“Hopewell Hundred?”
“Indeed. Your property that lies fallow.” He eyed the wedding buns with apparent distaste. “Such a waste of fertile, cleared acreage. Why not plant tobacco? Wheat and corn?”
“For a physic whose priority should be the sick, you show a remarkable interest in agriculture, sir.”
He smiled again, but there was no warmth in it. “Only because my upriver forays to distant patients take me past your idle acreage. One never knows when there will again be a drought or other disaster that requires every kernel of corn, every drop of sustenance.”
This she could not naysay. She’d oft wanted to see the land fruitful, but as her dowry was only a part of the whole and she remained unwed, she felt she had little right to speak of it. Besides, her father was too busy merchanting to farm or even seek a new tenant.
“If, by chance, you Hopewells ever tire of landowning, I hope I would be considered first in regard to its sale.”
So ’twas land he craved, not her company. “Hopewell Hundred is largely my brother’s inheritance.”
“Of course. Common knowledge.” His gaze sharpened. “But you yourself have a generous land dowry, do you not? Yet you are nearly a spinster.”
The word sat like a slur upon his garrulous tongue. How dare he ask. And how weary she was of defending the matter. Why did it concern others if she chose to remain unmarried? Truth be told, she paid little mind to her dowry or dower chest. Such stayed in the shadows, gathering dust along with her dreams.
Another twirl of his plumed hat. “On a more pleasant note, have you heard the council’s latest mandate?”
Could her hackles rise any further? Again, she sought refuge in silence.
“You are tasked with accompanying me on calls to the newly wed tobacco brides. Governor Harvey himself recognizes there is none fitter for the task than you, given your successful oversight of the maids coming to Virginia.”
“But my merchanting duties—”
“I am sure your brother will stand in your stead.”
Everything honest and good within her recoiled. Barely could she eke out a response. “What, pray tell, do these visits require?”
“We shall visit every household with a tobacco bride as its mistress, inquiring as to their health and well-being so that we can give the council a good report.”
Dare she pair with him for such a task? But with Governor Harvey behind the plan, who could naysay it?
She batted a fly from the buns, nearly wilting with relief at the sound of her mother’s voice.
“Selah, fetch more punch, please.”
Excusing herself, she hastened toward the kitchen. Candace’s concerned face bespoke much as she returned to her hostessing duties.
Moments later, Selah emerged into bright sunlight, carrying a large pitcher to refill the ceramic bowl. Again, relief washed through her. The physic was nowhere to be seen. A small line had formed at the punch table, Xander at the rear. Excusing Izella, Selah took her place. In the wake of Laurent’s unwelcome news, she was all a-fumble, acutely aware of Xander’s direct gaze upon her as if he sensed her discomfiture. Mortified, she sloshed punch, spilling some on her lace-edged apron.
When his turn came, he took the cup from her hand with a small, reassuring smile. “My thanks, Mistress Hopewell.”
“You’re welcome, Master Renick.”
He took a long drink, just the two of them beneath the shade of the kitchen eave. Though she was given to making all sorts of counter conversation in their store and elsewhere, all talk flew out of her head.
He took another drink. “Excellent punch.”
“A simplebolleponge.” She smiled past her fluster. “Aqua vitae, sugar, rosewater, and citrus from the Summer Isles.”
“Your mother’s garden is especially fitting for a wedding.”
“Truly.” How she hated small talk when other heartfelt matters needed discussing. But small talk they must make. “Rose-n-Vale must be equally lovely now that ’tis summer. All those roses abloom. And a great many robins and warblers and such.”
“Don’t forget the copper snakes and cougars.”
“I’d rather”—she winced as a gull shrieked overhead—“dwell upon all things lovely and of good report.”
