Kyle’s eyes darkened in anger. “Perhaps, my love,” he said carefully, with an undertone of grimness, “thi
s is better discussed in private. Mr. Foulkes, would you be so kind as to allow us the use of your carriage for an hour?”
The solicitor looked from Kyle to Selena. But he must have felt this was a matter to be settled between the two of them, for he issued a terse reminder to Selena that he was at her disposal should she require his counsel, then clambered down and went off, leaving them alone.
“Get in,” Kyle said through clenched teeth. When Selena merely stood there gazing at him in anguish, he grasped her arm and marshaled her into the gig. “I only just now began to entertain the idea of selling your plantation, Miss Markham. And certainly I intended to discuss it with you first before I made any decisions.”
After settling himself in the leather seat beside her, Kyle took up the reins and turned the bay gelding toward the road. “And I am not,” he insisted with strained patience, “intent on punishing you. You can’t return here, but you’ll be able to use the proceeds from the sale of the plantation to begin your new life.”
Which didn’t include him, Selena thought wretchedly. He hadn’t said it, but the thought hovered between them and, if anything, deepened her despair.
“Look,” Kyle said somewhat desperately, “I may not be a farmer, but I know enough to realize that an absentee landlord does no one any good.”
Still Selena didn’t speak, and Kyle’s fingers clenched the reins in frustration. “Deuce take it! Why don’t you say something?”
Selena took a shuddering breath. “What…would you have me say?”
“I don’t know! Curse me or scream or threaten to haul me before the governor—anything but look at me like I’ve just murdered your favorite relative.”
She glanced away then, looking down at her hands, remembering her foolish declaration that Kyle would someday come to love her. “You are right, of course,” she said finally, in a small voice. “An absentee landlord wouldn’t be at all desirable. It was just a shock…I hadn’t thought of selling…” Yet she should have thought. Everything had changed when she married Kyle.
“You knew you would be leaving the island,” Kyle replied defensively, trying to see her face, which was partially hidden by the knot of gray satin ribbons on her hat.
“Yes.”
“Look, Miss Markham—”
“Do you think,” she asked, her tone becoming tight with anger, “you might bring yourself to address me by my given name? It seems rather foolish to be so formal now that we are married, even if you don’t intend it to last.”
He liked her better angry than when she got that wounded look in her eyes or when she retreated into cool civility. “Very well…Selena. What I meant to say was that I wouldn’t consider selling to anyone you didn’t approve of. And in any case, we don’t have to sell it at once.”
“No. At once is better. The longer you delay, the harder it will be for everyone.”
Kyle fell silent then, until he realized he didn’t know where he was driving. “Where are we headed?”
She looked up with a start. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were going to give me a tour of the plantation.”
“Oh, yes… of course.” Selena roused herself from her despondent thoughts to direct him along a path to the left.
They passed several fields of cane stubble and shortly came upon the Negro quarters—a wide area that was cool and colorful, shaded by tall breadfruit trees and brightened by the purple and green of young mango leaves. In the clearing stood scores of good-size huts, most walled with wattle and daub, some of stone, all on stilts and all neatly thatched. Beside many of the huts were pens for poultry and livestock, and beyond, soaking up the sun, lay dozens of well-tended gardens.
“How many slaves does your plantation have?” Kyle asked thoughtfully as he drew the horse to a halt.
“Three hundred fifty-six, since Rose was delivered of twins the other day. But we employ more than fifty freemen, as well—factors, artisans, bookkeepers and the like.”
He sat there a moment, looking around. Then he slowly shook his head. “I hadn’t imagined it would be so big. It’s a vast responsibility—to own so many lives. Not one I’m sure I like.”
“But you’re a plantation owner, too,” Selena observed.
“Yes. But somehow I never thought of myself… Of course, my father owned slaves once he moved to Mississippi from England, but I put it out of my mind. I went to sea when I was twelve, a few months after my family moved there. It was easy to ignore the situation, for I didn’t go home much.”
She eyed him curiously. “You inherited your plantation from your father?”
Kyle nodded. “When my parents were killed last year.”
“I’m sorry.”