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When the last bit of Alanna's apparel had been stowed away in the carriage, Randolph caught a glimpse of Rachel watching from the parlor window. He had believed her to be his friend, but she was observing him now with the same icy detachment she'd show a spider spinning his web, and he knew he had lost one of his best customers. He nodded toward her anyway, but she turned her back on him.
Randolph flopped his battered wig on the seat beside him and spent his time on the ride home attempting to fold Alanna's garments neatly, so she wouldn't know how carelessly they had been treated. Her lingerie held a delightful hin
t of lavender sachet, and he held each piece up to his face to savor it. He had kept his late wife's clothing for a long time, because he had been unwilling to part with it while it still held her scent. He had absolutely no right to fondle Alanna's garments in the same loving way, but he couldn't help himself.
Ashamed of the miserable way he had carried out his errand, Randolph was hoping Alanna would be away visiting Christian, but she was waiting for him when he arrived home. Bruised and sore, he hobbled out of his carriage and tried to smile, but he knew by Alanna's worried frown that he must be a pathetic sight.
"You'll have to forgive the way I look, but I did bring your belongings."
Alanna had never seen Randolph looking anything but his best, and certainly never without his wig. She wasn't surprised to find his hair was gray, but his thick, boyish curls were far more attractive than any neatly groomed and powdered wig. He did not resemble a staid businessman nearly as much as a young man, who'd stayed out all night with his pals. It was obvious to her he had lost a fight with someone, but that only made his disheveled appearance and sheepish smile all the more appealing.
"It doesn't look as though my uncle's response to my letter was the one for which I'd hoped."
Randolph shrugged slightly, and then winced when a sharp pain shot down his back. "He tore it up without reading it. I'm sorry."
"That doesn't matter. What did he do to you?"
When Randolph brushed aside her question with an embarrassed shake of his head, Stanley provided a vivid account of John Barclay's brutality. "Damn near killed him," he swore. "That man ain't no gentleman."
Alanna took Randolph's arm. "My clothes weren't worth this. You shouldn't have had to suffer this abuse."
Enjoying her attentions, Randolph slowed his pace. "If I have to go out there again, I'll be sure to take several men with me."
"You're not going out there again, Randolph. Don't even consider it."
"May I offer you the same advice?"
"You needn't bother. I'm not even tempted to pay the plantation a visit." Alanna helped him into the parlor, where a horrified Mrs. Newcombe took over. The little woman insisted what Randolph needed was to soak in a hot bath, and hurried off to arrange it. Leaving her host in his housekeeper's hands, Alanna returned to the carriage. It wasn't until she had carried all of her things upstairs and begun to sort them out that she found a great many suspicious blades of grass.
The reason for the disorganization of her apparel was then painfully obvious. She sat down on the side of her bed, unable to imagine what her aunt and uncle must be thinking to reject her so cruelly. They had accused her of being disloyal, which she most certainly wasn't. She hadn't revealed Melissa's secret, nor would she share any of Elliott's. She had given them the loyalty they deserved, but they had treated her like trash.
Randolph was pleased to find a long, hot bath did indeed ease his discomfort. He would have to stay home for the rest of the day; clad in his dressing gown, he stopped at Alanna's open door. "I hope nothing important was left behind," he called to her.
Alanna rose from the bed and carried a handful of the grass she'd brushed from her clothes over to him. "They just threw my things out the window, didn't they?"
Randolph would have denied it to save her feelings, but because she held the proof of what had happened, he told the truth. "Your uncle was most ungracious, but I didn't lose sight of the fact he'd just lost a son."
"He needn't behave as though he had lost a niece as well." When Randolph looked pained by her remark, she reached out to touch a curl at his temple. "You have such beautiful hair. Perhaps that isn't a proper thing to say to a man, but you do. Why don't you throw away your wigs?"
"I'll throw away everything I own, if it'll please you," Randolph blurted out without thinking.
"You've already done more than enough for me," Alanna assured him. "Now will you excuse me? I want to get everything put away."
"You'll join me for supper, won't you?"
"Yes, of course, I will." Alanna waited at the door until he had reached the stairs. Randolph was such a sweet man, but no matter how much she missed Hunter, she was not going to take refuge in his arms. It was definitely going to be a temptation, but one to which she would never yield.
Chapter 28
In less than two days' time, Robin Frederick's penchant for gossip had insured that all of Williamsburg's finest citizens had learned of Alanna Barclay's marriage to an Indian brave. Her tale was imaginatively embellished in the subsequent retellings, so that Hunter was variously described as an Iroquois chief by some, and as a bloodthirsty renegade by others. Alanna's unusual choice of marriage partner alone would have been enough to cause her to receive severe censure, but the fact that she was also living openly with Randolph O'Neil, sent many of her aunt's horrified contemporaries into a swoon. No one could recall a scandal of such delicious proportions, and it promised to keep everyone talking in hushed whispers all summer.
Randolph employed two clerks at his shop. Lena Fisher cataloged, sorted, and dusted the merchandise and kept the shop in perfect order, while Robert Platt was an apprentice silversmith who showed great promise. Randolph was fond of them both, and when their attitudes turned cool, he noticed it immediately. He was unable to recall an incident which might have upset them. It was true he had been absent from the shop on several occasions that week, but he had always thought the two liked the responsibility of handling customers on their own. Too considerate to allow what he felt had to be an unfortunate misunderstanding to continue, he asked the pair what was bothering them.
At first Lena shrugged and turned away, and Robert simply blushed, but after a few minutes' coaxing, Lena reluctantly admitted what was wrong. "I hope you'll forgive me if this seems too personal a matter for my comment, but the whole town is talking about the way you've taken up with an Indian's wife. What with you being in church every Sunday, you have to know it isn't right."
Dumbfounded, Randolph stared at Lena for a long moment. She was a mature woman, not some silly girl, and he found it difficult to believe she did not know him better. As for Robert, well, he was an inexperienced young man, and perhaps could be excused his embarrassment on that account.
"Mrs. Hunter's aunt and uncle have treated her abominably, and I have invited her to stay in my home while her husband is serving as a scout with General Braddock's forces. There is absolutely nothing improper about our relationship, and I am shocked, shocked, Mrs. Fisher, that you would repeat what can only be described as the cruelest of gossip. In the future, please refer anyone who might wish to make a comment on my guests to me."
