“I am truly sorry. The fates have not been kind. You deserve so much more.”
Her reaction stunned him. Here he thought he’d receive some judgmental dismissal, but instead, she apologized for what happened to him. In fact, she looked at him, if he was to believe it, with an expression that looked almost like tenderness and contrition.
Devon squared his shoulders. “Have you given any thought to the plight of the orphans left from the plague?”
“It has been impossible to think about the future. Getting through each day has been enough of a trial. There will be orphans and something will need to be done.” If only she could wave some miracle over the populous and make this all go away.
A duo of pigeons fluttered across the church. In the heat, patients lay quiet except for a few isolated moans. Claire smoothed back a tendril of hair. “What is on your mind, Claire?”
After a few moments, she lowered her hand to her side. “My father leaving everything to my uncle, and nothing to me, I have always thought strange. Mrs. Bennett, God rest her soul, told me before she died that my father did not trust Jarvis. My father was not married at the time she knew him and informed her, he would leave everything to charity unless he had children.”
“Seems logical. Knowing Jarvis the way I do, he seized everything for himself. For a change in coin, a dishonest solicitor can have documents changed.”
“How do I prove I own the plantation?”
That had his complete attention. “I thought Jarvis owned the plantation.”
“I believe I own the plantation. I didn’t know of Jamaica until I met my uncle in London. Yet there remains a vague memory of conversation between my parents about the estate. Mrs. Bennett believed that I own the plantation. Her last words to me were, ‘find the deed’.”
Devon wiped his head with his forearm. “There must be documentation. Duel deeds were given to citizenry of England when they owned foreign properties. Jarvis would have destroyed or forged the deed in England to lay claim to ownership. If Mrs. Bennett was correct in her assertions of your father’s wishes then I’ll bet there remains a deed in Jamaica. Search the house when Jarvis is not about. Look everywhere. Your father would not leave the deed in an obvious place. He would have secreted it behind a wall or in a drawer. I’ll inquire of some elderly patients who might have known your father. Perhaps they can offer more.”
Claire frowned. “I believe what Mrs. Bennett said to be true. I feel so close to my father in Jamaica. It has to be true.”
“Ask Governor Stark.”
Claire nodded. “Mrs. Bennett claimed my father performed many improvements.”
Devon stroked his chin. “I’ve had ideas on improvements but not inclined to help Jarvis.”
Her eyes widened. “What would you do?”
For some reason he wanted to impress her. “I’d build a lumber mill by the river, construct a sugar mill on top of the ridge near the falls, erect a rum distillery and increase production of cane by using an irrigation system with diversion dams I observed the French use.” He warmed to the topic. The Irish in him craved to carve the raw wilderness and make the land productive.
A slow smile spread across her face. “You are so like my father.”
He was distracted by the smile that spread across her face. The declaration that he was like her father, the man she cherished and admired, humbled Devon. He’d walk across coals for her, or better yet, kiss her senselessly. Dammit all to hell. He’d keep his impulsiveness in check, for anything beyond the impersonal barrier he erected would serve no purpose for her future. He did not want to hurt Claire. A rare jewel such as she deserved love from a good man. He offered friendship and let it be at that. When the winds blew right, he’d be leaving. It gave him pause. How would he ever forget her?
Two weeks passed, the pestilence abated with many souls saved on account of a miracle from above, or likely Claire conceded, from Devon’s steady hand. A bottle she reached for wobbled then fell before she had a chance to right it. Glass shards ripped through her hand. She cried out. Devon was beside her and took Claire to the garden behind the church. He began to pull the glass splinters from her hand. Claire bit her lip and focused on a cloud in the sky, attempting to blot out the pain.
“What were you thinking? I would have fetched it for you.”
Claire grimaced. The tug of shards from her hand hurt terribly.
“You’re a brave girl,” he calmed her. “You have gentle hands. Hands that offered a lowly slave such as me a friendship.”
Friendship?
He finished bandaging her hand.
Claire rubbed her forehead with her good hand. Since their understanding in the sacristy, they had worked side by side, yet he yielded nothing but polite cordiality. There was no mention of the kiss they shared or any inclination toward that end. His polite cordiality hurt her the most. He need only to look at her−really look at her, to let his eyes fall on hers, deeply green and penetrating, to see her soul laid bare. Worst of all, he seemed to have no idea the ache he caused in her heart.
Claire grew stubborn. She had seen him shiver from her touch and decided on an entirely different tactic. With deliberate intention, she became bold, and let both her hands rest upon his face. She saw a light smolder in his eyes, heard his indrawn breath, before he grabbed her wrists.
“Stop this Claire. I can offer you nothing.”
They stood like characters in an artist’s portrait, rooted in the bosom of the sun’s dreamlike haze. Claire saw him gazing tenderly into her eyes, her senses ascending to a keen awareness. She smelled the sweet spicy scents of tamarind and nutmeg trees, and she felt the warm caress of the gentle breeze on her face. She listened to the low drone of bees buzzing in the hibiscus flowers that glowed red in layers of verdant foliage. It was as if they stood alone in the palm of the world, as if the sequestered beauty of the garden existed only for them.
The world seemed to close in on her, and she realized it was because he still held her wrists, his thumb moving in lazy circles across her skin. His gentle caress set off an intense yearning in her. She wanted to be closer to him, but he deliberately held her at a distance. She yearned for him to let down his defenses, to erase the differences that kept them apart. It hurt more than when he had taunted her with his sarcasm and neglect.
