driveway in front of the Wolf mansion, a man dressed in red livery came forward and helped Season from the sleigh; then he led the horses away. Lucas took her arm and escorted her up the steps to the house.

Sounds of merriment greeted them as the doors swung open. Rebecca hugged Season tightly and then Robert pulled her into his arms. "Season you look simply wonderful—your cheeks are just glowing with health," her brother-in-law declared.

"That is due to the fresh air and the ride over," Season answered. "I love the wintertime."

"I would have thought Lucas put the blush in your cheeks," Robert said, clapping his friend on the back.

Rebecca gave her husband a scolding glance and led Season into the parlor where the other guests were gathered. Many of the people Season had met before, and they seemed genuinely glad to see her.

The dinner was as good as Season had been led to believe, and better. There were roasted turkeys and hams, venison, duck, and fish. These were accompanied by vegetables that Season had never seen before. For dessert pies, cakes, and puddings were served.

Season sat to Robert's right, while Lucas sat by his sister at the other end of the table. There were twenty-three guests at the dinner table, and the mood was light and festive. Before long, however, the conversation turned to The Raven. One of the gentlemen present mentioned that The Raven had found a British spy not far away and had ended his miserable life. Season caught Lucas' warning glance. Apparently the man was talking about Edmund. Season was surprised to note the admiration for The Raven these people expressed. Lucas had been right, the people of Virginia didn't condemn The Raven for what they thought he had done. She wondered what they would think if they knew she was the one who had killed the spy.

"I am truly delighted to see you in such good health, Season." Robert said, pulling her thoughts away from the conversation about The Raven. "We were all very concerned about you for a time."

"I feel in the peak of health," she answered, wishing she dared ask him about The Raven. Season needed to know if The Raven had really come to her when she had been so ill, and she suspected Robert might know. She toyed with the notion of asking him, but decided against it.

After dinner, the women moved into the parlor, leaving the men to smoke their cigars and drink their port. Season felt that she had eaten so much she would never be hungry again. She seated herself on the window seat and was looking out the window at the falling snow when several ladies approached her.

"Is it true," one of them asked, "that your father is a real duke?"

"Yes, but I think of him only as my father."

"Do we address you by a title?"

"No, I dropped my title when I married Lucas."

"I heard you grew up in a grand palace," another said.

"Yes, Chatsworth is a castle," Season admitted.

"We heard that you had a nasty fall from a horse," an older lady said, concern in her eyes.

"Yes, but I am fully recovered now."

Noticing that Season was cornered by her well-meaning neighbors, Rebecca came to her rescue. She took Season upstairs so she could freshen up before the gentlemen joined the ladies in the sitting room.

"You will have to forgive our overzealous neighbors. They are merely curious about your past. They are really quite harmless. Many of them came by Rosemont and brought food when you were so ill."

"I was not offended by their questions, Rebecca. I suppose I never really thought much about my background until I came to America. I want very much to be accepted by Lucas' friends and neighbors."

"You don't have to worry about that. They are already charmed by you."

"Does that include the Bartletts, Rebecca?" Season asked, smiling.

"Well, not exactly. If you noticed, the Bartletts were not invited today. I thought it best to keep them away since Mariana is still upset over your marriage to my brother."

Season and Rebecca soon went back downstairs, and by then the men had joined the ladies. Season saw that Mr. Bartlett and his daughter, Mariana, had joined the party. Rebecca gave Season a guarded glance and shrugged her shoulders.

Rebecca took Season's hand. "You had better stay near me. Mariana is looking in your direction. She has been known to make trouble. As I told you, Robert and I purposely didn't invite them to dinner today, but they have dropped in anyway.

Season saw Mr. Bartlett talking to Lucas, and the man's voice was raised in anger. "Your politics are well known to everyone in this room, Lucas. If you love the English so much, why don't you take ship and live among them?"

Season moved closer to Lucas, and he smiled down at her as if he was amused by Mr. Bartlett's observation. "I am first of all a Virginian, the same as you, Gilbert. I love my home no less than you love yours."

Mariana came up beside her father and gave Season a cool glance. "One can tell you admire the English— you married one of them, Lucas," Mariana declared in a hateful voice.

Lucas still smiled. "You don't know much about men if you believe I married my wife because she was English. Ask your own father to look at Season and tell you if he thinks I married her merely because of where she came from."

Mariana's face darkened with anger, and her father cleared his throat.

"You might be surprised to learn, Mariana, that my wife agrees more with your views than mine. Only this morning she was telling me that she thought we should be independent from England."

"That doesn't excuse you, Lucas," Mr. Bartlett stated. "You are either a fool or a coward. I do not believe you are a fool!"

Season gasped at the insult, while Lucas' dark brows knit in a frown, and his golden eyes blazed. "I will not discuss my loyalties with you or your daughter, Gilbert. You are far worse than King George in trying to impose your views on others. We are both guests in my brother-in-law's home; we owe him the courtesy of agreeing not to disagree."

"Robert Wolf is willing to lay down his life for his country, while you spend most of your time buttering up the British. I resent you coming among us, and I'm sure many of our neighbors feel the same as I do," Mr. Bartlett said angrily.

Season felt humiliated for Lucas, but he didn't seem to take offense. "Very well put, Gilbert. If my company offends you, then my wife and I shall take our leave."

By now the other guests had moved closer, listening to the debate between Lucas and Gilbert Bartlett.

"I called you a coward, Lucas," Gilbert said, turning red in the face. "If you won't respond to the insult, then I will call you out!" Gilbert took his glove and struck Lucas across the face. Instantly everyone became silent, waiting to see what would happen next.

Lucas flinched as the glove caught his lip and blood ran down his chin. Season's heart pounded with fear as she waited for her husband's reaction. Surely Lucas would never let such an insult go unpunished.

Lucas removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at the blood. "I have no intention of fighting you, Gilbert. You were a friend of my father's; therefore I will allow the insult to pass. Don't ever do that again, however," he said, in a soft voice.