Thea sashayed in with her nose scrunched up so tight, it was a wonder she could breathe. “Might have known I would find you down here, cousin, dear, mingling with the help.” She hunched her shoulders inward as if the very air might contain a contaminant.
“Working on my sewing. Learning about weaving.” Morning Fawn crossed her arms and cast a glimpse toward her sewing basket. If LeBeau got wind she was working on moccasins, he’d probably confiscate the leather. “I’m surprised you even know the way here.”
Thea smirked. “I know plenty. Know your prince charming is headed up to Alleyton tomorrow to visit his girl. I might have him drop me by Bealah Brown’s on the way.”
Morning Fawn’s jaw clenched so tight her words came out muffled. “Fine by me. I reckon you’ve forgotten it’s Mr. Moyer who is set on courting me.”
“It’s amazing what greed for land can motivate a man to do.” Skirts lifted high, Thea strutted over the loom.
Let the remark pass.Morning Fawn pressed her lips shut and stepped between Thea and Lucy lest her friend be the next victim of the venom.
Thea poked her finger at a thread. “You messed up, girl. Thepattern doesn’t call for purple there. I knew I should have someone else working on my shawl.”
“Sorry, miss. Won’t happen again.” Lucy lowered her head and curtseyed.
“I distracted her.” Morning Fawn crossed her arms.
“That’s what comes of being friendly with the servants.” Thea marched over to the table, picked up a pair of shears, and returned.
“Don’t you dare.” Fawn’s shoulders arched toward her ears.
Lucy shuffled her foot beneath Morning Fawn’s skirt and stepped on her toe. A warning to let it be.
Thea lowered the sheers and snipped through a length of waft. Frayed threads fluttered down as the shuttle tumbled against a treadle. “Maybe next time, you’ll get it right.”
Morning Fawn clenched her hands, but Lucy’s foot mashed harder.
Thea hummed as she exited. “See you at supper, cousin.”
Steam practically hissed through Morning Fawn’s teeth as the door shut. “I could have stopped her.”
“Maybe you could have.” Lucy sighed. “But then she would have gotten at me a half a dozen ways when you weren’t looking. Best not to show her how much you care.”
“We can’t go through with the plan. I can’t put you at risk.”
Lucy grabbed Morning Fawn’s arm. Her lip trembled. “We’re going through with the plan, all right. My life would be like this even if you had never showed up on this plantation. My only hope of it being different is you and Lieutenant Reynolds. We’re both going to show Miss Thea her bossin’ only goes so far. And when you have that man of yours, you and he sees if you can help me and mine.”
When. As in, it really could happen. For all she knew, she’d already lost Devon. But she wouldn’t fail Lucy. “When I get away from here, I’ll find a way to help you escape as well.”
Dear Lord in heaven, please let it be so.
CHAPTER 22
Liar. Morning Fawn swiped the back of her hand across her nose and whittled another shaving off the point of the stick. At the rate she was going, it’d be a spike, not a cane. “Two-faced weasel,” she muttered as she glanced from beneath the brim of the floppy-brimmed work hat. It smelled of sweat, George’s sweat, but that was all right. Better than that pig-smelling Miss Perfect who sashayed down the street on Devon’s arm.
A snood confined Frieda’s dark waves beneath a burgundy bonnet. Decked out in a flattering green plaid dress trimmed in black velvet, Frieda practically skipped with delight. She might as well have angel wings.
Morning Fawn’s stomach sank to the bottom of her rough boots. She shouldn’t have come. Why put herself through this torture? How could she ever have been fool enough to believe that Devon might prefer her?
Last night at dinner, Devon hadn’t mentioned anything about the trip. Instead, he’d snuck out of the house before breakfast and ridden off. George had been the one to end up taking Thea an hour later. Morning Fawn had waited until her cousin wasout of sight before announcing plans for the picnic. Her aunt had only commented on the weather being a bit chilly for an outing but had let the matter pass upon Morning Fawn’s promise to go riding with Mr. Moyer on Saturday. And thankfully, George had fulfilled his part of the plan before he’d left. Ebony and the clothes were at the designated spot.
Near the end of the street, Devon glanced over his shoulder.
Morning Fawn jerked her gaze back to the stick, driving the knife’s blade against the pecan wood. The cracked stone stoop bit into her backside. George’s patched brown coat hung loose on her frame, all the better to hide her bound chest. And the trousers? She’d had to tighten the suspenders so high that the waistline struck the bottom of her ribs. she’d even taken care to smudge dirt on her face and hands.
A gray-haired slave lumbered down the street with a wheelbarrow full of wood. Two doors down, a lady leaned out the window and emptied a bucket of liquid. Water or worse? And they called this civilization?
Morning Fawn should find her way back to her real home and throw herself at Stands-His-Ground’s feet.
