Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Early February, 1777

T he morning after her husband’s funeral, Lady Tabitha Gage opened her eyes to bright winter sunlight and shuddered—with relief.

She was free.

But a lady no longer.

Terror crowded out the relief. Free, yes, but also alone on a thousand-acre South Georgia rice plantation. Across the Altamaha River, Creek and Seminole Indians, allied to the British who held East Florida, roamed the no-man’s land of tangled swamps and bogs. Lord Riley’s allegiance to the Crown had not kept his cattle from being raided. Should an invasion come, her late husband’s loyalty would not protect this plantation, either—especially now he was gone. After Henry’s name appeared on the St. Andrews Parochial Committee’s list of twenty-nine suspected Tories last autumn, River’s Bend was equally susceptible to Patriot retribution.

And yet it was to River’s Bend Tabitha had returned—fled, more like—the day after she’d seen Henry laid to rest in the Christ Church burying ground following his extended bout with lung sickness. Keeping up appearances in Savannah had required more fortitude—and fortune—than she possessed now. Not to mention that her twin, Temperance, was too apt to see past Tabitha’s facade. And their father, too apt to pull her back under his control.

Tabitha sat up but clutched the covers beneath her chin, not yet ready to relinquish their warmth for the chill of the January morning. Maybe she could stay here all day.

When she’d first set eyes on her new husband’s country house, she’d cried with dismay. The white frame home with its two tiers of piazzas and saltbox-style extension in the rear set among the live oaks and palms appeared so parochial compared to his elegant brick Savannah residence.

What a little fool she’d been to think that if not love, luxury at least would reward her sacrifice for her sister.

Her upstairs room, with its twelve-foot ceilings, walnut furniture, and tapestry curtains and counterpane, had since become her refuge. Lord Riley had sought her out here less and less frequently as his hope for an heir dwindled over the eleven years of their marriage.

Now, the burden of that expectation was gone, along with the silent judgment of the man who’d imposed it. She knew not whether to stretch her shoulders with the relinquishment or continue to cringe under the accusation she’d come to expect. Her own head supplied it in the absence of Henry’s voice. What kind of wife was she to not mourn her husband?

Tabitha released a shaky breath and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

The strips of light slanting through the cracks of the shutters promised a warm midday, and flames crackling on the hearth reminded her she was not alone. Dulcie had already been in to light a fire. The daughter of the white overseer and the enslaved cook, Dulcie had every right to spend the winter as she normally did with her husband across the river. She was free, as was her husband, Cyrus. But she was here instead. For Tabitha.

A brief knock sounded on the door.

Pushing her dark braid back, Tabitha called a “come in.”

As if summoned by Tabitha’s thoughts, Dulcie entered bearing a breakfast tray. “Good mornin’, Miss Tabitha. How are you?” Sliding the tray onto the foot of the goose-down mattress, the golden-skinned woman peered at her. Looking for signs of grief?

Dulcie had served as housekeeper and lady’s maid to Tabitha long enough to know better. And that silent sensitivity of hers meant she’d long ago discerned the way of things with Lord Riley. Tabitha had glimpsed Dulcie’s firmed lips and tightly clasped hands on plenty of occasions when Tabitha had stumbled into another of Henry’s verbal ambushes.

She might as well be honest with the servant now. “Terrified.”

Dulcie poured steaming coffee from a pewter pitcher into a cream-ware mug, picked up a tiny silver spoon, and stirred the brew. “I put chocolate in your coffee,” she said, as if this were the answer to all her problems.

Tabitha stifled a laugh. The sound so surprised her that her hand flew to her mouth. She choked on a tangle of emotions that rose into her throat and promptly started crying—something she never used to do. She instantly hated herself for it. But nearly a dozen years with a man who despised her had eroded her spirit until she’d become an emotional weakling. “What am I to do, Dulcie? How am I to manage on my own?”

Dulcie touched the hem of Tabitha’s linen nightgown. “You aren’t alone, Miss Tabitha. Pa and I will help you.”

Dulcie spoke like a white woman, thanks to the tutor her father had hired when she was a child. Henry had permitted it, he’d told Tabitha, not because he approved of educating a woman, especially a mulatto, but because Marcus Long was the best overseer in St. Andrew’s Parish and he wasn’t willing to risk losing the man over something so trivial.

Tabitha had shared her husband’s views about slavery when they’d first wed. But now she knew what it felt like to have a master. And Dulcie’s discretion and wisdom had helped Tabitha avoid many a misstep over the years, even when Tabitha had not condescended to acknowledge her.

“I know not where to begin.”

“You have time.” Dulcie handed her the mug. “Planting’s not until March. But Pa says you should meet with him. Talk about clearing another section.”

Tabitha sipped her favorite combination of coffee and chocolate. The warm liquid soothed her empty stomach. “That would be a good idea.” She should learn just how bad of financial shape they were in while she was at it. “I shall meet with him this afternoon.”

“There’s no hurry, Miss Tabitha. If you need a few days?—”

“No.” Tabitha lowered her cup to the tray. “The sooner the field gets cleared, the sooner we can plant more rice and hopefully get us out of the mess Lord Riley’s brother-in-law got us into.” Henry had sent more and more money over the last few years to his sister, whose wastrel husband continued to indebt their ancestral estate back in England—though Henry had gone to great pains to conceal their genteel poverty from Tabitha’s family.

Dulcie uncovered Tabitha’s porridge and sprinkled some cinnamon on top. “’Tis all over now. You have a new start. A chance to change things. At least…” She glanced up from under her dark lashes. “The lawyer in Savannah said Lord Riley left everything to you, did he not?”

Tabitha had made sure of it before leaving the city. “The house in town, River’s Bend, and even his grazing lands across the river.” Where Cyrus tended to Lord Riley’s pinewoods cattle herd. When she’d expressed amazement at the cattle ranging free south of the Altamaha, he’d told her they were criollo , cows born in America but descended from European herds—Spanish, to be exact. The animals browsed the wiregrass and bluestems in warm months and the switchcane at the edges of the savannahs and streams in cooler months, often retreating to the thick stands of great cane in the winter. Herders like Cyrus moved or secured them with a series of wilderness cattle pens.

Dulcie’s eyes sparkled. “That makes you one wealthy woman.”

“Once we can get things turned around now that we no longer must send funds every few months to England, perhaps.” Tabitha reached for her spoon and tasted her porridge. Delicious, as always. Dulcie’s mother, Annabelle, was an excellent cook. “I expect it shan’t be long before all the toothless widowers in the parish are tapping their bejeweled canes on my door.”

But she could ignore them all once she got on her feet. A sliver of something warm and precious slid through her—independence. With it, hope stirred. Her appetite sharpening, she dipped her spoon back in for another bite.

“Speakin’ of that …”

Tabitha’s gaze snapped up. She cared not for Dulcie’s uneasy tone.

“You already have a caller. Two, actually.”

Her chest tightened. “Who?”

“Hugh and Julian Jackson. They be waitin’ in the parlor.”

“At this hour?” How dare they?” When she had yet to set her foot out of bed the day after returning from her husband’s funeral?

“Said they missed catching you at the townhouse and wanted to pay their respects. But I suspect …”

Tabitha’s stomach bottomed out. “They have something else in mind.” The Jacksons owned the vast plantation adjoining theirs just southeast, closer to Darien, the town settled by the Scottish folk on the coast. The reputations of both father and son with the ladies and the ruthless manner in which they drove their slaves made Julian Jackson the last man she’d allow to call. Or to purchase her land.

A flicker of the spirit Henry’s disapproval somehow hadn’t managed to snuff out had her throwing back her covers. “Help me get dressed, Dulcie, for I shall have no avaricious men sniffing around River’s Bend.”

H alf an hour later, Tabitha swept into the parlor with her chin held high. The back hem of her rouched black cotton robe à l’anglaise whispered over the Turkish rug. Light from the hallway and a fire on the grate illuminated the room, the shutters of which were closed and tied with black ribbons. Dulcie had also draped the mirrors and paintings with black cloth—no doubt in anticipation of the guests who would call more than heartfelt grief over the master.

The two men who rose from their chairs and cups of coffee by the hearth also wore black, their single-breasted frock coats tapering back to reveal embroidered waistcoats and riding boots that reached their knee breeches. Both bowed as she entered.

Silver-haired Hugh Jackson stepped forward, his hawk-like features sharpened by his somber expression. “Lady Riley, may we convey our deepest condolences?”

“Mrs. Gage is fine now, Mr. Jackson.” If she had her druthers, she’d go back to being Tabitha Scott, and she’d never have sacrificed herself on her sister’s altar. Look where her one dramatic noble act had gotten her. “Please, sit.” She indicated their chairs as she settled on the golden settee. “May I ask what brings you out so early on the morning of my return?”

For such impertinence to one of his peers, Henry’s ghost would probably haunt her tonight. But her irritation at her neighbors’ presumption trumped the subservience her husband had trained into her.

The corner of Julian Jackson’s lips twitched.

Tabitha avoided meeting his thick-lashed dark eyes. She sensed that he might find a challenge attractive. He would prey upon her vulnerability, that one. He’d not consider her a potential mate. After all, he could be no more than twenty-five to her three score and two.

“Our apologies, Mrs. Gage.” Perched on the edge of his seat, Hugh dipped his head. “We attempted to call before you left Savannah, but you had already quit the city.”

“Thank you for attending the funeral. I noted your presence.”

“Naturally, we would not miss it. There are few enough of us Englishmen on the Altamaha. With all the Scots about, your husband and I always agreed ’twas a necessity to stick together.”

Tabitha inclined her head. In these times, Hugh Jackson had been far more concerned about Patriots than Scots.

Julian at least seemed to pick up on the implication that their presence at the burial had sufficiently paid their respects. His brows drew into a gentle furrow. “’Tis understandable you would haste to the comforts of your home. But it is in the spirit of the camaraderie my father mentioned that we come so quickly. ’Tis our desire to relieve any fears you may have about the future.”

Tabitha straightened her back. Why did these men assume it was their place to relieve her of anything? “Thank you. I do have a daunting task before me, but with the help of Mr. Long, I’m confident I shall find my way forward.” Perhaps they had come to offer their assistance with business matters or agricultural advice.

But Hugh and Julian exchanged a glance, both frowning, and something in that look unsettled the breakfast in her stomach.

Hugh cleared his throat. “What way forward is that, Mrs. Gage?”

“Why, to continue as my husband conducted affairs, Mr. Jackson. Indeed, to expand. I shall be meeting with my overseer this very day to discuss clearing more ground.” She lifted her chin. She would not show these men that she possessed even less confidence than they did that she could take the helm of a rice plantation. She had no other choice. She would never go back to her father in Savannah. Never put her fate in the hands of another domineering man again.

Hugh gaped at her. “Can it be…that you have not heard?”

“Heard what, sir?” The needling of insecurity produced a slightly impatient tone. Why had they not left her to her solitude? She wanted nothing more than to right her world, and their manner threatened to further upend it.

Julian leaned forward. “Did you not meet with your lawyer in Savannah?”

“Of course, I did. Now, what is this about?” Tabitha sprang to her feet, ready to show them out.

The men stood too. Hugh rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “Mrs. Gage, before your husband passed, he called me to his bedside. Do you recall that visit?”

“Yes.” Her heart began to thud. “I assumed it had to do with some loan or gambling debt.”

“Not a loan, but a sale. A bill of sale, to be exact.” Hugh reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a folded paper. His ruby ring winked in the firelight. “I filed a copy with the property clerk in Savannah, but apparently, your lawyer had not yet been notified…which puts me in a very bad position, I fear.”

“What do you mean?” Tabitha’s gaze swung between the two men.

“Let her see it, Father.” Julian tipped his head in her direction.

Hugh stepped closer to hand her the paper.

Tabitha scanned a document in Hugh’s handwriting. It had been signed by both her neighbor and her husband. Her vision narrowed on the looping words, and her hand began to shake. “But this says…this says Lord Riley sold River’s Bend to you.”

“The property, house, furnishings, and slaves. Along with the house in town. Excluding only your personal possessions.”

She continued to search the paper for a phrase that would make it not so, but everything she read said it was. “But there’s no way. He told me nothing about this. The lawyer said it was all left to me in his will.”

“The bill of sale supersedes the will, Mrs. Gage. It will stand up in court.”

The gaze she swept up to Hugh caught the way his lips started to turn up before he pressed them into a line of false regret. False humility. Heat swept through her chest. Ten years ago, she would have flown at the man and scratched the smirk from his face. Now, the paper that forfeited her future slipped from her numb fingers to the floor.

Had Henry deposited the money in the bank in Savannah? No. The lawyer would have disclosed that. Any money would have gone where it always did…to England.

The room spun. Tabitha put out her hand but contacted nothing firm to grasp—nothing but Julian Jackson’s arm when he leapt forward to steady her.

“Please, Mrs. Gage. Sit down. You have had a terrible shock.” He wrangled her gently back onto the settee and bent over her with what appeared to be genuine concern in the lines of his handsome face. “Can I ring for some brandy?”

Tabitha pulled at her tucker, suddenly desperate for air. She turned an accusing gaze on him. “How can you come here and tell me this? You couldn’t wait one day to throw me into the street?”

Julian drew back, eyes wide.

“There’s no call for theatrics, Mrs. Gage.” Hugh’s voice had deepened with impatience. “We thought you knew and wanted to spare you the suffering of waiting or the indignity of coming to us. We’re hardly ogres. ’Tis the off-season, so there’s no need for you to go anywhere until spring—although I will be taking management of River’s Bend in hand immediately. ’Tis I who will meet with Mr. Long today, not you.”

She hardly heard the last sentence. She blinked at him. “But where will I go?” Not back to Savannah, to be pitied by all and pawned by her father onto another of his cronies. No.

As Julian bent to retrieve the bill of sale from the carpet, Hugh let out a soft breath. “Your husband left you his land south of the river. I believe there is a house there, is there not?”

Tabitha’s mouth fell open. “A house? You call that a house?” She’d only seen the dwelling once, and thinking of anyone living in that rude log cabin set among the pines and the snakes and gators had made her cringe. For Cyrus, a free black man, it probably seemed a palace. But for her, a lady of first rank who had danced the minuet in Savannah’s finest ballrooms…?

She shot to her feet, snatched the page from Julian’s hand, and shoved it against Hugh’s chest. “Get out.” Henry may not have loved her, but his pride alone would have demanded he not leave her the laughingstock of the coast. If he’d signed that paper, it had been to, in some way, outmaneuver the Jacksons, whom he’d always viewed as his competitors, no matter what he had said to their faces. He would have believed that, upon legal inspection, the bill of sale would be proven powerless.

Hugh’s face colored. His eyes darkened. “Due to your shock and grief, I will pardon your untoward reaction.”

Tabitha’s heart squeezed. Untoward . Her father had used that word to describe her more than once. She clenched her teeth.

Hugh continued, his voice a soft growl. “But you force me to remind you, madam, that this is now my house.”

“Get out!” At Tabitha’s screech, Dulcie came running, skidding to a halt in the doorway as Tabitha pointed at Hugh’s chest. “Go now and take your lying piece of paper with you.”

Hugh’s fingers curled around the page, but only to thump it down onto a side table. He locked gazes with her. “I will leave it—because you will need it to ascertain its legitimacy. Once you have—once you are reasonable—you may send a message to Jackson’s Bluff, and we will talk. Like civilized adults. You may come to me .”

He stalked to the door, brushing past Dulcie, who stood with her lips parted and her hand upon her chest. The servant hurried to fetch Hugh’s hat and coat.

Julian faced Tabitha again. “I am sorry.” He searched her face. “My father is a hard man.”

Despite her furious blinking, a tear spilled from one of her eyes. Brusquely, Tabitha swiped her hand across her cheek. “I will prove him wrong.”

“Mrs. Gage…Tabitha…” He attempted to touch her arm, but she jerked away. Did he think her so dim-witted—or so vulnerable—that his show of compassion would make her forget his reputation as a rake? Still, the pity did not leave his expression. “No, you shan’t. I was there the night Father returned from your husband’s bedside. What he says is true. Lord Riley needed the money for his family estate.”

As she had suspected, but still, the injustice, the betrayal, twisted like a blade in her chest. “And he wanted to make sure his sister got it rather than his widow?”

“He said your father would support you.”

Her father? “I can never go back.” No, she had to settle this one way or another. She would send a message to the lawyer in Savannah posthaste. There had to be a solution that didn’t involve her landing back under her father’s roof—and thumb.

“There is another way.” Julian’s hushed tone made Tabitha’s eyes snap up. He pressed his lips together, then reached for her hand. “What Father said about like sticking to like was true. We are neighbors. Englishmen. Loyalists .” He whispered the last word, and Tabitha widened her eyes, too stunned to withdraw. “We should unite. Father would be amenable to you staying if he thought…well, that there was good cause for you to remain.”

Tabitha’s breath came fast. “Surely, I misunderstand your meaning.” For him to speak thus the week of her husband’s funeral flouted all the rules of society and proper behavior. Not to mention…

Why would he want to marry her?

“I would not dare to suggest such a thing so soon except for the dire circumstances you find yourself in.”

She shook her head. “I can see no benefit in that for him…or you.”

“Then you are not looking closely enough.” Julian raised his other hand to her temple, twirling a curl of her dark hair around his finger. Perhaps he meant the gesture to convey tenderness. But the flicker behind his eyes made her stomach shrivel. It was a look she’d seen before—on the faces of suitors who’d wanted only to claim her for their own lascivious purposes. On the face of her husband before he’d tired of her.

Tabitha stepped back. “Please, sir. I must beg that you take your leave.”

His gaze dropped to the shallow heaving of her bosom, and a faint smile stole up the corners of his lips again. He cut a quick bow. “And so I shall. Yet I trust you will think about what I said. I will give you the proper amount of time, of course. But I forsee an outcome beneficial to us all.”

As soon as Julian followed his father out the front door, Tabitha’s legs gave way, and she collapsed in the middle of the parlor floor. That was where Dulcie found her. The servant took one look at her face and broached a gulf that never would have been crossed if Tabitha’s world had not just crumbled. She pulled Tabitha into her arms.