True Heart by Arnette Lamb Read Free Book Online Page A

not always truthful, he corrected, recalling the time they’d dressed in servants’ garb and gone to the docks without permission. Her father had caught them, and when the duke accused the older Cameron of corrupting Virginia, she’d looked her father in the eye and sworn the fault was hers. What the duke could not see was her hand and the odd fist she made when telling a lie. Only Cameron knew about that habit of hers among many others.
    The old ache seeped into his soul. On its heels would come hope. Then disappointment more bitter than before.
    Virginia Mackenzie had been the joy of his youth and often his savior. If he fell asleep in church, she always awakened him. She’d been the perfect friend for a headstrong lad with more swagger than sense.
    That she would one day become his wife had been a foregone conclusion. They’d even picked out names for their children.
    â€œLook a port bow, Cunningham. Poplar Knoll, ho!”
    A newly refurbished dock came into view, the piers carved with doves. A brick path, laid out in herringbone design, led to a gabled mansion as fine as any he’d seen on the river.
    *  *  *
    â€œIt’s another ship, Virginia,” said Mrs. Parker-Jones.
    They were upstairs in Virginia’s room. The mistress of Poplar Knoll stood at the window. Virginia sat in a chair, her back stiff and straight, a result of the new stays. She rubbed a tender spot beneath her breasts and wondered why free women abided the things.
    â€œVirginia, how many ships is that today?”
    Virginia went back to the dress she was hemming. “I’ve lost count.”
    She’d been treated with every kindness since moving to the main house. Before leaving this morning for Richmond to attend the tenth anniversary ceremony of the moving of the capital, Mr. Parker-Jones had apologized again and wished her luck should her family arrive before he returned. She’d asked him to give her back her indenture papers and the twelve pounds, sixteen shillings she was due. He’d signed the document and, to her surprise, given her one hundred pounds. She’d contemplated leaving—going to Williamsburg or Norfolk in anticipation of Cameron’s arrival. But he must not learn the truth of her life here. Those years and the private hell that accompanied them were hers alone.
    â€œThe ship’s docking, and it—” Mrs. Parker-Jones gasped. “Sweet Jesus. It bears your name.”
    Virginia sprang from the chair, her mind suddenly blank with fear. For three days she had vacillated between joy and melancholy. For three nights, she’d walked the floor.
    â€œWill you come down with me?”
    As if to emphasize the moment, the plantation bell pealed, announcing the arrival of visitors. Pain squeezed Virginia’s chest, but she forced herself to choose a path.
    Moving to the window, she looked at her hands. Her nails were now groomed, but the dye stains had not faded. There’d been no time to sew gloves and Mrs. Parker-Jones’s hands were much smaller than Virginia’s. Her old smock had been given to another servant, and she had altered several of the mistress’s dresses. The feel of soft cotton against her skin should have given her confidence; it confused her more, for it was a constant reminder of how mean her life had been.
    â€œWill you come downstairs with me?”
    â€œYes. No. I don’t know.”
    In the sunlight, Mrs. Parker-Jones looked younger than her years and deeply troubled. “They are not strangers, you know.”
    But Virginia was a stranger to them. For ten years, their lives had been as different from hers as cold to warmth, freedom to servitude. If they knew the details of her life, her family would hold themselves responsible.
    The blame and the burden were hers alone to bear.
    On that fateful day ten years ago, when she’d learned that Cameron had already sailed, she’d willingly boarded