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She wasn’t concerned for herself, but that was selfish. Her child would be illegitimate and ridiculed as such. How could she do that to her baby?
Maurice was such a fine man and life here with him would be peaceful. Something in her logic and heart shifted. Her heart still cried for Godwin, but the
babe kicking in her belly told her she had to think of only that child.
Maurice looked her way and she saw his eyes light up. Could she learn to more than like him? Was that possible?
* * * * *
The comte felt a warmth engulf his heart. Was it a trick of the mind? He looked into her eyes and saw something there, was it merely friendship, or something more? Dare he hope?
She did not look away but met his gaze. He stared into her violet eyes, those magnificent eyes that said so very much, and his hopes lifted. Silently, gently, imploringly, he made love to her in that glance. He wanted her both physically and spiritually. He wanted her in a way he was certain no man had ever wanted a woman before. Ah, she knew and turned away. She did not want to lead him on, he knew this and still, he had hope.
His sister raised an eyebrow at him and gave him an encouraging smile. “Mon frère, c’est bon,” she said, getting their attention. “Can it be I am here with you, away from the Reign of Terror? Life takes its turns, does it not, m’belle?” she said to Heather. “One moment, we are headed for…a fate most horrific, and then the fates take us to a better place. Here, m’belle,” she leaned over and patted Heather’s hands, “is a better place.”
The comte knew his sister adored Heather and wanted her to be his bride and her sister. She had made this clear. He appreciated Louise’s concerns, but did not want Heather pushed. He wanted her of her own accord.
“Ah,” he said, taking attention away from his sister’s obvious attempt to help him in his effort to win Heather over. “Our home…Brabant Plantation!”
They had turned onto the drive that began its long approach to Brabant. Heather stared at the large island house which sat high on the crest of a rolling hill.
“You see its position?” he said with absolute love. “It was the first thing to catch my eye. Eight years ago, it was a run-down and bankrupt estate. I knew at once what it needed when I purchased it. When we arrive…when you look out from the windows, you will see a great deal of the land we farm. I learned from my brother the need to view one’s land from one’s home, but also…the satisfaction and enjoyment one can derive from watching an investment succeed.”
“Why, Maurice, it is magnificent,” Louise said as she stared.
“Indeed, if you say it was run-down, you have managed to succeed beautifully,” Heather said as they neared. She could see the tropical flowers in garden beds and the exquisite landscaping around both the house and the courtyard.
The house itself was a Bordeaux Chateau. Its paned windows, its smoothly elegant lines, its mellow butter-colored sandstone, and its foundation plantings certainly caught and held the eye. However, it was the plantation’s whole that caught, fascinated, and securely riveted both women’s attention as they stared.
Two windmills, also on the peak of the hill, caught the wind and loomed large but charmingly so in the distance.
Maurice pointed and explained enthusiastically, “The wind turns the blades and creates the power to grind our grain, and gives us fresh water as well. And look there, the carts we use pulled by our oxen were made from trees we felled to clear the ground for planting. No waste, you see, no waste. Here at Brabant we train those who have shown an aptitude to be blacksmiths. One day, when voices like mine are heard and slavery is at an end…my people will have skilled jobs to fall back on.”
Heather smiled as Louise remarked on her brother’s beautiful plantation. She saw a young boy at the oxen’s head, steering the animal and calling, “Gee, cum, cum hai!”
“He is so young,” Heather objected. “Surely too young to work?”
“He is a leader boy, and enjoys his time with the oxen. He also has school time, where though it is against the law here in Barbados, we quietly teach the children their letters. We also make certain all the children have free time here on the plantation, with none the wiser. Such things must be kept secret.” Maurice was proud of his accomplishments and this was displayed in the tone of his voice. “On the last day of the crop, he and the other oxen will wear necklaces of flowers. The children enjoy it immensely.”
Heather could not help but feel some fascination for it all as she looked out on the working plantation. She was dazzled with the beauty as she saw coconut palms stretched out thirty feet into the air and neatly laid out, as were lush hibiscus plants, their flowers in vibrant bloom.
The house loomed as they got closer, but Heather stared at the rows of cabins that eased through the landscaping. She realized, at once, the cabins housed slaves. She was leaving this fascinating island, and this way of life would be left behind her. Yes, but the slavery would continue to be a way of life. Someone had to stop it. She had to trust Maurice, who was a good man, to fight the use of slavery for financial gain. It was unchristian, it was inhuman. Indeed, but she would not be here to take up the fight.
It occurred to her that Brabant was a thriving community, a self-sufficient place, just as any feudal parish in England had been four hundred years past. She thought that if she stayed, Brabant could be held up as an example to other plantations. Indeed, if she stayed, she would begin her work to free the slaves.
~ Thirteen ~
A WEEK THAT HAD BEEN lovely, lazy, and strangely stimulating passed for Heather at Brabant. She was just entering her fourth month of pregnancy, and her belly had hardly begun to swell.
Maurice took her for a gentle ride over his lands. They spent a great deal of time walking along the creamy sands, talking about nearly everything. She found herself laughing more and more while in his company.
Louise, too, was such a comfort and a great deal of fun, free now from the fear of the guillotine.
Both, she realized, were reluctant to talk about her trip back to England. Finally, Maurice brought up the subject and told her if she still wanted to leave, and he prayed she didn’t, there was a ship leaving soon for Cornwall.
She saw the pain in his eyes and took his hand. “Come…let us walk.”
She led him down the garden path to the wooden steps that would take them to the ocean. She loved the sound and scent of the ocean. It reminded her of Cornwall and Godwin.
