Beyond Surrender by JoAnn Wendt

Author:JoAnn Wendt [Wendt, JoAnn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1982-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“I think, Dianna, that I shall seek a new backgammon opponent. You are too easy to beat these days,” the comte complained with a twinkle in his eye as he gammoned me, then swept the pieces from the board and totaled the score.

“Three shillings you owe me, daughter.”

His piercing eyes searched my face.

“Are you tired, my dear?”

His eyebrows lifted in sudden alarm.

“You’re not ill, Dianna?”

Moving gracelessly because of my advancing pregnancy, I adjusted his slipping lap robe and patted his hand.

“Certainly not ill, Papa Andre. Tired, perhaps. Your grandson keeps me awake nights, drumming his little feet.”

The comte smiled. “But of course. All Delveau babies are lively in the womb.”

Delveau babies ...

God protect him from the truth! I’d grown fond of Papa Andre. He was innately gentle, a courtly man. I’d found those same traits in his son. But there, all resemblance between father and son ceased. The comte was a thin short slip of a man with peacock blue eyes. Who would take him for the sire of his tall and handsome son? Yet he had been my sustenance during North’s absence since that morning at Mount Vernon when he had announced his plans to leave for Williamsburg and the Caribbean to look into the rumors of insurrection on his sugar plantations.

Andre wagged a scolding finger at me.

“You are only a month from your ordeal. If North were here he would make you rest. You must give up your household responsibilities and take your rest.”

“Indeed she must, sir.”

Mrs. Krause sailed into the drawing room carrying a fresh pot of tea and the comte’s evening tonic.

“Are you aware, sir, that Mrs. Delveau sat up last night with the lad who was hurt in that hunting accident?”

She and the comte frowned at each other, then at me.

I sighed. Was the mistress of Twin Oaks under such scrutiny that she could do nothing unobserved?

I eased into the only chair I’d found comfortable of late and arranged pillows behind my aching back. It was daily becoming more difficult to find a restful position. And this evening, there was a peculiar twinge to the usual ache.

“Young Henry was spitting blood,” I explained. “He breathed easier, seeing me there.”

Mrs. Krause pressed me to take a cup of tea, then said, “But the comte and I will breathe easier seeing you resting properly—in your bed!”

“Indeed,” Papa Andre added.

I laughed tiredly and sipped the tea.

My back twinged again. This time, sharply. It made me uneasy, and suddenly I did feel as worn and tired as Mrs. Krause said me to be. I closed my eyes and lay my head back. How surprised Aunt Matilde would be to know that on a plantation, the hardest working slave is its mistress.

There was no end to things that needed doing. The servant and slave cabins had to be inspected and ordered winterized. There was clothing and bootmaking to organize. There was the supervising of the spinning, weaving, sewing and knitting. Then the meat-house preparations with careful preserving of slaughtered pork and beef for winter.

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