Back in her bedchamber, Juliet returned her hat to its stand as she prayed for ample opportunities to sequester Loveday with Leith Buchanan. She’d seat them together at dinner. Send them out to the garden for a walk after. Corner the Ravenal sisters so they wouldn’t be underfoot. Perhaps even make them co-conspirators in her plan—
“Juliet?” The frantic tap at the door preceded its opening. Loveday entered, her flaxen hair falling to her waist. “I wanted to wear my wig, but it’s not freshly powdered. Please help with my hair.”
Was she wanting to be seen at her best? Juliet’s hopes soared.
“Betimes we need a maid, or at least a hairdresser.” She began subduing her sister’s unruly locks with pearl combs. “There, you look lovely. ’Tis a perfect color on you, that shade of rose.”
Loveday darted a look toward the open door. “My, what a noise they’re making downstairs.”
“We’ve not had dinner guests in some time. Perhaps you could show Mr. Buchanan the dovecote afterward.”
Loveday made no reply. She simply smiled and glanced in the looking glass a final time before they went downstairs together. Their noisy guests were gathered in the dining room—all but one. The Scot stood in the entry hall pondering a portrait. Loveday’s steps quickened, and she slipped into the dining room, leaving Juliet alone with him.
Drawn in by the romance of the past and the particularly intent way he was studying the old portrait, Juliet said, “That is my great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side. His is quite a story.”
He glanced at her before returning to the oil painting. “Do you have time to tell it?”
“With pleasure.” She pondered the gentleman who’d settled the very ground they stood upon. Handsome and dark, he wore the garments of a lost century. “Alexander Renick was among the first settlers who arrived in Jamestown in 1607 and survived. He went on to marry a Powhatan princess, who showed him the secrets of tobacco cultivation before she died young.”
“Did he remarry?”
“In time, yes. Selah Hopewell was another colonist who helped bring the tobacco brides to Virginia. She became a stepmother to his son, Oceanus, who grew up to marry Watseka and live here at what was once Rose-n-Vale.”
“Was Oceanus an only child?”
“The oldest of ten.” She smiled, imagining it. “Six sons and three daughters followed. By that time King James had granted them more acreage for tobacco production, so Rose-n-Vale became Royal Vale and has remained so to this day.”
He gestured to the painting beside it. “And this is Selah Hopewell Renick?”
“Yes, but if you look closely, you’ll see Alexander’s first wife in the portrait too, by the window.”
“They’re not wearing indigo like one descendant I ken.” He turned toward her. “Do you always wear that color?”
“I do, in all its varying hues.”
“Did I mention I prefer blue?”
“Yet you wear mostly black.”
“I’ve just come out of mourning.”
“I understand.” Suddenly missing Mama, she changed course. “Speaking of colors, is it true you have black swans at Ardraigh Hall?”
He paused as a burst of laughter came from the dining room. “Aye, black, not indigo.”
She tried to suppress a smile. “Perhaps you could dye them a lovely shade of blue.”
“A waterfowling feat.” That steeliness Loveday had mentioned softened for the barest moment. “Better luck dyeing wool.”
“So you have sheep?”
“You tell me. You seem to ken a great deal about Ardraigh Hall.”
Guilty. She warmed all over. “Our gardener was your gardener once upon a time. Mr. Hamish Hunter. He often talks about British estates that have employed him. But,” she added with a slight smile, “he said nothing about your sheep.”
“Short-wool Blackface.”
He was still regarding her much as she was regarding him, so keenly she completely lost the thread of conversation. His gaze seemed to travel about her face as if she were another painting. Such unusual eyes he had. The color of indigo—
