She had everything that she had wanted. She had her freedom, she had the run of this magnificent estate, and in Eric’s absence, her every wish was considered to be law. It had not been difficult to slip into the role of mistress here for there was not much that differed from Sterling Hall. Though the estate would have run quite competently in Eric’s absence with or without her, she loved involving herself and she had tried to enter into the management of the hall unobtrusively. She had earned Thom’s mistrust when he had discovered her assiduously going over the books, but then she had been careful to praise him lavishly with her very best smile, and then point out where they could perhaps reduce an expenditure here or there and use the savings to improve upon the house.
She had been shocked to learn from Danielle that she had an enemy within the house. Young Margaret whispered in the servants’ quarters that the lady of Cameron Hall was looking to its future because she was looking forward to its master’s demise. Amanda was horrified and longed to either slap Margaret’s round little cheeks or send her packing. She did neither, determined that she would not betray her fury. A servant’s sly whisperings should not distress her, and she determined that no one would ever see her upset.
When one of the mares went into labor for a late foal, she heard the news and instantly headed down to the stables. The dark-haired Frenchman who had whispered with Danielle was there. His name was Jacques Bisset. An Acadian, he was the estate manager, responsible for the running of the acreage and the groves and the stables just as Thom was responsible for the running of the house and Cassidy was responsible for everything regarding Eric’s personal needs.
She did not have much occasion to come across him, and at the stables he did not seem pleased to see her, though he treated her with courtesy. She ignored his manner and spoke to him in French, asking after the mare, demanding to know if he thought that they would lose the horse or not.
He informed her curtly that the birth was breech, and that so far he had not managed to turn the foal.
“Well, sir, my hands are much smaller than yours. Perhaps I shall have better luck,” she informed him.
Aghast, he stood blocking her way to the stall. “Mais, non, Lady Cameron, you must not come in here at this time—”
“I must do as I choose, Monsieur Bisset,” she told him, but at his look she could not resist a wicked smile, then she laughed and tried to ease his tormented soul. “Really. We had fine Arabs and bred many racehorses at Sterling Hall. And my father was never about and seldom cared about what I did—” She paused, dismayed at her own words. She ignored him and moved past him, heedless of her gown, of her safety, of anything. She spoke softly to the troubled mare, then plunged in. To her delight she was able to shift the foal about, and though the birth still took several long hours and she was exhausted and a mess when it was over, Amanda was delighted. The beautiful little filly with a blaze upon her forehead had a fine broad chest and stupendous long legs. She and Jacques laughed with delight as the filly tried to stand, then managed to teeter up. When she smiled at Jacques she saw that the laughter faded from his eyes and that he gazed at her with sorrow and remorse. Her own laughter faded, and a ripple of unease washed over her. She was not afraid of him, rather he fascinated her. And she was determined to discover why he had argued with Danielle. Perhaps the two were falling in love, she thought. The idea dazzled her. She would be delighted if this curious marriage of hers brought happiness to Danielle.
She teased Danielle about it from her bath, but to her surprise, the woman quickly lost her temper, emphatically denying a love interest.
“Come now! He has the most gorgeous eyes, Danielle,” Amanda said. “Huge and green and rimmed by those dark, dark lashes. And his features are so fine and fair. It looks as if he were sculpted by a master artist, planes and coloring all put together so beautifully. You should marry, Dani! You should.”
“Cease to taunt me,ma petite! There can be no marriage, ever!”
“But, Danielle—”
“He is my brother!”
“Brother!” Amanda gasped, astounded. “But—but you told me that your brother was dead!”
“I thought that he was dead,” Danielle said, folding and refolding Amanda’s towel in her agitation. “I did not know that he lived until I came here.”
“Then we must—”
“We must do nothing! Amanda, I beg of you, never mention it. Never, never mention that my brother lives.”
Startled, Amanda stared at her maid. Danielle dropped the towel and came to kneel by the tub. “Please—”
“Danielle, calm down. I would never do anything to hurt you, you know that. I don’t understand your distress, but—oh, no, Danielle, he wasn’t a criminal, was he?”
“I swear, no. Yet you must keep the secret. He did not know these many years himself who he was—”
“What?”
“He nearly died. He very nearly died. But Lord Cameron’s father found him and kept him alive, and he never did know from whence he came, nor could he remember his circumstances.”
“Until—he saw you?” Amanda said.
“Oui, oui. You must keep his secret safe. He has been Jacques Bisset these many years, and he must stay so, please!”
“Tell me—”
“I can tell you no more! If you bear me any love at all—”
“You know that I love you dearly and that if you wish it, your secret is safe.”
Danielle hugged her, soaking herself. Amanda fell silent but her curiosity was definitely piqued. She was determined to discover the truth.
Lying in the grass and feeling the breeze upon her, she reflected that she should be very happy. She had never, never been so free. She had done very well for the estate; her time and her life were her own. She had come to Cameron Hall just for this freedom, then she had married Eric to achieve it. But curiously, it did not taste so sweet as she had imagined. She could not believe that there had ever been a time when she had hoped that Eric Cameron might fall before the Shawnee. She did not want to miss him, but she did. She remembered all that he had done to her there in the grass, and she colored feverishly with the explicit memories. She was anxious about his return and prayed each night that God would keep him safe.
She was falling in love with him, she realized, and then she rose, fiercely annoyed with herself. Last month she had dressed in her finest to attend Robert Tarryton’s wedding to his duchess, and she had smiled and offered him best wishes without a flutter of emotion. It helped that the Duchess of Owenfield was lank and skinny with horrible jutting teeth and limp brown hair. Amanda had felt fiercely sorry for the young woman, but she was still not certain that she could befriend her. She was just glad to realize that her heart had grown cold, that watching Robert marry meant nothing, and that feeling him kiss her cheek meant even less. And still, she did not want to love again. Love was a wretched emotion that left one vulnerable and weak and entirely miserable. She wanted no part of it. But there was more to love. It came whether asked or nay, and she had fallen beneath her husband’s spell.
