From This Day Forward Read online

  “No. I understand from Patrick that Grandfather has an artist coming next month to do his portrait. Patrick is now considered the eldest son.” The sense it did not matter to him didn’t carry over into the expression in his dark blue eyes.

  “All you can do is offer your forgiveness. Perhaps, in time, he will see the wisdom in forgiving you.”

  “It has been nearly five years. I don’t think time will make a difference, nor the fact that I forgave him years ago. He’s a hard man who does not bend to anyone.”

  “Now you see why I cannot go home. My father and your grandfather have a lot in common.”

  “Come. You need your rest.”

  “You do not have lessons for me tomorrow, do you?” She infused humor into her voice, needing to lighten the mood.

  “We may be home by afternoon.” He started down a long hallway, decreasing his pace in front of a door as he threw a glance toward it then picking his step back up. When he came to a halt at the far end, he faced her. “This is your room. I will be staying for the time being in my grandfather’s.” He gestured toward the door. “In case you need me.”

  “I will be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Thank you for coming. I couldn’t leave you in the cabin by yourself overnight.”

  The softness in his look doubled her heartbeat. Seeing him after being apart all day uplifted her spirits, which immediately frightened her. In a very short time, she had come to care about this man who had saved her on the road. She shouldn’t. “Well, you will have to leave me alone when I go to Dalton Farm.”

  A frown descended. “About that—”

  She raised her palm to stop his words. “Don’t. I will be going to my new home.” Then she fumbled for the handle and quickly slipped into her suite of rooms. A fire blazed in the fireplace, Maddy rocking Faith in front of it as she sang a lullaby to her.

  This bedchamber was so different from the one at Nathan’s home. Its size alone rivaled the total size of the cabin. Heavy wine-colored draperies of damask were pulled closed over two large windows. Wallpaper with tiny roses covered the walls. A massive, four-poster bed of walnut dominated all the other pieces of furniture. Next to it sat a table with an oil lamp that made the room much brighter than candles, as though a dark shadow was not allowed in the bedchamber. A cozy warmth, which did not carry over into the rest of the house, suffused the area.

  Maddy looked up and gave Rachel a huge smile. “Mr. Stuart told me he had a servant bring in a cradle and this rocking chair for us. Perhaps we can stay here for a while.”

  Rachel crossed to the bed and pressed her hand down into the softness of the mattress, the feel of the brocade coverlet luxurious beneath her fingertips. “Don’t get used to this. We shall not be here long.” But looking around the room only underscored her longing to go home to England.

  “How is he?” Patrick came into the dark bedchamber, stopping next to Nathan beside their grandfather’s bed.

  “Better.” The raspy sound of the old man’s breathing mocked his words. “He’s now sleeping well. I put a poultice on his chest that seems to help some.”

  “You need to sleep. I can stay with him. If he becomes worse, I will come get you.”

  “No, I cannot sleep.” Although weariness dogged Nathan’s every step, being home brought back too many bittersweet memories for him to rest.

  Patrick pulled a nearby chair closer to the bed and sat. “I miss talking to you. I wish you and Grandfather would—”

  “Patrick, if you stay, I prefer not discussing what happened five years ago. It will not change the facts.”

  “Have you ever tried to contact Mama?”

  “Yes. The first year she was gone I wrote to her. I finally received a letter telling me that it was better she left before war broke out between our countries. She is English and wants to live in England.”

  “I wrote her, too, and received the same type of letter. It is as if with Papa’s death and what Grandfather did, we don’t exist to her anymore. How can she do that? I saw Mrs. Gordon holding her baby, and I just don’t understand.”

  “I cannot answer that.” A picture of his mother climbing into the carriage the day she left Pinecrest for good filled Nathan’s heart with the deep ache he had felt at the time. She wouldn’t listen to him when he pleaded for her to stay. She told him she wanted to go home to England, and now that her husband was dead, she finally could. It was not until later he had discovered that his grandfather had ordered her off the plantation. “I wish I had arrived at the dock before her ship sailed. I might have been able to do something about what occurred.”

  “Defy Grandfather?”

  Nathan twisted toward his younger brother. “Yes. I ended up doing that anyway.” The final incident with Eliza and her baby that had caused the rift completely to tear between Grandfather and him nudged forward in his mind. He shut it down lest he refuse to sit at the old man’s bedside and nurse him back to health. “I could not stay at Pinecrest, knowing that he had sent our mother away. She was the mistress here. Our father had been buried the day before.”

  “What kind of man does that?”

  A murderer. No, you shouldn’t think that. He is your grandfather, your kin. This discussion has to end. “Tell me about the plantation. Do you like running Pinecrest?”

  Patrick’s face transformed into a smile that glinted in his dark brown eyes, so like their father’s. “Yes. These past few weeks, with Grandfather not feeling well, I have been doing most of the managing. We are expanding our cotton fields. We will need more field hands. I’m going to Charleston to purchase ten more.”

  “Purchase?” Nathan sprang to his feet. “I thought you felt as I do about slavery.”

  “I do. I have convinced Grandfather to try a new way. I will pay the workers a wage, and they can buy their freedom. I wanted to give them their freedom, but Grandfather wouldn’t listen to me. He did agree to this. I will keep an account for each slave, and then if they want to stay on and work here, they will continue to be paid a fair wage for their labor.”

  Nathan’s tension melted away as he stared at his little brother, a man of thirty. This very issue had driven him and his grandfather apart, leading to Eliza and her child’s death, and now Patrick had accomplished what he had tried to five years ago. “I’m glad one of us could make Grandfather see that owning slaves is wrong.”

  “I wish he had listened to you. He has mellowed with age. With both Sarah and you gone, I think he’s lonely, but he will not admit it. He nags at me to find a wife and start a family before he dies.”

  “Not a bad idea. Have you met anyone?”

  “I have been too busy to look for a wife. Once I get the new fields planted and this new system working, I plan to. Seeing Sarah with Sean and now expecting another baby makes me want a family.”

  Not me. Then he would be responsible for them, and if he lost them, what would be left for him? He didn’t want to care for someone—not with all the people he had lost over the years, not with the fact his own mother would rather be in England than here with her family.

  “There you are,” Patrick Stuart said, approaching Rachel in the overgrown garden at the side of the house. “What are you doing out here?”

  Rachel pointed at a bright red flower poking its way out of the wild greenery covering the ground. “Look. This plant is trying to live even though it is being choked out by the weeds.” She bent and smelled its sweet fragrance. “Your mother had roses?”

  “Yes, brought over from England. This one is blooming early. Usually I will see the flowers from it in late April.”

  “I hope at my farm I shall have a place for flowers. When I look at them, it gives me such hope. What beauty in a sometimes ugly world. At Mansfield Manor I used to spend hours in our gardens. Mama always knew where to find me if I wasn’t in the house.” She straightened. “How is your grandfather this morning?”

  “Much better. I’m sorry you had to delay your plans for two days, but I believe Grandfa
ther is recovering because of Nathan’s presence.”

  “So he can throw him off the plantation?” Rachel asked with a smile. “At least that is what Nathan thinks.”

  “Partially that, but also because Nathan is a good physician. He pours everything into his patients. He’s determined that Grandfather is not going to die, and he isn’t—at least not from this illness.” Mr. Stuart glanced around him. “We really need to do something about this garden.”

  “Nathan told me your grandfather did not want anyone to touch it.”

  “Perhaps I can change his mind. If I find a wife, she will not want such an eyesore of an untended garden staring at her whenever she comes outside. That ought to motivate my grandfather to do something.”

  “He wants you married?”

  “Yes, so he knows his name will continue.”

  “What about Nathan?”

  “I guess he doesn’t think Nathan will ever marry. He may be right.”

  Mr. Stuart’s statement bothered her. Rachel didn’t want to marry again either, but that was because she had once. Nathan had never wed. Perhaps marriage would agree with him even though it did not with her. “What has brought you out here?”

  “You.”

  She lifted her head and looked up into his dark brown eyes. “Me? Why?”

  “ ’Tis time to break the fast, and Nathan is going to join us this morning.” He offered her his arm.

  Rachel slipped her arm in his. “I was beginning to wonder if he had left Pinecrest after that first night.”

  “You have kept yourself entertained?”

  “Yes, I have been pestering your cook. She has shown me some of the dishes she prepares. I even walked to the stable to ask some questions of your workers.”

  “Good. I don’t think Nathan would have stayed if you had not agreed to come to Pinecrest.” Mr. Stuart strolled with her toward the veranda.

  “I have enjoyed myself, but it is time for me to go to Dalton Farm.”

  After opening the front door, he swept his arm across his body, indicating she should go in first. “I have a gift for you to take with you.”

  “I cannot take a gift from you.”

  He crossed the large foyer to the dining room. “I am sending Amos to repair your cart. You will need one. Nathan said one of the wheels on yours is broken. Amos can replace it.”

  Rachel opened her mouth to refuse the help but realized she was not in a position to decline someone repairing her cart. “Thank you.” Now if it were only possible for her to find her horse. If not, she would have to use her meager coins to buy an animal for the cart and a plow that one of Mr. Stuart’s workers showed her needed to be used for the fields.

  She moved into the room and picked up a china plate to serve herself at the sideboard. The aromas from buckwheat cakes, cold bread, sausages, and mush whetted her appetite. As she took a chair, Nathan appeared in the entrance. His gaze snagged hers and held it. Dark shadows under his eyes attested to the long hours he had spent at his grandfather’s bedside. One corner of his mouth lifted, his look sparkling to life.

  “I’m starved.” Nathan filled his plate with a taste of every food laid out for their pleasure. When he sat across from Rachel, he asked, “Have you been resting well?”

  She nodded. “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “I learned how to make Johnny cakes, and this mush is my contribution to the meal.”

  “You cooked?” Nathan glanced toward his brother. “I told you she needed to rest. It hasn’t even been a week since she delivered her baby.”

  “ ’Tis clear you have not tried to stop her from doing as she intends.” Mr. Stuart waited until the young black girl filled his cup with tea then took a sip.

  The servant poured tea for Rachel too. Steam wafted from her drink, the heat rivaling the look Nathan shot his younger brother. “I am most reasonable when it is warranted.”

  Mr. Stuart chuckled. “You see what I had to deal with.”

  Nathan lowered his head and took a bite of his buckwheat cakes.

  Rachel sipped her tea while waiting for the men to sample her mush. Finally, after Nathan ate all his cakes and sausage, he dipped a spoon into the creation she’d made by herself while the cook went about her usual duties. When Nathan slid the utensil between his lips, she held her breath. It was a simple recipe the cook had said would be hard to mess up.

  With his mouth puckering and his eyes watering, Nathan gulped down the bite and quickly followed it with several large swallows of tea. He coughed and drank some more.

  “What is wrong?” Rachel peered from Nathan to his brother, who placed his spoonful of mush back onto his plate.

  “Salt. How much did you put in this?” Nathan asked in a strained voice.

  “Cook said to salt to taste. It was bland, so I thought it would need a lot.” Rachel took a small taste of the mush, lumps and all, not completely prepared for the salty assault on her tongue. Tears, more from her failure than the salt, glistened in her eyes, making Nathan’s image blurry. “I am sorry. Next time I will add only a pinch or two.” Not a palm full. “One pinch did not seem to do anything.”

  “Perhaps you should stay a little longer so the cook can instruct you again.” Mr. Stuart finished his meal, all except the mush.

  Nathan yanked his head up. “Grandfather is on the mend. Staying longer will not set well with him.”

  “Nonsense. He has tolerated you.” Patrick snapped his mouth closed, his gaze glued to the entrance into the dining room.

  Rachel swiveled her attention to the older man with long white hair standing in the doorway, his shoulders slumped over, his hands clutching a cane. His dark eyes full of thunder.

  “There is a young English girl upstairs with a baby. What is she doing in my house?” Nathan’s grandfather’s gaze zeroed in on Rachel, hard, relentless. “Who are you?”

  “I am Rachel Gordon.”

  “Are you with that English girl?”

  She nodded, her throat going dry as he drilled his gaze into hers.

  “I told her to pack her bag and get off my land. The English are not welcome here.”

  Nathan bolted to his feet, knocking his chair over. The crash reverberated through the room. “We are leaving.”

  His grandfather directed his fury at Nathan. “You brought them here? You know how I feel about the English.”

  “I brought Rachel here. The war is over, Grandfather.” Nathan’s brother rose and rushed to his side to assist him to a chair.

  The old man shook off his help. “Makes no difference to me. All English are a murdering, lying bunch.” He raised his cane toward Rachel. “Get off my land.”

  Nathan grabbed the carved wooden weapon as his grandfather waved it in the air and stilled its movement. “We are going. I can see you don’t need my help any longer.”

  “Never did.” Mr. Stuart’s eyes narrowed to slits, with his mouth set in a determined slash. He wrenched the cane from Nathan’s grasp and hobbled toward the head of the table.

  The older man’s hatred shuddered down Rachel’s length. She pushed to her feet, her legs trembling so badly she wasn’t sure she would make it out of the room. Nathan clasped her arm and led her into the foyer. She wanted to lean into him for support, but as energy surged through her limbs, she stepped away from him.

  I am not Nathan’s problem.

  Fear underlining her features, Maddy descended the stairs, with Faith cradled in one arm and carrying a bag with the other.

  Rachel hurried to her maid and took her daughter, hugging Faith to her while loud voices boomed from the dining room. Without a backward glance, she spun around and headed for the front entrance. If she had to walk, she would leave Pinecrest now. Quaking, she clasped her daughter tighter against her to keep from dropping her.

  Maddy kept pace with her. “Are we leaving, ma’am?”

  “Yes.” At the door she looked back at Nathan.

  A war raged on his face—regret quickly evolving into anger. “G
o to the stable. I will be there shortly.” Then he turned on his heel and marched back into the dining room.

  Rachel didn’t wait to hear his exchange with his grandfather. The older man’s fury reminded her of her father’s when he heard about her marriage to Tom. But this time she had done nothing but be born an Englishwoman.

  Nathan sat in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames devouring the logs. For a few minutes the mesmerizing blaze lured his thoughts away from what had happened that morning at Pinecrest. Until he saw Rachel standing in the doorway to the bedchamber. He did not want to have this conversation with her, but he glimpsed determination in her expression. Sighing, he leaned against the hard back of the chair.

  “I wish I had not accepted your brother’s invitation to stay at Pinecrest.” Rachel moved toward the other chair in front of the fireplace and eased onto its wooden seat. “When you talked about your grandfather, I didn’t understand the extent of his hatred toward the English.”

  “I apologize for how he treated you. What happened to our family was thirty-seven years ago. You had nothing to do with it. He has become unreasonable in his old age, and I told him that this morning.” His grandfather’s anger still gripped Nathan, coiling his gut into a hard knot.

  “Does he know that Amos came to fix the cart?”

  “No. Patrick insisted Amos come in spite of how Grandfather felt.”

  “What if he finds out about Amos? Will Amos get in trouble?” Rachel entwined her hands so tightly her knuckles whitened.

  “He will not find out. When I left the house, Patrick was helping Grandfather back to his bedchamber. His outburst sapped his energy.”

  “Is he all right?”

  Nathan bolted to his feet. “You are worried about a man who threw you off his land because you were born in England.”

  “He is your grandfather, and you have done so much for me.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. “It probably didn’t help that you were with me.”

  “But you stayed by his side and nursed him for two days. Surely that meant something to him.”