"You are cruel, George!" she cried after him, but Oralia knew it was no use. The three young people had decided a course of action between them, and they would follow it through. If she interfered, George was quite capable of following through on his threat; and even if the duke believed her, Aurora was equally capable of telling him that she didn't want to marry him. Then where would they all be?

Aurora caught Calandra's eye. Her look plainly said, See! I told you we would win. "Come, little sister," she said sweetly, "you cannot greet your duke looking like that. We'll have to hurry. Will you excuse us, Mama?"

Oralia waved them away. "Yes, yes," she said. She needed time to compose herself, for while this deception might not distress her children, she was quite upset by their actions. If only Robert had not died, she thought despairingly for the thousandth time in the last four weeks. But Robert was dead. She had no choice but to follow her children's lead. Perhaps they were right. What real harm was there in what they were doing? Would it not be wickeder to force Aurora into a marriage she didn't want? Especially when Calandra was so willing to take her place? Her daughter a duchess! Oralia bit her lip in vexation. No! They were wrong! But there was no help for it. What would Robert think of all of this? She shuddered. She knew what Robert would think, but, "Damnation!" the word slipped out, Robert wasn't here, and it had always been next to impossible for her to control the three children. Robert had been the one to do that, and now he was gone from her side, leaving her to cope with an impossible situation. I will not cry, Oralia thought desperately. Calandra a duchess!

Upstairs the two girls and their servants were all hurrying to get ready for the Duke of Farminster's arrival. Calandra bathed in her tub, behind a painted screen. The air was heavy with her favorite scent, a mixture of tuberose and gardenia. Sally, her personal maid, was, under Aurora's direction, laying out her young mistress's clothing. Finally satisfied with her selection, Aurora withdrew to her own bedroom to change her clothing.

"Yer a fool, and yer papa would be furious if he knew what you was doing," her servant, Martha, said. "There is still time to change yer mind, Mistress Aurora. A man is a man, and while some are better than the others, in the end they're all alike, I say."

"Martha, do not scold me over this," Aurora replied. "I really don't want to marry anyone at this time. Even if this duke were willing to wait a year or two, what if I don't like him? No, this is a better solution all around, for me, for Cally, for all of us."

"And what if you do like him?" Martha demanded.

"I hope I shall like him as a brother-in-law, as a friend, but now that he is to be my sister's husband, there is no chance of anything else, Martha. Certainly you understand that."

The servant pursed her lips in mute disapproval. She had come to St. Timothy as a bondswoman shortly after Aurora's birth. Because she was not a criminal, and because she was mannerly, Emily Kimberly had purchased her to care for her newborn daughter. Martha's offense in the eyes of English law was that she was poor. When her parents had died she had been evicted from the family cottage by their landlord. It had been the local vicar who had suggested she indenture herself for a period of seven years, and give herself a chance at a better life in the new world. Martha had followed his advice, putting herself into the hands of the vicar's brother, a decent man who saw his bondspeople placed with good families who would not abuse them. She had served as Aurora's nanny when she was a child, and remained on when her term of servitude ended, as a free woman and Aurora's personal servant.

"I've set out a fresh gown for you," she told her young mistress.

"Oh, don't be cross with me, Martha," Aurora said, hugging the older woman. "It really is all for the best, you know."

Martha shook the girl off. "Now, don't you go thinking you can wheedle me like you can Mistress Oralia and Master George, because you can't. If your papa were here, you would have to do what you was told, and no nonsense about it. Now, go wash. I put your basin and sponge in the dressing room. I've set out that pretty blue-gray cotton gown for you to wear like you said. Even with those lovely lace engageants, it's too plain. I don't know why you want to wear it to meet this duke."

"Because I don't want to outshine Calandra," Aurora said. "We want the duke's whole attention upon her today."

"You had best tell her not to giggle so much," Martha remarked sourly. "It makes her sound like a little fool, not that she ain't for going along with you in this foolishness."

Aurora hid her smile as she entered the dressing room. The window at its end looked out on the bay, and she could see the ship slowly making its way toward the docks. St. Timothy had a deep water mooring, and a ship could come close to the shore, unlike other islands, where the ships had to moor in the harbors itself and the passengers or goods ferried to and fro. Slipping out of her gown, she sponged herself off with the perfumed water Martha had set out. Then, drying herself, she put on the blue-gray cotton gown with its round scooped neckline, and graceful skirts that fell over her stiffened petticoats. The lace engageants, or ruffles, fell from her three-quarter sleeves.

"Come and fasten me up, Martha," she called. Then she gazed at her image in the long mirror. Her skin had a faint golden and rosy look to it that set off her aquamarine-blue eyes and brown-gold hair. While she protected herself from the sun most of the time, she was not fanatic about her skin like Calandra. Calandra was inordinately proud of her marble-white skin which she went to great lengths to protect, never going out in the sunlight without a broad-brimmed hat upon her head, her arms covered, lace mittens upon her hands. Aurora had to admit, however, that the fair skin, hazel eyes, and black hair Calandra possessed made quite a striking appearance.

"Come 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.