Riverbend

By Sandra Bruney

Penniless and homeless, Damaris Tilghman answers wealthy planter Matthew Pope's challenge and agrees to become his wife. Her dreams of helping manage a large and profitable plantation are shattered when she discovers that the beautiful slave, Zoe, has complete control over the other slaves. More than that, Zoe also shares her master's bed.

Damaris concentrates on winning over the slaves and raising her son, Matty. Pope ignores both his wife and son until Matty is old enough to be sent off to school. He hires a tutor, Simon Deveraux, to prepare the boy.

Simon strikes up a friendship with Damaris, and seeing how confined her life is, urges her to run away once Matty is gone. Pope discovers the plot and sends Simon off. He promises to be a better husband, but is caught up in his web of lies and Damaris cannot believe him, even when he sends Zoe off.

Then Zoe returns and is accused of murder. Damaris knows the charges are false, but Zoe has made too many enemies. Will her hold over her master save her, or will the truth shatter everything Damaris has come to hope for and believe in? Matthew Pope is not the man she thought he was.

And Damaris isn't the woman she thought she was. Both have to face their pasts before they can trust in the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Bruney
• Release date: Feb 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370223947

Sandra Bruney

I am a writer living in North Carolina. I enjoy reading, crafting, gardening, and obeying the whims of my rescue cats.

Book preview

Riverbend

by Sandra Bruney

Riverbend

Copyright © 2017 by Sandra Z. Bruney.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

Printed in the United States of America.

Acknowledgements

To all who read this book in its many guises and gave me excellent feedback and encouragement, and especially to Michelle Buckman for her editing.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Author

Other Books

Contact

Chapter One

In spite of her shaking legs, Damaris Tilghman stood her ground as the High Sheriff approached. She longed to wipe her sweaty palms on her skirt, but dared not make any movement that he could interpret as fear—or guilt.

The sly smirk on his lips belied the coldness of his gaze as he tipped his hat. Sale’s nearly over, Miss Tilghman. Sorry the auctioneer couldn’t manage to get a better price for Twin Oaks. It was a grand plantation in its time. He didn’t sound at all sorry.

Enough to cover my father’s debts, I hope.

Well, Miss, as to that I have to say it didn’t. He owed a great deal of money to a great many people. The man shook his head in mock sympathy. Gambling’s a terrible vice—

And suicide is a sin. Yet neither of my father’s faults seems to have kept people from coming here and gawking, poking through our possessions … Her voice began to tremble and she stopped, her heart beating so loudly she was afraid he would hear it in the sudden silence.

Possessions. The amiable leer disappeared. Seems some of your family’s possessions didn’t turn up as part of the sale. Would you know anything about that, Miss Tighlman?

I have no idea what you mean. She jutted out her chin.

I think you do. He looked down at the small wooden trunk sitting at her feet. Maybe I ought to take a look at what you packed to take with you.

How dare you suggest such a thing! I won’t have you pawing through my shifts and stockings!

I can get a woman to look. If you claim all you have are shifts and stockings, you won’t mind me making certain. He turned as a boy ran up, calling in urgency.

Sheriff! They’s a fight behind the barn. You need to come quick—one of ’ems got a knife!

Cursing under his breath, the sheriff lumbered after the boy.

Damaris’s shoulders sagged in relief. She had been given time to think of something—but what? She willed back tears of frustration. If anything, the past few years had taught her the futility of weeping.

She watched the buyers as they lugged their purchases to the line of wagons parked along the winding drive, horses and mules stomping in impatience to begin the journey home. Home! She no longer had a home. Because of her father’s weakness, her dream of marriage and children had shattered like a fine crystal goblet dropped on a tile floor. Her past was irrevocably gone and her future a mystery.

She jerked her thoughts back to her present dilemma. The fight would soon be over. She needed to get away before the sheriff returned.

One of the buyers, better dressed than most in a black suit and embroidered waistcoat, saw her and nodded politely. Miss Tilghman.

She recognized him as the man who had successfully bid on the last of her father’s wine cellar. A friend of her father’s—when he still had friends. What was his name? Price? Polk? No, Pope. Mr. Pope. She smiled and held out a hand. Well met, sir. I wonder if you could do me a favor?

Of course. If I can be of any assistance…

The sheriff promised he will take me to the inn in Wadesborough where I can purchase a seat on the coach in the morning. I fear he will not leave here until the last nail is sold, and I really cannot abide watching this auction any longer. It wasn’t hard to add a quaver to her voice. To see my life dismantled, piece by piece….

I understand. I would be happy to take you, if you are not embarrassed at traveling without a chaperone.

Chaperone! I need to get away from here now. She brushed away an imaginary tear and offered a tremulous smile. I don’t think there would be any gossip. After all, you are a dear friend of Papa’s.

An eyebrow raised at this, but he lifted her trunk without commenting on her claim. My wagon is this way.

He stowed the trunk in the back of his light wagon, assisted her to the seat, and then climbed aboard and sat beside her. He had just picked up the reins when a meaty hand grasped the edge of the wooden plank that served as a seat. Miss Tilghman. I believe we have some unfinished business.

Pope stared down, his hands tense on the reins. Miss Tilghman is my care. What do you want with her?

I need to look at her trunk. The sheriff winked as if they were conspirators. Just in case.

In case of what? Pope’s tone was as cold as his dark eyes.

The sheriff dropped his hand and stepped back. His voice was curt as he said, I believe she may be holding on to some jewelry that should go in the sale.

Damaris stiffened at the accusation. All Mama’s jewels went to pay Papa’s gambling debts years ago.

So you say. I still—

Are you doubting the lady’s word? There was something dangerous in Pope’s voice. He raised the whip. How dare you, sir!

Now, Mr. Pope, no need to get all riled up. I believe her, yes, I do. Good day, Miss Tilghman and good fortune to you. He tipped his hat fawningly.

Pope jerked the reins and the horse started down the dirt path that led to the road.

Thank you, Damaris managed to mumble through a dry throat.

My pleasure. Pope glanced sideways at her. If you did get away with something out of the forced sale, I congratulate you.

She answered quickly. He made certain I didn’t. He even sold my personal slave, Pearlie, who’s been with me since I was a child. Everything I held dear is lost.

If she expected sympathy, Pope failed to offer it. What will you do now? he asked briskly.

I have been offered a position as a companion to a distant relative of my mother’s. She lives in New Bern. The letter she had received from the lady had been neither courteous nor welcoming, but hinted strongly of duty and God’s will.

Being at some old lady’s beck and call doesn’t sound like much of a life for a young girl.

I am not young, and I have no other choice. I wasn’t raised to earn my living. My parents fully expected me to marry well. She took a deep breath. The problem is, no one has proposed marriage since I celebrated my seventeenth birthday. I should have accepted the offer then. Instead, I have spent the past six years nursing Mama until her death, and then trying to keep house for Papa while he—

Gambled it from under your feet and then shot himself.

You put it quite succinctly.

He shrugged and chirped to the horse, which pricked its ears and began to trot.

As they jolted along the rutted path, Damaris struggled to remember what she knew of Matthew Pope. He owned Riverbend, one of the biggest cotton plantations in North Carolina. He was reputed to be wealthy. No wonder the sheriff toadied to him. He wouldn’t want to offend one of the most powerful men in Anson County. But none of that answered the question of why he had played along with her pretense of acquaintance or took her part against the sheriff.

As she studied him under her lashes, she decided he was not bad looking if you liked dark hair and eyes. She noted a ridged scar over one eyebrow and a bump on the bridge of his nose where it had been broken, spoiling an otherwise perfect profile. His teeth were good for a man of middle years, very white and straight. Not a common asset among her acquaintances.

The horse stopped at a crossroad and she looked at him in question.

Everyone has choices, Miss Tilghman, he said as if minutes and miles hadn’t passed since her declaration. He pointed with his whip. This road leads to Wadesborough and this one to Cheraw.

I am aware of that.

I am offering you a choice. He shifted in his seat until he could meet her eyes. I have a proposition.

She blinked under the intensity of his gaze. What is it?

Two propositions, actually. One, I need a housekeeper. From what you told me, I gather you have some experience. He waited for her response.

Yes, she said guardedly. And the other?

What? Oh. The other is, I need a wife.

A touch of amusement lightened her countenance. And am I to choose which of these delightful occupations I might wish to pursue?

I had thought them to be one and the same.

Damaris intended to reply with the disdain he deserved, but then she thought again of spending the rest of her days caring for elderly invalids.

I need an answer, Miss Tilghman.

Is it to be a marriage in name only? I mean, you mentioned housekeeper first, but I could not accept that, a spinster residing in an unmarried man’s home. But if we were married, gossip would be put at rest.

I suppose I should have mentioned the third thing. I am also in need of an heir.

Her pale cheeks blazed scarlet. She blinked once, slowly.

He waited.

She shut her eyes and drew a breath. I accept, Mr. Pope.

He nodded and guided the horse on the road that led to South Carolina, where a marriage license could be obtained in one day. I see you are very like your father, Miss Tilghman.

Why do you say that, Mr. Pope?

You are a gambler, too.

Pope said nothing else and neither did she as they bumped along the dirt road. Each mile further from home and all she had ever known increased her anxiety about her hasty decision. What have I done? Surely he will turn around and take me back if I ask.

She considered her choices again, this time carefully considering the possible consequences. She did not want to leave Anson County and face a lifetime of servitude. What she wanted was to be married and mistress of her own home. That future had disappeared along with her inheritance. Her father’s bankruptcy, the news of how he had cheated his neighbors and friends, and finally his suicide had been the end of her chance at happiness. She was certain the stories would follow her all the way to the coast, making her chances there as slim as they were here.

She gave a sideways glance at her companion, uncomfortably close on the leather seat. She could smell his cologne, and the faint odor of a cigar. When the horse slowed, he flicked the reins over its back instead of applying the whip.

That small action changed her perception. She relaxed, sensing a gentleness behind his abrupt exterior.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Pope turned his head and looked down at her. There was no expression on his tanned face and his dark eyes were impenetrable. Then he gave his attention to the road, which stretched out in front of them like a dusty ribbon.

She wasn’t sure exactly when they crossed the South Carolina line, but by late afternoon they were in the town of Cheraw. At any other time, Damaris would have looked about with curiosity, but now she could only concentrate on following Pope into the Justice of the Peace’s office where they repeated the words that changed her status from spinster to wife.

When it came time for the groom to produce the ring, Pope shook his head at the bored man who had intoned the ceremony. I haven’t got one.

I do. Damaris fumbled in her reticule and produced a lacy handkerchief with a knot in one corner. Flushing under the intent gaze of both men, she untied it and produced a gold ring that she handed to Pope. He slipped it on her finger without comment. She noted his hands looked like those of a much older man, the knuckles swollen perceptibly.

Minutes later, they were outside again. The entire process from proposal to marriage had taken less than three hours. She felt her head swim and realized she had neither eaten nor drunk anything since early morning.

It’s too late to head home. Pope sounded annoyed. I’ll have to find us a place to stay.

Damaris’s head cleared remarkably. A room. A room they would share. Her thoughts didn’t go as far as a bed.

He nodded to a structure across the dirt street. There’s an inn. It looks to be fairly new. I don’t remember seeing it on my last trip.

A sign swinging over an open door was painted with a silhouette of a black swan with a date underneath, Est. 1796. The year of my mother’s death. She shivered as if the wind had turned suddenly chill.

Pope’s voice jolted her from her somber thoughts. We can get something to eat and a room. Without waiting for her to comment, he started out. Damaris lifted her skirt to keep the hem from dragging in the dust and followed.

There were few customers in the room set aside for dining, and those who were there only gave the couple an incurious glance before returning their attention to the food set in front of them. A woman wearing a soiled apron pointed at a table. She looked tired and not pleased to have two more people to wait on. There’s not much left. Rabbit pie, mostly.

Then we’ll have that, Pope answered for both of them. Have you a room? We’re from out of town and find we must stay the night before resuming our journey.

The woman’s eyes drifted to Damaris’s hand, where the gold ring shone in the dim light. Satisfied, she smirked. We do. And no one else in it tonight.

Sharing a room, even a bed, was common, but Damaris didn’t know if she was happy or not about the offer of privacy. Another couple’s presence would put off the inevitable.

Arrangements were made. The innkeeper came up and money was exchanged. The rabbit pie appeared. In spite of her earlier hunger, Damaris found her throat had inexplicably closed up, preventing her from swallowing. She managed a few sips of small beer and toyed with the pie crust.

Pope, however, ate steadily. She watched, fascinated, as the bits of meat and piecrust disappeared into his mouth. He showed neither pleasure nor distaste. It was as if the food was merely necessary fuel. Like a horse eating hay. She smothered a laugh.

He looked at her then, a look she couldn’t decipher, and pushed his plate away. I must go see about my horse. I’ll bring your trunk to the room when I’m done. He paused. You’ll be there?

His mention of the horse nearly undid her. She managed a nod, pressing her lips together to keep hysterical laughter from bubbling out.

Pope strode from the room. A shapeless woman wearing a sprigged cotton dress covered by a white apron loomed over her. She looked disapprovingly at Damaris’s plate.

Didn’t suit you, then?

It was fine. I’m not hungry. Damaris unconsciously twisted the ring on her finger. She realized her voice was shaking from nervous tension and cleared her throat.

Just wed, I take it. The woman nodded, her mob cap threatening to tumble from her gray hair. Lots of folks come here to marry. Come along, then, I’ll show you to your room.

There was no choice but to follow. The woman kept up a stream of conversation as they climbed the wooden steps to the second floor. I’m Mrs. Johnson, wife of the innkeeper. You’re lucky we have a room free. I just changed out the linens, too. I’ll have the girl bring up a basin and hot water. You’ll be snug as two bugs and no one will disturb you. She laughed knowingly as she flung open a door. Here you are.

Yes, here I am. Damaris managed to mumble her thanks, shut the door behind the woman, and sit on the only available chair. The room was clean enough, and the sweet smell of jessamine came in through the open window. She had just taken a tremulous breath when the door opened. Pope entered the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. He dropped her small trunk on the floor.

Most women travel with more than this. He poked at the trunk with the toe of his boot. Seems like it could hold little more than a change of clothing.

You are correct. She let the lie pass her lips easily. The sheriff didn’t let much slip past him. I suspect he got a percentage of the proceeds.

He got your percentage, certainly. I expect it went straight into his pocket. He frowned. You should have argued with him about that. It wasn’t right.

Nothing about this is ‘right,’ sir. Unfortunately, I am in no position to argue.

He ignored her comment and pulled a bottle from his coat pocket. He set it on the table next to a pitcher of water and two glasses. I thought we might have a sip of wine. It will relax you.

She didn’t think anything would relax her, but she drank obediently. The silence spun out as she desperately tried to think of something to say.

It was good fortune you had a ring. I hadn’t come prepared.

His voice, unexpectedly loud, made her jump.

Yes, it was my grandmother’s, and then my mother’s. It should have come to me.

Should have? He raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. I hid it, as you saw, before the sheriff could confiscate it. It isn’t worth much, but it means a great deal to me. I keep—kept it with me as a reminder of her. She twisted the heavy gold band on her finger. The wine warmed her belly and she felt a curious languor.

We should go to bed. I want to get an early start in the morning.

She realized the room had darkened. His face was a white shape hovering over her. The scent of jessamine that had been so pleasant earlier was now sickening.

She cleared her throat, which had become dry. I suppose so.

I’ll go out and check on— He stopped, then said, —give you some privacy.

Thank you. The door shut firmly behind him.

The moment he left, she jumped up. There was still time to escape. She could trade one of the jewels hidden in her trunk for passage on the coach she had seen outside. It didn’t matter where it was headed.

Then she stopped. Mr. Pope had said she was a gambler, like her father. Was she also a liar and a cheat, ready to renege on a promise faithfully given? Her face paled and she let out a small groan as she stared at the door. Her indecision left her and she unbuttoned her gown and slipped out of it, then stripped off her stockings. Leaving her shift on, she let her hair down from its tight chignon and brushed it. When there was nothing else to do, she climbed into the bed. In spite of the clean linens, it had a musty smell, reminiscent of the many bodies that had lain there before.

After a long few minutes, she heard the door open. There were rustling sounds that she chose not to investigate. The bed sagged abruptly and she felt his presence beside her. Her breath came more quickly and her heart pounded as she realized what this meant. She wished now she hadn’t drunk the wine. She felt dizzy and a little faint as her blood rushed to her head. The roaring in her ears made it difficult to hear his words.

I suppose you know what to expect?

Just what my friends and I gathered from bits and pieces of overheard conversation. Unfortunately, my mother died before she could instruct me.

Then everything you know is probably false. She felt his finger trace the curve of her cheek and she shivered. Then she remembered the casual touch of the whip on the horse’s back and let herself relax.

She had been kissed before; boys’ kisses that felt more like the fragile touch of a butterfly’s wings than this. His lips tasted of wine and urgency. She felt herself responding, her own lips parting.

His hands slid down her body, caressing and sure. This was not as unpleasant as she had feared.

I will teach you all you need to know, he whispered.

She let him guide her, his gnarled hands gentle on her skin, awakening sensation after sensation. She shut her eyes; let her own hands explore the hard muscles of his shoulders and chest. Her breath quickened and she moaned softly as his deft touch lifted her to