Chapter 1 #3
Susanna shuddered and quickly shoved away her thoughts of bad dreams, purposely reflecting instead on what lay ahead for her. She was a quick learner and a good mimic. Surely if she watched other young ladies, she would manage to discern the fine points of Virginia’s social behavior.
Suddenly Susanna felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as she recalled the reason Camille’s father had summoned her home to Briarwood.
James Cary’s last letter had said it was time his daughter found a husband, and he had even mentioned that he had someone in mind, although he hadn’t given a name, writing instead that they would discuss it when Camille arrived in Virginia in the fall.
Oh, dear, that meant she was now to be wed! Susanna thought. And he wouldn’t be the skilled tradesman of her long-held dreams, either. Not anymore. Not for an heiress, and a very rich one at that.
Lady Redmayne had thoroughly coached Camille on the criteria for finding a suitable husband once she was in Virginia, stringent rules which Susanna knew she must now adopt. She could still hear the baroness’s dignified recital as if it had been directed straight at her.
“An heiress like yourself, Camille, must marry into both money and position. Marrying for love is a luxury only the poor can afford. That is not to say, of course, you will forego your share of happiness. You and your husband will undoubtedly discover a congenial contentment that quite often leads to genuine affection. My marriage to Baron Redmayne, God rest his soul, was most agreeable even though we were barely acquainted when we wed. Am I understood thus far, Camille?”
“Yes, Aunt Melicent.”
“Good. You must wed a gentleman who is your equal, one who can bring as much, if not more, material wealth to your marriage than you yourself bring. First and foremost, your husband, without any assistance from your own inheritance, must be able to support you in a manner befitting your birth. Always remember, my dear, that you’ve the Cary reputation to maintain, albeit in the barbarous wilds of Virginia. ”
Camille had never questioned these dictums, fully believing that they would help her to enrich Briarwood’s fortunes, and neither would she, Susanna thought as she moved to a large trunk full of her mistress’s belongings.
If she chose a husband wisely, she would surely find not only security and social acceptance among the Tidewater gentry, but happiness as well. It all made perfect sense.
She had never planned to marry for love anyway.
In that, Lady Redmayne had been wrong. Even for a poor woman, it made more sense to wed a good, hardworking man whom she didn’t love than to fall in love and marry a handsome rakehell with few or no prospects, as her mother had done with her father.
Their love had quickly soured and turned to hatred in the face of his drinking and constant unemployment.
Susanna had sworn to herself long ago that that would never happen to her.
She and Camille had talked about her also finding a husband in Virginia.
She had never entertained any thought of settling down in Fairford, although she had caught many a young man’s eye, wanting as she did to travel with Camille to the fabled American colonies one day.
They had decided that “her man” would have to be associated with Briarwood so the two women would never be far apart.
James Cary had mentioned in his letters, and during his last visit to the Cotswolds, an industrious, trustworthy young man named Adam Thornton who had been working at Briarwood, first as an overseer and then as the plantation manager, and Susanna had been eager to meet him.
But all that had changed now. A hired man would hardly make a proper husband for an heiress.
Susanna wished Mr. Cary had mentioned in his last letter the name of the particular gentleman he had had in mind for Camille. It would have made her task so much easier. Now she would probably have to choose from a wealth of eager suitors, and with only Lady Redmayne’s strictures to guide her.
“I’ll simply marry the richest, most prominent, most eligible gentleman I can find,” Susanna vowed, lifting the trunk’s heavy brass-bound lid. Such a union could not help but preserve the Carys’ fine reputation and, most importantly, fulfill her promise to Camille.
Susanna drew out a folded whalebone hoopskirt. She was determined to practice walking in the unwieldy garment until she could do so gracefully. But it tumbled with a crisp swoosh to the floor when she spied the top of a gilt frame tucked toward the back of the trunk.
Tears dimmed her eyes as she was assailed by fresh grief. She had forgotten all about the portrait. Slowly, and with trembling hands, she withdrew a small, exquisitely framed painting of Camille.
Meant as a gift for her father, it had been commissioned by Camille shortly after she had received his last letter and before she had learned he had been killed in a hunting accident.
She had debated giving it to her aunt instead, but at the last moment had decided to bring it with her to Virginia, thinking the portrait would make an appropriate wedding gift to her future husband.
Susanna gazed into a pair of serene jade-green eyes, and wondered if she could find it within herself to destroy her only image of her beloved friend.
The painting would surely label her as an impostor if it fell into the wrong hands.
Despite their many physical similarities, she and Camille had not looked so much alike that she could pass the portrait off as one done of her…
No, she could not part with it, Susanna decided firmly, her throat tight with suppressed emotion.
Instead, she found a razor-edged letter opener and deftly slit the painting from the heavy gilded frame.
After rolling the canvas carefully, she buried it deep inside the trunk beneath mounds of lingerie and accessories.
When she reached Briarwood, she would simply find a good hiding place for the painting.
No one would ever discover it. She would see to that.
It was well past midnight when Susanna finally crawled into the narrow bed, abandoning at last the cot in which she had slept since the ill-fated ship had left Bristol.
She was exhausted from hours of trying on Camille’s beautiful gowns and from her tense, late-night walk upon the upper deck, where she had dumped a large cloth bag containing her few personal belongings, maid’s clothes, and the costly frame into the blackened sea.
Then she had returned to the cabin and done her best to bathe and wash her hair with the small bucket of precious water each passenger had been allotted.
Now, dressed in a lacy nightrail that still carried the delicate lavender scent of Camille’s perfume, Susanna felt a moment’s unease as she drew the embroidered coverlet up over her shoulders, both for the place she was usurping and the unknowns she would face in the morning.
But her determination to honor her dearest friend’s last wish proved much stronger than her niggling misgivings.
“Go t’ sleep, Camille Cary,” Susanna whispered drowsily as she reached over and snuffed out the lamp.