“Are you satisfied, then?”
The question seemed odd to Selena, but Kyle nodded brusquely. Avery made her a stiff bow before moving away and returning to Edith’s side.
Kyle’s gaze followed Avery’s retreating figure, watching as Edith clung to the planter’s arm. “You’re well rid of him,” Kyle said, letting his hand fall from Selena’s shoulder.
She stared up at him, realizing what the two men had been talking about. “You demanded that Avery apologize to me, didn’t you?”
The slight movement of his powerful shoulders could have been a shrug. “He owed it to you.”
“Kyle?” she said quickly as he made to turn away. When he glanced down at her, though, she almost faltered, for that hard look still was in his eyes. “I’m sorry…about the way things turned out.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed, but whatever he might have said to her was lost as Drew interrupted them with a jovial command to rejoin the company. “Come, you two lovebirds, you’re missing the feast. Kyle, when was the last time you sampled our native island fare? There’s baked fish still hot from the coals and roast pork that I vow will make your mouth water. And if you’re truly adventuresome, you can try the pepper pot…”
Selena sighed with frustration, knowing she had lost a prime opportunity to try to smooth things out between herself and Kyle. But she accompanied the two men to the tables.
As Drew pointed out to Kyle the native dishes that filled the calaba
shes or gourds, Selena helped her plate sparingly to some fish and fruit. After the stress and trials of the day, she had little appetite.
Which was just as well, since before she had finished her meal, the second phase of the celebration began, and Selena found herself surrounded again by well-wishers, the ebony-skinned people who worked her sugar plantation. They were all dressed in their best finery: the women wearing brightly patterned linen buoyed up by numerous petticoats, handkerchiefs around their heads and gold earrings and necklaces; the men in checked shirts and canvas trousers.
They swarmed around her, offering her smiles and felicitations, but they hung back from Kyle, skeptically eyeing the tall, powerful-looking man who was to be their new master.
Hoping to set them at ease, Selena began the introductions, starting first with the mulatto schoolmaster. Kyle shook his hand formally but raised an eyebrow at Selena, as if surprised that the plantation would have a school for slave children.
“Schools are a common practice on Antigua,” she said in reply, “though not on some of the other West Indian islands.”
Then she made Kyle known to Granny Sarah, who had been born in Africa some ninety-five years ago, to the best of anyone’s calculations, and who cared for the fifty-odd children on the estate, the ones too young to labor in the fields. Granny Sarah, having lived too long to fear any man or master, squinted up at Kyle, and after a long scrutiny, beamed him a toothless grin.
“You trickify mon,” she praised, her speech heavily accented by the island dialect. “You steal missy from Massa Warner when he not looking.”
That made Kyle chuckle, which made the entire group relax, including Selena. It was the first spark of humor she had seen from him since that disastrous scene in Beth’s garden.
Granny Sarah cackled in delight as she eyed Kyle’s tall, powerful physique with approval. “You fine mon,” the wizened woman pronounced. “You give missy fine children.”
Her frankness brought a blush to Selena’s cheeks. Involuntarily, she cast an embarrassed glance at her new husband and found his green-gold gaze assessing her. Selena’s blush deepened at the measuring stare Kyle was giving her. But then she caught the ironic flicker in his eyes and realized he didn’t plan for there to be any children. Trying to hide her disappointment, she turned away.
Yet as she continued the introductions, Selena thought Kyle seemed impressed both by her people and her management, and she felt a sense of pride, for she valued his good opinion. She was also inordinately proud to be able to present the rugged sea captain as her husband. He was, she decided suddenly as she watched Kyle converse easily with the plantation’s chief driver, the kind of man her father would have wished her to marry, the kind of man who would accept responsibility for a vast estate and all the obligations that entailed, despite his own inclinations and preferences.
The music began again shortly, and Selena noted Kyle’s surprise that it was a minuet. He watched with interest as couples paired off and began to dance with as much grace and correctness as any fashionable throng at any ball in England. The only striking differences, besides the dark colors of their skins, seemed to be the exotic flair of their dress and the presence of children, who laughed and ran about underfoot, chewing on short pieces of cane.
The ball became livelier when a Scotch reel was struck up, and livelier still as, some time later, the music progressed from British to Caribbean. Kyle listened attentively as the dancers raised their voices in chanting song, and the drums beat out a rhythm that was dark and primal.
Selena, who was intimately familiar with Antigua’s customs and culture, found more pleasure in watching Kyle. She smiled to see him question one of the musicians about his musical instrument—an African balafo, which was made from pieces of hardwood of different diameters, laid on a row over a sort of box—and allowed herself to hope that his interest meant that he might be forming an attachment for the island that had always been her home.
When two maskers dressed in elaborate costumes took the floor to perform the whip dance, Selena felt she could safely slip away. She wanted to change out of her wedding gown and then consult with her factor about the future of her plantation. She left Kyle watching with fascination as one man chased and lashed at the other, who dodged gracefully just out of range of the wicked rawhide.
Beth caught her up as she reached the house.
“I thought you could use my assistance,” Beth said somewhat breathlessly as they climbed the gallery stairs to Selena’s bedroom. “You’ll never manage those hooks and laces by yourself, and your maids are all at the celebration.”
Selena smiled and clasped her friend’s hand. “Dearest Beth, ever practical and kind as always. You’ve been a pillar of strength for me. How can I ever thank you?”
“You did the same for me when I wed Drew, if I recall.” Beth gave her a sober glance. “I want you to be happy, Selena.”
“Yes…well…” She fell silent, and so did Beth—for a moment.
Then Beth, who obviously felt a duty to bolster her friend’s spirits, launched into a spate of praise for how smoothly the day had gone and kept up a flow of bright chatter as she helped Selena struggle out of the beautiful wedding gown.