CHAPTER 1
We really should not be supporting this ."
Lady Lucille Hornby-Warrington dourly looked out from the open carriage at the sunny summer day. There wasn't much to see aside from the roads between the Hollister and Fortnam plantations, which were dusty and lined with sugarcane plants. Some of the reed-like grasses were up to twenty feet tall and the streets looked like freshly cut swathes through the lush greenery. The lady was inescapably bored. Lord Warrington, her husband, was more interested, appraising the height and circumference of the plants. After all, the income brought in from the plantation that he managed for his wife's uncle also came from sugarcane and it looked like this year's harvest was going to be good. Warrington seemed to be in a significantly better mood than his wife.
"You can't be serious," he replied to the lady with a touch of mockery in his voice. "Miss a feast at the Fortnams' because the occasion doesn't suit you? May I remind you that Nora and Doug have the best cook in the area, keep the most beautiful ballroom, and always hire the most talented musicians? And the girl is also quite charming."
"The girl is a half-breed," his wife replied with a pinched face. "A mulatto. Such a thing belongs in the slave quarters. One doesn't just raise her as the 'daughter' of the house and have a great celebration for her 'coming of age.' But Doug Fortnam acts as if the conception and rearing of this bastard is some brilliant achievement!"
Warrington smiled. Lord Hollister, Lucille's uncle, was well known for siring bastards with black slaves. Lucille and her aunt looked past the fact that the Hollister plantation was actually populated with dozens of her cousins and half-cousins. Even their coachman Jimmy had some resemblance to the plantation owner, who had retired to his townhouse in Kingston several years ago. He left the plantation to Lucille's husband after having adopted the young woman, who came from the destitute Hornby family of civil servants. Lord Hollister hadn't had any children with his wife. Doug and Nora Fortnam, on the other hand, had two younger sons in addition to today's debutante.
"Is the girl not actually Nora's illegitimate daughter?" Lord Warrington asked.
He still hadn't entirely sorted out the situation at Cascarilla Gardens, even though he had already been living next door for five years with Lucille. But the Fortnams did not keep close contact with their neighbors. They were polite and invited them to parties from time to time, but they were not seeking out friendships. The other planters also kept more distance from the owners of Cascarilla Gardens. Doug and Nora Fortnam had a very outlandish way of dealing with their black plantation workers. Although they kept slaves like everyone else in Jamaica, they hardly ever employed white overseers; they gave their slaves more days off than the others; and they set up a system with a sort of self-governance under the leadership of a black foreman.
Initially, the neighbors had expected the whole thing to turn into a disaster. After all, everyone knew that the blacks were lazy and often violent if not kept under strict control. Nonetheless, Cascarilla Gardens flourished despite the owner's unconventional style of leadership. In fact, it was among the richest plantations in Jamaica, which made many of the other planters envy Doug. What he saved on salaries for overseers alone! However, no one would even think about taking on his model for his own plantation.
Lady Warrington exhaled sharply. "All the worse!" she said. Unlike her husband, she remembered the details quite well. "Well, it wasn't Miss Nora's fault, she had been kidnapped and . and one of the men was probably violent with her . but that's exactly why! Who wants to keep the . the fruit of such a misfortune around?"
Warrington shrugged. He also found the whole situation disconcerting. After Nora had spent years in captivity in a pocket of resistance partially comprised of runaway slaves and then was finally freed, Doug Fortnam had not only married her but also adopted her daughter, who had been fathered by one of the insurgents. Well, he did find the girl quite charming and she had probably been delightful as a child. Perhaps Doug simply didn't have the heart to separate mother and daughter. His heart was too soft - everyone around Kingston had agreed on that matter for years. And at some point, he would end up paying for having such a lax attitude toward his blacks .
The carriage was now passing one of the last fields on the Hollister plantation, where some slaves were planting sugarcane. The men hardly looked up, which Warrington noted with satisfaction. After all, they shouldn't be wasting time and watching his carriage, but working. He nodded approvingly at the overseer. The burly Scot sat on his horse with gun and whip at hand, but not in continuous use. The man did a good job, as his presence was clearly enough to put the fear of God into the blacks. And apparently, he didn't support this business with the slaves singing! Some overseers promised higher yields if the men swung the machetes to the rhythm of a song. Every now and again, singing could be heard coming from Cascarilla Gardens. Warrington, however, didn't care for it much and preferred the silence - if only because his wife talked so much. Although, at present, she had gone quiet with indignation. Apparently, she was still at odds over her participation in this party, caught between disapproval and curiosity.
Then the silence was broken. When the Warringtons' carriage crossed the border into Cascarilla Gardens, rapid hoof beats and bright laughter echoed from a side path. Coachman Jimmy stopped the horses abruptly. Lady Lucille hissed resentfully, as she had nearly slipped off her seat.
Warrington was calmer. Had Jimmy not stopped short, it would have been nearly impossible for him to avoid a collision with the two riders whose horses were now galloping on the road in front of them. A petite gray horse with a young woman in the saddle had just overtaken a much larger brown one. The young man, who was desperately spurring his horse on to a faster pace, called out a fleeting apology to the Warringtons. The gray had already disappeared between the plantations.
Warrington snorted. "The young Keensley," he muttered.
"And the Fortnams' bastard daughter," Lucille added acerbically. "Scandalous! I say . we should not support this!"
Warrington shrugged. "And yet, we will enjoy the evening," he replied. "Moving on, now, Jimmy! I'll be needing a good swig of rum to help with the startle. Or rum punch."
The Fortnams' cook had a legendary punch recipe and Warrington's mouth was already watering. And the Fortnam daughter was also an extremely pleasant sight, even if she was only galloping by on horseback. It would undoubtedly be even more exhilarating to watch her dancing later. Warrington wondered if it would come across as fatherly or just seem ridiculous if he offered to lead the girl for a minuet .
"See? It's just as I said - Alegria is faster than your brown horse, even if he has racehorse ancestors. Alegria has oriental blood, she is a granddaughter of a Darly Arabian ."
Deirdre Fortnam immediately began trying to persuade her companion as they crossed the finish line where the plantation paths met the hard-surfaced driveway of Cascarilla Gardens and they slowed their horses to a walk. The small gray mare had masterfully won the impromptu race.
Quentin Keensley, her tall, lanky, red-haired companion twisted up his mouth a bit. It was hard to accept defeat.
"Well, surely the fact that she needn't carry around a lot of weight plays a role in it," he countered. "Since you, Miss Fortnam, weigh hardly more than a feather. The loveliest feather from the most delightful of hummingbirds that our entire world has ever produced ."
Young Keensley twirled his beard, which was fashionably trimmed to a point, and smiled at the girl. The smooth words were clearly about more than their ride - horses didn't really interest him. What attracted him was Deirdre Fortnam and nothing else.
Quentin was well traveled. His family had provided him with a traditional English education and also given him a trip to Europe before his return to Jamaica. But he had never seen a girl anywhere that was as beautiful as the daughter of his neighbors. Her skin alone - cream with a shot of coffee in it, soft and silky. Quentin longed to touch it. And her unusual hair . it was black, but neither straight, nor with big curls, nor really frizzy. It was much finer than the hair of all the other black people he knew and cascaded down her back in tiny ringlets. And then her eyes! They looked like emeralds, protected by long, dark black lashes. There was a fire in them! Just like now, as Deirdre glared at him.
"Hey, that makes it sound as if I were just a decoration atop my horse!" she complained. "Alegria wants to be ridden! You can certainly try, but I'll tell you, if you can't really ride, you won't manage to get her to stop before Kingston!"
The young woman stroked the neck of her mare, which actually seemed quite relaxed and agreeable. Keensley was sure that Deirdre was exaggerating. Although, in fact, he wouldn't have thought the horse capable of such great speed as it had just shown.
"I bow before your horsemanship and your beauty!" he exclaimed with an apologetic smile and bowed his head.
He would have also liked to tip his hat, but the tricorn had already been lost at the beginning of the wild ride. He would have to send out a slave to look for it.
Deirdre guided her horse around her parents' house, a...
