Claire avoided the fields and mountains where brush was cleared and fields lay readied to cultivate, anywhere the slaves would be at work. To prevent any kind of encounter with Devon Blackmon, she spent many hours at the governor’s mansion in overlong teas and dinners. The governor’s wife, Mary, ignorant of Claire’s pervading sense of doom, received the extra attention her guest afforded; craving to relieve the tedium of island life, and more importantly to socialize with a member of nobility regardless of the fact that Claire remained a poor relation. Claire had blue-blood flowing through her veins through her father, an earl. As far as Mary remained concerned, it was if Claire were once removed from the Queen.
As for the governor, he doted over Claire and Lily as if he were a favorite grandfather. He loved to play chess, which both of them excelled at. His sense of humor, and childish demeanor warmed Claire’s heart. With fondness, she thought of him as a simple man more suited to the uncomplicated life of a country squire than the most important ruling governor of the Caribbean.
As Claire saw no more of Devon Blackmon, her fears started to ease. She supposed he had resolved to drop the affair, bowing to discretion. In the bright light of a dawning day, Claire refused any more perverse thoughts on the matter and accepted an invitation to luncheon at the governor’s mansion
“How do you like our island?” Mrs. Bennett, an elderly lady who had lived on the island most of her life asked Claire.
“The splendor grants my soul a richness and peace. I feel so at home.”
“You are so like your father. He absolutely loved Jamaica.”
Claire gaped. “You knew my father?”
“I knew him two decades ago. I admired him. Unlike typical aristocrats, your father had vision. He worked his plantation with hired men. Many of his innovations have been adopted throughout the island. He reinvested his profits. Soon the plantation surpassed everyone else. My late husband followed his model and yielded better results. Your father sailed for England, fell in love and remained.” She cleared her throat. “His philosophy differs from his brother, Sir Jarvis. Perhaps you’d like to have tea with me?”
Claire liked the older woman. An inner craving to learn more of her father filled a need in her so great she burst with happiness. Here lay her roots. “I look forward to the opportunity.”
A gentle breeze lifted the draperies of the azure blue painted salon. “Oh do come in,” demurred Mary. “We have a new visitor I’d like you to meet.”
Claire found herself seated next to Sir Jeffrey Teakle. From under her lashes, she studied him with disguised humor, the man a portrait of caricature. Every inch of him tucked and gathered in colorful satin and lace. Yards and yards of lace, rivaling the governor’s and that was a feat. Under his powdered wig, ferret-like eyes caught everything, but his most dominant feature, a bulbous nose led down to thin lips and a neck with skin stretched thin enough to look like a plucked fowl. This entire glittering ensemble proclaimed him an inheritor of the proud lineage of the grand and glorious conquerors of England. Claire eyed her cousin from across the table.
Lily pursed her lips. “Are we having peacock for lunch?”
Claire stifled a giggle, echoed by Mrs. Bennet.
“Tell us, Sir Teakle,” Mary pronounced with her usual finesse, giddy over a new member of the realm with whom to socialize. “How are you related to the fifth earl of Cambric?”
“Oh dear me. I could never bore the ladies with the length of my lineage.” He waved his hand, a lace handkerchief fluttered−a point of modest humility to recommend him. “I rather find the ladies present most interesting. I think it proper to hear of them.”
“Claire and Lily are from London,” Mary said. “Claire is also of nobility. Her uncle, Sir Jarvis runs a plantation on the island. Lily, her cousin is also unmarried.”
Claire sat speechless. Mary proved determined to be matchmaker.
Lily coughed in fitful spasms.
“A cold coming on?” the governor inquired.
“An inherited ailment. Took several of my aunts,” Lily said and Mary dropped her fork.
“Good God. I cannot permit a plague,” said Sir Teakle, fanning the air away from him.
Lily spoke up. “A contagion indigenous to my family, striking the females. Not infectious to anyone. So far, I’ve outlived everyone’s expectations.”
From over her teacup, Claire surveyed her cousin with a stern eye. How clever to put herself off the marriage mart, leaving Claire open to Sir Teakle’s courting. “Lily is very good at playing chess, her strategies impeccable. Maneuvering is her forte.”
“Whether in love or chess, one never knows when one will have to protect oneself from travesty.” Lily slanted a well-meaning look from Claire to Sir Teakle.
“You never need to feel that concern with me,” protested Sir Teakle. “I abhor the game.”
“Your Excellency, your physician and Sir Jarvis have arrived,” intoned the butler.
“Good. Good. Send the physician in. My arthritis is acting up.”
The door swung open and everyone’s eyes turned to the newcomers. Claire dropped her teacup. Sir Jarvis clicked his heels across the wood floor followed by Devon Blackmon.
“If there is any trouble from him, Governor Stark, it will be back to the fields for him and the touch of the lash.”
The governor fluttered his fingers through the air. “We will manage. I suppose you have a million matters to attend.”
