“And owned in part by Selah Hopewell. A misbegotten dowry, some say, for prime land that sits idle.” Murray forked a bite but looked like he’d lost his appetite. “To muddy matters, Laurent is rumored to have been awarded the plantation of your deceased neighbor, which borders both your and the Hopewells’ plantations.”
Xander stopped eating. “Hearsay, hopefully.”
“What’s more, he may be making inroads with Mistress Hopewell.”
“Laurent? You jest.”
Murray flashed him a wary gaze. “Word is she’s been accompanying him to see how the tobacco brides are faring. From all reports, they look quite ... companionable. Fancy gaining the hand of the cape merchant’s daughter and prime tobacco land to boot.”
Xander managed to finish his pint if not his plate. “God forbid.”
Selah bit her bottom lip, the warmth and chatter of the shop fraying her final nerve. Shay ran hither and yon fetching this or that, managing the scales, while she tallied orders and tried to keep up a brisk pace as more customers crowded into the store that held but a dozen comfortably. ’Twas a tormentto function normally while Father lay more ill today than he had all the days before. Mother was out of remedies, for nothing seemed to be of much help. By now, most would have called for a physic. But Father had no fondness for Laurent, and other physics were far removed from James Towne.
Selah cast a glance at the back door. At any moment Mother might enter and deliver the dreaded news. Death stalked the colony with little warning. Would they be next?
“Selah.”
Her name, though softly spoken, broke through the tumult of her thoughts. Her gaze lifted from the ream of papers she perused. How Xander had navigated his way unnoticed to the counter where she stood trying to add sums was no small feat. She stared up at him without focus, his features undimmed by the shadow of the felt hat he usually wore. Swallowing, she marshaled all her wits and tried to smile.
“Afternoon, sir.”Sir.What she meant to say, at least discreetly, wasXander. Her voice sounded brittle, a testament to all the rest of her.
His hat dangled from one fisted hand. “Might I speak with you in private?”
A bold request. One she hardly had time for. But he was not a man to be denied. His unusually earnest expression had her choose the fragrant, shadowed confines of Father’s lair, as Mother oft called it. There they faced one another an arm’s length apart.
“You look distraught,” he told her bluntly, his eyes never leaving her face, “though ’tis your father I’ve come to inquire about.”
“Father—” Tears that had remained unshed all morn nowmade her dig blindly in her pocket for a handkerchief, to no avail. “He—”
“He is gravely ill, and your countenance tells me all the rest.” He reached into his doublet and removed his own handkerchief. Finely made, it looked out of place in his work-worn hand.
This time she made no move to quash her tears. They fell unhindered, spotting her bodice. Gently, he dried the trail of emotion on her face. The linen held his masculine scent, enveloping her as if he’d embraced her instead. For a time, the shop with all its haggling and clinking of coin faded away. ’Twas just the two of them, caught up in a tender moment, despair and uncertainty suspended.
Finally, she mastered her voice, fisting the handkerchief he gave her. “Mother is urging a move upriver to Hopewell Hundred. She thinks, as Father does, that James Towne’s miasmas and swamp fevers are too much for him now that he’s nearly sixty.”
“I’ve long thought this a dismal spot to settle.” He took her hand and sat her in her father’s chair. “There’s even an empty warehouse sitting idle near Hopewell Hundred that would serve well for merchanting once he recovers.”
If he recovers.
“You have no need of it?” At his nay, she felt a beat of hopefulness. “Perhaps that will suffice.”
He looked toward the front, where Shay’s voice carried. “I also ken this might not be the best time for your brother to be away.”
The peace exchange. Would he send someone else in Shay’s stead?
“Please ... stop and see my father.” Selah laid a handon his coat sleeve. “Your presence will do him a world of good.”
“Consider it done. One more matter ...” He hesitated a moment, clearly uncomfortable with broaching it. “What have you to do with Laurent?”
“As little as possible.” Her stomach turned. What had he been told? “Governor Harvey insisted we call upon the tobacco wives. One visit is behind us, but more are to come.”
“My inquiry comes with a warning. Safeguard yourself when he is near.”
“I find him disagreeable at best. I—”
“He is not a man to be trusted.”
“Then I shall refuse to accompany him further.”
