His-Yankee-Bride--Rose-Gordon Page 12

  Below the table, he clenched his hands into fists to keep from strangling someone. And there were many people who needed a thorough strangling: Gabriel, for not telling him the truth about Charlie, but letting him believe Charlie was a genuine suitor; Mrs. Ellis, for being so cruel to Carolina; or the two impertinent chits he was seated between, who thought it amusing to poke fun at someone who clearly didn't understand their cruel intent as well as someone else, only because she was the object of the other's affections.

  He swung his gaze to the young man's parents. Neither seemed to find anything unusual in what had transpired. Mr. Ellis looked impassive and Mrs. Ellis had a rather pleased look on her face. John shook his head and thought of what to say, but nothing he thought of could possibly make the situation better.

  “Thank you, Charlie. I feel much better now,” Carolina murmured, patting one of his large arms.

  Charlie let go of her and straightened in his chair, then picked up his spoon.

  John didn't bother to find out what he planned to do with that; he only had eyes for Carolina, who for the first time since he'd met her, didn't seem interested in him.

  To his misfortune, the annoying chits on either side of him did and prattled on about one inane topic after another.

  Between bites, he'd nod or murmur something that could pass as an answer; meanwhile, he tried not to act too obvious about staring at Carolina. He noted the red hand marks Charlie had left on the bare skin of her arm from his tight grasp. He also noticed, much to his utter amazement, that Carolina never seemed upset or bothered by Charlie's less-than-gentlemanly eating habits. She just wiped away whatever he happened to get on himself (or her) and helped him hold his spoon better. Of course, that would only improve the situation for a minute or two, then he was making a mess again.

  By the time dinner was finished, his brain was numb from the awful conversation and his blood was pumping at the fury he felt on Carolina's behalf.

  “Gabriel,” John barked, as the group was making their way down the hall to the parlor for their after dinner entertainment.

  Gabriel turned around and forced a thin smile.

  John jerked his thumb in the direction of an empty room.

  Gabriel frowned but followed him into the room.

  “What is going on?” John demanded without ceremony as soon as he shut the door.

  “You're earning your wages.”

  John nodded once. Gabriel had tried many ploys to get John to come tonight, but it was his offer to pay him handsomely that got John to don a dinner costume more than twenty years past fashion in London and suffer.

  “Why didn't you tell me the truth about Charlie?” he demanded.

  A smug smile bent Gabriel's lips. “Why does it matter? I thought you weren't interested in her.”

  “I'm not,” he burst out, running his fingers through his hair. “I just don't understand why everyone thinks they should make a match.”

  “It's not everyone. It's just their mothers.” He twisted his lips. “Mine feels Lina has lost her chance to be a Charleston man's wife due to her public display of interest in you, and Charlie's feels Lina is a good match because she treats him well.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” John said flatly. “I find it interesting she has a care one way or the other how he's treated, when she and his father don't seem too interested in him.”

  Gabriel frowned and nodded. “They like to pretend nothing's wrong. They've always been that way.” He shook his head and glanced out the window at the sunset. “When we were younger, Lina would ask me the whole way home what was wrong with Charlie and why nobody else seemed to notice. Of course, I'd noticed, but tried to pretend not to while he hurled his toy soldiers at my head. I thought perhaps if I didn't draw attention to it, he'd stop. His parents, however, have either gotten so good at pretending not to notice that they don't see it anymore, or they're so eager to pretend nothing is wrong that they think if they ignore him or don't get involved in one of his tantrums, it isn't real.

  “Truly, I don't know which it is. Lina is the only one who has ever come close to understanding him or getting him to calm down, which is why they think she'd be perfect for him.”

  “You don't really mean to force her to marry him, do you?”

  Gabriel leaned his shoulder against the wall. “Why do you care?”

  John sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I might not wish to marry her, but I don't think it's fair to condemn her to a life as a nursemaid.”

  “She might enjoy being his nursemaid. You might not believe this, but in the world we live in, our families don't inherit large fortunes and use them to provide for everyone in the family. There are many local young ladies who'd be tripping over themselves to marry him, if it meant she’d get her own home and all the luxuries that go along with marrying a wealthy indigo farmer; should his father continue to see prosperous years until he passes, that is.”

  A knot formed in John's gut. When John and Gabriel met, they were just two young men struggling to survive by working in the same Boston warehouse. John had been an outcast of sorts due to his strong connection with England and was only tolerated by the other workers only because he was an honest worker. Gabriel had befriended him because, well, like Carolina, he wasn’t one to see the same boundaries or form the same opinions as the majority. He cared only for the man himself, not what society thought of him. Little did John know at the time it was really Gabriel who was in need of a close friend. Though Gabriel would never admit to such, he’d been as much, if not more so, an outsider as John was, but not because of his position or wealth, but the choice he’d made not to return to his family and to work for just enough of a wage to get by in a miserable Boston warehouse.

  But both being without the favor of Boston’s elite hadn’t mattered. Neither cared about social standing while in Boston. To them, they were just two young men getting by in this world. Then, when John told him he was planning to return to England and explained that his brother held a title and what it meant for John in English Society, Gabriel seemed to have changed. It was almost as if there’d been a barrier erected between them. One which John had no idea how to break down. So when Gabriel challenged him to see the hardships those who owned large estates in America suffered in order to make their way, he saw no reason to refuse.

  His challenge wasn't issued out of hatred or jealousy, mind you, but perhaps understanding. It had been John who'd helped Gabriel through a difficult time in Boston, and now Gabriel saw the chance to help John understand those who were not born to the same wealth and position as himself. The very same kind he'd one day be preaching to. And while he had a greater respect and understanding of the hard work that the majority of the world faced, he couldn't help but wonder if there would always be a slight chasm between the two.

  “I didn't mean to insult your family or belittle the life you'll one day inherit,” John said quietly. “My point is that I don't think anybody should be forced to take on such a task.”

  “She's not being forced,” Gabriel corrected, opening the door. “She has a choice, and the last time I spoke to her about it, her choice wasn't Charlie.”

  John stood in silence as Gabriel made his exit. It wasn't his place to question things he had no intention of changing.

  He walked into the parlor just in time to hear Mrs. Fields brag about what a wonderful pianist Charlie was and urge him over to the pianoforte.

  John cringed, as did the rest of the room, he imagined, as Charlie began banging on the keys and half-sang, half-screamed words nobody seemed to understand.

  Charlie's sister and cousin giggled again, as if they believed this to be a scene from a never-ending comedy. The rest of the room stared in shock, grimaced in pain at the torture that was assaulting their ears, or stared at Charlie dumbfounded.

  When it was clear Charlie had no intention of stopping and the crowd was growing less restrained in their reactions, Carolina was at his side. “Shall we play Greensleeves?”

 
“I am,” Charlie shouted, not stopping his clanking.

  Carolina smiled at him and then went on to play Greensleeves flawlessly despite Charlie's help.

  When she was finished, she placed her hand on top of his to still it, then did the most unexpected thing: she slid her hand into his and gave him a slight tug. Seeming to understand what she wanted, he stood up with her and took a bow when their audience began applauding.

  “What of another?” Charlie's cousin suggested.

  The crowd grumbled, and understandably so.

  “No, I think that was quite enough,” Mrs. Ellis said, forcing what might pass as an apologetic smile. “While Charlie's playing was exceptional, we wouldn't want Lina to deafen anyone.”

  “Then what of a play?” Mrs. Fields suggested.

  “I'm afraid I won't be able to participate in a play, Mrs. Fields,” Carolina said. “I think I played too loud and now my head hurts. I think I should retire for the evening.” She cast a glance at Charlie that John couldn't see, then struggled to free her hand from his grasp and fled the room, brushing past John as she went.

  Had the circumstances been different, a tendril of hot desire would have coiled in his abdomen at the feel of her soft body pressing against his; but instead, it was fury that coiled in his gut at the sad expression on her face and the unshed tears in her eyes.

  ~Chapter Nineteen~

  Carolina was almost to her room when Bethel's heavy footfalls sounded down the hall.

  “'Mere, chile,” she said, wrapping Carolina in a tight hug.

  Carolina didn't care how much her mother hated it when she showed any affection toward Bethel; she hugged her back, taking comfort in her embrace.

  “It be a'right,” Bethel soothed, rubbing her back. “Let's gets yous in bed.”

  Carolina let Bethel lead her into the room and help her change out of her gown. She pulled on her nightgown and slipped into bed. Bethel sat down beside her and smoothed over the blankets, then idly scratched Carolina's scalp and ran her fingers through her hair the way she had so many times to help her fall asleep after a bad day.

  Tears streamed from her eyes in two steady currents, wetting her cheeks then running down to her hair-covered pillow. “I j-just don't understand,” she sobbed through the emotion that was clogging her throat.

  “Nob'dy do, chile,” Bethel said.

  That was the last thing she remembered before closing her eyes tightly and wishing that things would be different.

  A bright light entered the room and she blinked her eyes open only to realize it was morning. She closed them again and fell back against her pillow. She hadn't actually had a headache when she'd gone to bed, but she certainly had one now from all the crying she'd done last night. She pushed the tips of her fingers against her eyes and rubbed, noting the stiffness of her eyelashes. With a sigh, she sat up and climbed out of bed, no less upset than she'd been the night before.

  Why, after all these years, had nobody bothered to inform Mr. and Mrs. Fields that instead of helping Charlie find his way in the world, they were allowing him to be made into a laughingstock? And why did her mother think it was perfectly acceptable to invite him to the supper, when she knew he'd make a fool of himself? Did her mother have no consideration for anyone except herself and her own motives?

  Anger bubbled inside of her, ruining any appetite she might have. She glided down the main stairs toward the porch, where she'd swing until it was time to take John his glass of water. He might not have acted overly gracious the first few times she'd brought him water, but it was no secret that she still enjoyed bringing him water, since it afforded them a few minutes of conversation—even if they did argue half the time.

  “Dalton will be 'round with the buggy in a few minutes,” Mother said coldly, catching her right before she stepped onto the porch.

  “All right.”

  Mother placed her cold hand on Carolina's arm. “You will be riding over to the Fields' to apologize and accept Charlie's marriage proposal.”

  Carolina stiffened. “No. I will not. That is not my apology to make; it's yours.”

  “It most certainly is not. He was your guest, and you abandoned him to pretend you were unwell with a headache.”

  Carolina stared at her mother. “He was not my guest; he was yours. You invited him to prove a point, and it didn't work. But my 'abandoning' him, as you put it, wouldn't have happened had you any semblance of a heart and had not invited them last night.”

  “That boy wants to marry you, Lina. I couldn't very well not invite him.”

  “No, you're wrong.”

  Mother arched a brow. “Oh, and what do you suppose I would have said to Mrs. Fields when she asked why I didn't invite their family?”

  Carolina narrowed her eyes. “That's not what I meant and you know it. Charlie doesn't want to marry me. Frankly, he doesn't know what he wants, and the only reason he thinks he wants to marry me is because you and Mrs. Fields have convinced him he does.”

  “That's not true,” Mother argued. “The first time he asked, it was because he wanted to.”

  “Yes, and since he was ten, I'm sure he knew exactly what he was asking.”

  Mother shrugged. “Sometimes when you know, you just know.”

  “No. He just knows his parents are married. My parents are married. Every adult he knows is married. So to him, he thinks it's normal to get married.”

  “Isn't it?”

  Carolina wanted to groan in frustration. “Yes. But what you and Mr. and Mrs. Fields fail to accept is that Charlie does not understand what marriage is. He can't.” Tears burned the back of her eyes. “He has no conception of what marriage means. He just knows to say the words, 'Lina, marry me'. He doesn't mean them any more than he knows what being a husband means.”

  “And you think that transient, John Banks, better understands what being a husband means? I doubt it. He seems the sort to be faithful to one woman for as long as Charlie can carry a note,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.

  “Why do you even care?” Carolina burst out. “If you have no problem marrying me off to a man who is likely only to remain faithful because he doesn't understand the difference between the words faithful and unfaithful, then why do you care if I marry one who isn't?”

  “Because I have a reputation to maintain,” she said, lifting her chin a notch. “I don't want to be shunned from the homes of my friends because it's well known that my daughter's husband visits brothels.”

  Carolina stared at her mother in awe. “And you know for a fact he makes frequent visits to brothels now?”

  “No. If he did, he'd lose his job.”

  Carolina was so close to giving in to her urge to groan it was almost overwhelming. “You make no sense.”

  “I make perfect sense,” Mother snapped. “It's you who is too naïve and free with your affections to see reason. That boy is the worst kind there is. He has no regard for anyone but himself, and if you don't watch out, he'll hurt you.”

  “That's impossible. He wouldn't hurt anyone.”

  Mother looked doubtful. “It doesn't matter anyway, because I have no intention of giving him my permission to marry you. Now, go apologize to Charlie and accept his offer.”

  “No. I don't wish to marry him.”

  Mother's lips thinned. “Then you shall remain unwed. Is that what you want?”

  Carolina clutched the fabric of her skirt and met her mother's cold eyes. “If the choice is to marry Charlie or no one at all, I'll remain unwed. But that isn't the only choice at hand.”

  “It's the only choice you have,” Mother said sharply. “He might have a few unusual tendencies, but given his family's wealth, he is a far more respectable choice; and since you refused every man in Charleston, he's the only choice you have left.”

  “I still don't see why you dislike John so much,” she said without thinking. Truly there was no reason to continue to argue her point right now, other than she just couldn't stop herself. Charlie might be kind and sw
eet, for the most part; but it was in an unabashed innocent way, not in the way that a husband would act.

  “John Banks is a worthless beggar who'll never amount to anything.”

  “You're wrong,” Carolina fired back; her blood boiling with outrage. “It's the hardworking men like him who built our city and our country. Not everyone can come from wealth and own a plantation. Someone has to build that plantation.”

  “Yes, and we call those people 'hands', Lina.”

  Carolina sucked in a hard breath. “He's none of those vile things you say about him.”

  “He is, and I don't like him here. I've only allowed him to stay because—”

  “You didn't allow him to stay, Gabriel did,” Carolina snapped. “If it were up to you, he'd have died of thirst while walking back to town after helping Gabriel return home.”

  Mother frowned. “Don't be so nonsensical. I won't deny that I don't like his presence, but I would never be so cold as to throw him out.”

  “Yes, you would,” Carolina mumbled under her breath, because heavy steps could be heard down the hall and Carolina didn't want anyone to overhear their argument.

  “No, I wouldn't; but as soon as he's earned his fare, he'll be gone. And don't you dare try to do anything to encourage him to stay longer,” Mother warned, wagging her finger.

  “I—”

  “Miss Lina,” Bethel called.

  Carolina's eyes widened in terror. “I'm coming, Bethel,” she called back, hoping Bethel would stay put and her mother wouldn't follow her.

  “Where do you think you're going?” Mother grabbed her arm to stay her. “I'm not satisfied you understand my warning.”

  “I understand,” Carolina blurted, throwing a glance over her shoulder to see if she could catch a glimpse of Bethel, who likely hadn't heard her command.