Snow Swept Moors: A Highland Winter Collection by Ceci Giltenan & Lily Baldwin & B.J. Scott & Kathryn Lynn Davis & Parris Afton Bonds

Author:Ceci Giltenan & Lily Baldwin & B.J. Scott & Kathryn Lynn Davis & Parris Afton Bonds [Giltenan, Ceci]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Duncurra LLC
Published: 2017-12-11T06:00:00+00:00

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Although the modest, raked-roofed bungalow house Jacob had rented, identical to the other houses fronting Pollock Street, was nothing like Afton Manor had been, it was, however, made of brick, which elevated it above Dare Plantation. With double-hung sashes and sunny, big-windowed rooms, it also had two bedrooms. A full-width veranda fronted it, and a brick scullery squatted amid the herb and vegetable gardens out behind it.

Best, its floor was of maple.

The New Bern house was roughly bounded by the Neuse and Trent Rivers and on the south side by the First Presbyterian Church. She had not realized how much she had missed a church’s weekly services and a city’s social gatherings, but the latter she would avoid. Her Tory leanings could not but bring discord.

While residing in the state capital, Fergus was to ply the distillery and trading post business. Jethro was to serve as steward, driver, and footman and was to accompany Catriona on errands. These outings she forestalled until long after Jacob left their bedchamber for his daily General Assembly meetings at Tyron Palace. Already, North Carolina had become the first state to vote for independence.

What was there not to like about the unique charm of the colony’s capital? Nae, the state’s capital now. North Carolina’s largest city was wealthy through plantation agriculture servicing the Triangle Trade with the Caribbean and New England. The trade consisted of slaves, sugar, and other desired goods and infused the town with a rich cultural life.

New Bern’s waterfront market offered its colorful and flavorful home-grown crops, its vast array of tantalizing foreign spices and imported linens and laces, and its dispirited indentured servants and slaves.

A recent acquaintance of Catriona’s – the lovely, young married Félicité Newell – accompanied her through the market that morning. They had met at First Presbyterian Church, which her husband faithfully attended. Jethro dutifully trailed behind and eyed the saucy Frenchwoman with obvious youthful lust.

A brunette from Bordeaux, she had classic features, and high on her cheek rode a black beauty patch. Her much older husband, a silk merchant and delegate from Raleigh, was not in the best of health. “Mais bien sur, your damp and chilly air here, bad eet ees for Oliver’s bouts of ague.” The salty sea breeze with its briny tang ruffled the tendrils not sleeked beneath Lady Félicité’s bergére bonnet.

“Try Peruvian Bark,” Catriona offered, vaguely recalling Mother McGee ‘s mention of it. “The market may have it.”

Félicité regarded her fondly. “Votre homme, he is très . . uh, virile, that ees the word?”

Catriona, who was only passable in French, had to smile. She liked Félicité’s champagne-bubbling, utterly capricious manner. “Aye, I think the females of New Bern would say that be the right word to describe me husband.”

Félicité led them into the shelter of the slave market hall, a yellow-painted open air building surmounted by a Town Hall and belfry. “If only,” the petite beauty said, idly examining the genitals of a short negro male, “mon homme was made comme ça.

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