Deceived. Bertrice Small

along, miss,” Martha said, interrupting Aurora’s thoughts, “come, and let me do your hair proper.”

      Proper to Martha meant an elegant little chignon in the back of Aurora’s head, and two ringlets apiece upon either side of her face. Calandra favored the chignon, and a single long ringlet on the left side of her face, convinced that her left side was her better profile, and needed attention drawn to it. Calandra was sweet but vain, Aurora thought to herself. She’s just what I imagine a duchess should be. Her eyes strayed again to the windows of her bedroom, and she wished that she had a spyglass to seek out George as he greeted the duke.

      George Spencer-Kimberly watched as the Royal George was made fast to the docks, and when the gangway was lowered he hurried up it. “Captain Conway, it’s good to see you again, sir! You’ve brought a passenger for us, I believe.” His eyes strayed to the tall gentleman by the captain’s side. Black hair. Black, no, dark blue eyes. Rugged features. Hard body. Not quite what he had been expecting in an English duke. He had thought a softer type, but this man did not look soft. For a brief moment George Spencer-Kimberly reconsidered the deception about to be played on this man and wondered if it was wise, but it was too late to turn back now.

      “Aye, Mr. Kimberly,” the captain said. “I’ve your passenger for you, sir. I would have thought your father would be here to greet him.”

      “My father passed away unexpectedly the day after Christmas,” George replied. “A sudden burst of thunder, and a lightning bolt too near his horse. The beast reared up, throwing Papa, killing him instantly.”

      “ ’Pon my soul!” the captain exclaimed. “What a tragedy!” Then, remembering his duty, he said, “Mr. Kimberly, may I present to you, his grace, the Duke of Farminster. Your grace. Mr. George Spencer-Kimberly.”

      The two men shook hands, the duke taking in the measure of the young man before him. Not quite his own height. Stocky. Pleasant-looking with blue eyes and brown hair. A firm handshake, the hands slightly callused. No idler this young fellow.

      “Mr. Kimberly, allow me to present my condolences to you. Had I but known of your loss, I should have delayed my journey,” Valerian Hawkesworth said politely.

      “Since we knew nothing of you, your grace, prior to your grandmother’s letter, we could not have stopped you,” George replied, his eyes twinkling with ill-disguised humor. “Were you yourself aware of your, um, obligation to my sister?”

      The duke laughed, appreciating the younger man’s wit. “No, sir, I was as taken aback by the situation as I have no doubt your sister was. Am I right?”

      George nodded with a grin. “There is a cart for your man and your baggage. I brought a horse for you, sir. We can talk as we ride up to the house together.”

      “Agreed!” the duke responded, then he turned and spoke to his valet, instructing him as if the man had not already heard George. When he had finished he said to Captain Conway, “You will stop to board my bride and myself when you return to England as we discussed?”

      “Aye, sir,” the captain replied. “ ’Twill be in two and a half weeks. If there’s any delay, I get a message to you.”

      The two men departed the vessel.

      Unable to help himself, George said, “You don’t intend remaining long on St. Timothy, do you? I think Mama will be quite distressed.”

      “The Royal George is the finest passenger ship traveling between England and these islands, Mr. Kimberly. I do not wish Charlotte’s wedding voyage to be less than comfortable. If we do not return to England on its return trip, we shall have to wait several months for it to come again. I believe at that point we shall be facing your stormy season. I would not distress your mother, but I think it best my bride and I leave as soon as we can.” The duke swung himself into the saddle, gathering the reins into his hand.

      “I think,” said George as he mounted his own horse, “that I should explain to you that my stepsister is not known as Charlotte. She is known by her second name, Calandra.”

      “Why?” Valerian Hawkesworth asked.

      “When our mother married our stepfather, Cally and Mama’s daughter were just under three years of age. Both had been christened with the same first name, Charlotte. Our parents decided that the girls would be known by their second names, Calandra and Aurora. That is why the marriage contract, at least our copy, gives the bride’s name only as Charlotte,” George finished, tensing just slightly as he waited for the duke’s comment.

      “Indeed,” the duke said dryly. “So my bride is known as Calandra? ’Tis an elegant name. Is she an elegant girl, Mr. Kimberly?”

      “My stepsister is certainly an attractive girl, and I suppose with the right gowns and hairstyles she might be elegant one day, but Cally is just an innocent island maiden. You will have to be the judge of that, your grace.”

      “You will call me Valerian, and I will call you George, sir,” the duke answered him. “And what is your sister like?”

      “A pretty chit,” George said. “Aurora is a law unto herself though.” He chuckled.

      The horses moved up from the harbor along the dusty dirt road to the house on the hillside. Now the duke could see the building better. The open front was in reality a spacious veranda. The ground floor windows were long. All the windows belonging to the house had heavy wooden shutters on either side of them. To protect them in the fierce storms he had heard about from Captain Conway undoubtedly. On either side of the roadway the land was thick and lush with green growth such as he had never seen. Vines entwined with brightly colored flowers attracted his eyes. The trees were filled with scarlet, green, blue, and gold birds of a most exotic nature. The heat was pleasant, but he had never before known anything like it, and the winds that seemed to constantly blow were softer, sweeter, and had just a hint of dampness.

      “Is your manager, and your overseer satisfactory?” the duke asked George. “How have you managed since your stepfather’s death?”

      “My father,” George replied, “ran St. Timothy himself. He didn’t approve of those men who allowed others to handle their affairs, leaving them free to pursue a life of pleasure. I was five and a half when we first came here from Jamaica. On my sixth birthday my father took me out with him when he made his rounds. I went with him every day after that. I am nineteen now, and have been handling the plantation’s books ever since I ceased my formal education at the age of sixteen. My father meant for me to eventually run St. Timothy in its entirety. With his death, however, the ownership passed to Cally, and will pass to you upon your marriage to my stepsister. If you wish to bring your own man to take over the running of the plantation, I will give him my full cooperation, Valerian. You have my word on it.”

      “There is no need for a stranger to be introduced here, George,” the duke responded. “I will never live here, for my life is in England, but I agree with your father in the matter of absentee ownership of an estate. I would like you to remain here, if it pleases you, to run the plantation as your father did. When I have gone over the books, we will decide upon a fair rate of remuneration for your services. After all, you will one day want to take a wife, and will need to support her. The plantation will one day become the property of one of the children Calandra and I produce. Perhaps a second son would favor it. We will both rest easy knowing St. Timothy is in good hands. Do you think this arrangement will be satisfactory to you?”

      “Aye, Valerian!” George said enthusiastically. This was really working out quite well, he thought to himself, pleased, and Mama would be delighted to know she should not be discommoded in any way. “There is one thing you should know,” George continued. “The old Meredith plantation house, which is located on the other side of the island. It came to Papa through his second wife, Emily Meredith. Papa left it to Aurora along with an income. There is no real land with it. Only the land upon which the house sits, but Papa thought she would want her own home should she marry one day. Her inheritance, and her income along with the house, make her a good choice for a respectable young man of good family. Mama is sending her to England