Sea of Christmas Miracles Page 4

  Now it was Margaret who lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “It wasn’t loaded.”

  “What?” He whirled to face her.

  “The pistol,” Margaret explained. “You were never in any danger of being shot.”

  “You mean not only did a woman kidnap me, but she did it with an empty gun?”

  “I thought it for the best. Besides, I wish you wouldn’t keep acting so amazed that I was able to kidnap you... just because I’m a woman.”

  “Sorry.” Thomas’s grin didn’t appear all that repentant. But you must admit, all else being equal, I do have the advantage of size and strength. Which is why you’re at my mercy now.”

  Margaret struggled to control her anger. She wished she didn’t notice that his eyes were the same color as the sea that formed his backdrop. She had no business noticing his green eyes. “If you don’t mind, I think we should get started.”

  “For where?”

  Margaret pursed her lips in exasperation. “To return to Charleston, of course. That is where you were before I... kidnapped you.”

  “True enough.” Thomas clasped his hands behind him and leaned back on his heels. “But I’ve been thinking. Perhaps I don’t wish to return to Charleston right now.” Thomas surprised himself with his next pronouncement. “We aren’t far from Royal Oak. And it is Christmas Eve. Or had you forgotten?”

  “No, I hadn’t.” Margaret looked away before he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. She’d planned to give the children the best Christmas gift of all tonight, the knowledge that their school would continue to exist. That they’d all have a place to spend this Christmas and all the Christmases yet to come. But that was before she botched her last opportunity to change Thomas Blackstone’s mind.

  He shouldn’t care that she looked near tears. After all, he was used to the feminine ploy of crying prettily to get their way. Louise had been a master at the game. But for some reason he didn’t think Margaret Howe Lewis even knew how to play. He stepped forward before he could stop himself. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She looked up at him quickly. “What is to become of me while you make your Christmas visit?” Perhaps he would allow her to go to the school. It wasn’t far. But those hopes were shattered when he took her arm, pulling her alongside him.

  “Oh, you shall accompany me. Our roles seem to have reversed. Until we return to Charleston you may consider yourself kidnapped.”

  At least he didn’t tie her up. As they walked along the side of a dirt road Margaret decided that was one small blessing. Thomas Blackstone seemed to be in fine spirits. His pace was brisk, his step lively. He even whistled a Christmas carol.

  Margaret on the other hand was decidedly out of sorts. She worried about the children at the Freed Negroes’ Orphanage and Boarding School. Christmas would come and they’d have nothing. Not even the peppermints she purchased with her meager funds.

  When they veered off the main road, Thomas Blackstone prodded Margaret to hurry along. He was obviously glad to be nearing home. Margaret peered down the wide oak-lined allee. Gossamer strands of Spanish moss swayed in the cool breeze. As they neared the house and Margaret got her first view of the wide, white veranda, she slowed her step even more. This was not the way this kidnapping was supposed to unfold.

  A toe-headed boy pushing a hoop across the carpet of grass with a stick was the first to see them. He let out a squeal that had two women rushing through the door, then launched himself at Thomas. Margaret stood to the side and watched as her captor tossed the boy into the air, catching him amid an outburst of giggles.

  “Do it again, Uncle Thomas. Again,” he cried, until the man complied.

  By this time the two ladies had descended the steps and were rushing their way. The older one, a pretty woman with red-gold hair shot through with silver, called out his name. Handing the wriggling boy to the younger woman, Thomas stepped forward, his arms out.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” Felicity Blackstone said, stepping into her son’s hug.

  “I had a change of heart.” Thomas hugged her tight.

  “I’m so glad.” Felicity smiled up at her son, then her blue eyes opened wide. “My heavens. What happened to you?” Her fingers lightly brushed the cut on the side of his head. “And your clothes. You look like a drowned cat.”

  “That’s very nearly the truth.” Thomas disengaged himself from his mother’s embrace. “We had sort of an accident on the way here.” He reached out and grabbed hold of Margaret’s hand, pulling her toward him.

  For the first time Felicity noticed her son’s companion. “My goodness. What happened? No,” she contradicted herself. “Don’t tell me now. You should clean up first. And get warm.”

  “That would be nice.” Thomas smiled. “Mother, this is Margaret Howe Lewis,” he hesitated only a moment. “A friend of mine. Maggie, this is my mother and my sister, Merry. Master John here is one of her numerous offspring.”

  Margaret barely had enough time to acknowledge the introductions before she was hugged to Felicity’s ample breast. “Oh, you poor dear. Come upstairs and we’ll see what we can find for you to change into. I don’t see any luggage.” She glanced around her quickly.

  “Lost in the accident, Mother.”

  “Well, I know how that is.”

  Thomas began following his mother and Margaret up one of the two curved staircases that led to the door, only to have Merry lay her hand on his arm. John had run off to tell his siblings of Uncle Thomas’s arrival, so they were momentarily alone. Thomas found himself being scrutinized by his sister’s knowing blue eyes.

  “You brought a friend,” she said, with a small quirk of her brow. “You realize from the moment Mother spotted her, she began planning your wedding.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve brought friends to Royal Oak before and—”

  “Never brought, brother dear. You had one charming... lady follow you here. What was her name?”

  “Her name isn’t important.” It was Millicent Prowder and she’d assumed that because he visited her often in Charleston he’d welcome her here with his family. He’d set her straight and that had ended that.

  “Regardless, you must admit this is unusual. Mother and Father were convinced you weren’t coming home for Christmas, and then for you to show up looking like this.” She touched his torn shirt. “And with a woman, who though she seems very nice, just isn’t your type.”

  “How do you know what my type is?” Merry always thought she knew him so well. And it irked him now more than ever. He knew she thought he enjoyed the company of women like Louise, whom he’d had the misfortune of being with when he ran into Merry in Charleston. Of course he hesitated to tell her he suddenly preferred a kidnapping suffragette. So he didn’t say anything and Merry only laughed and taking his arm, began to climb the stairs.

  “Well, whatever the reason you’re here, I’m glad.” She smiled up at him fondly. “We shall call this our own little Christmas miracle.”

  Thomas stopped abruptly and looked down at his sister. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Sorry,” she said patting his arm. “I know you don’t believe in miracles.”

  Which just went to show again that Merry didn’t know him as well as she thought.

  Thomas stood in the library staring out the window, absently watching a chickadee that sat on a magnolia branch enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. He’d bathed and changed into clothes kept for him in his room. He already toured the house, enjoying the festive decorations Merry and his mother had put up, the pine and oranges, holly and ivy. He “oohed” and “aahed” when his nieces and nephews pulled him into the parlor to see the grand cedar with its candles and garland of popcorn. And he’d answered all his mother and father’s questions, well almost all, while they fed him a hearty stew and canned pears.

  But he still couldn’t understand what happened to him.

  The voice. He hadn’t imagined it. Thomas was almost positive. Someone... or something, had helpe
d him save Margaret and himself. But who? His glance strayed to the portrait above the mantel. The swashbuckling pirate seemed to return his stare. Thomas swallowed and looked away. What he was thinking was ridiculous.

  Perhaps he should concentrate on trying to figure out why he’d brought Margaret here? Merry was right about one thing. His mother thought he and Margaret were the love match of the century. Well, probably not the century, because that would cover her and his father, and Merry and Andrew. But he and Margaret were destined for “happily ever after,” at least in his mother’s eyes.

  Thomas leaned against the paneled wall. He knew she’d think that. And he brought Margaret anyway. Someone who hated him enough to kidnap him at gunpoint... even if the gun wasn’t loaded.

  By all rights he should be in Charleston, turning Miss Margaret Howe Lewis over to the police and apologizing to Sander Rhett about missing his holiday gathering. A logical man knew insulting Rhett was not the way to make a deal with him.

  And Thomas was a logical man. At least he had been until Margaret kidnapped him. Now he was hearing voices and doing illogical things... and thinking about her all the time.

  She hadn’t come down to dinner and it was only his mother’s calming voice that kept him from taking the stairs two at a time to find out why. So he sat and ate and talked with his father about the phosphate mines and the rice crop. And as soon as he left the table he sent word for Margaret to meet him in the library.

  He was still waiting.

  Thomas stalked to the fireplace and stared up at the portrait of Jack Blackstone again and wondered if the story about his kidnapping his wife was true.

  Margaret tapped on the paneled door. Without waiting for his acknowledgment she took a deep breath and twisted the knob. He turned to face her when she entered, and she steeled herself again. While in her room she thought she could see him without thinking about how handsome he was or how his dimples flirted with his cheeks when he grinned, or how one lock of dark hair kept spilling onto his forehead. But she couldn’t, even though she knew none of that was important... not really.

  Well, she’d just have to force all of that from her mind, along with the fact that he saved her life, that he wasn’t near the ogre she’d made him out to be, or that his family was very nice. What mattered was the children at the orphanage. And she had to put their welfare first.

  “I’m leaving,” she said before he could open his mouth. “I realize I’m your...” She shrugged. “Prisoner. But I can’t stay here.”

  He suppressed his surprise quickly. “Do you mind telling me why? It appears to me you’re being treated rather well, considering the circumstances.” She was wearing one of his sister’s gowns, high necked and slightly bustled. It fit too loosely. Still, Thomas thought she looked beautiful.

  “Your family has been wonderful.” Her gaze caught his and held, her eyes squinting slightly. “And I owe you for saving my life, and am grateful. However—”

  “You’re having a difficult time seeing, aren’t you?” He’d noticed all day the way her brows knitted in a slight frown.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Try these.” Thomas moved to the desk and held out a pair of spectacles. “They belong to my father. He said you could use them.”

  “That’s very kind, but...” Margaret took the wire-rimmed spectacles because he stood there holding them out to her. She tried them on... and quickly took them off. “They make things more blurred,” she said, handing them back. Then she turned toward the door.

  “Wait a minute.” Thomas was there before her, his hand flattened against the wood. He could smell her, and he only had to step closer to feel her body against his. “You seem to forget, Maggie, you kidnapped me, and now you’re my prisoner. You can’t just leave.”

  Margaret shut her eyes, trying to ignore his nearness. “If it’s turning me in to the authorities that concerns you, I promise to do that myself... day after tomorrow. And I’ll return your sister’s gown then also.”

  “I don’t give a damn about Merry’s clothes.” Thomas surrendered to his desires and moved forward, pressing her between his body and the door. His fingers tangled with the wispy curls that trailed down her neck. “Tell me why you have to go.”

  “It’s... it’s my children.”

  “Your children?” Surprise had him backing up enough for her to turn and face him. She had children? It had never occurred to him that she might have children... be married.

  She couldn’t think with him this close to her. But she had to explain. Someone had to tell the children that the orphanage and school was going to close, and she knew it was her responsibility. Margaret took a deep breath, forcing from her mind the masculine scent of him. “They aren’t really mine, except that I take care of them and teach them.” She stepped out from his loose embrace and Thomas let her go.

  “They’re at the Freed Negroes’ Orphanage and Boarding School and I need to talk with them... explain things, before I return to Charleston.”

  “What sort of things?” She was confusing him, or maybe it was just that all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and beg her to stay.

  “That I’ll have to close the school.” Margaret could almost believe he had no idea what she was talking about... despite the letters she sent him. “Because you’re foreclosing,” she explained.

  “What? There must be some mistake. I don’t own the Freed Negroes’ Orphanage and Boarding School. As a matter of fact, I’ve never heard of it.”

  Margaret said nothing and Thomas closed the space between them, taking her shoulders in his hands and turning her to face him. “Wait a minute. Is this why you kidnapped me?”

  “I had thought to convince you that you shouldn’t foreclose on the property.”

  “By kidnapping me?” Thomas sounded incredulous.

  “Actually by showing you the children and the school and making you understand...” Margaret shrugged from his grasp. “But I ruined it.” She sobbed and quickly scrubbed at her cheeks, wiping away the tears that had escaped her lashes. When she faced him again her expression was composed, though her eyes were serious. “I seem unable to handle such things as gentle persuasion.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I still don’t understand. The Freed Negroes’ School...?”

  “It’s on Morgan Creek.”

  “The old King property?”

  Margaret lifted her chin and nodded.

  He bought the note from the bank when the owner fell behind on his payments. When Thomas decided to build a textile mill, he determined that the King plantation would be the perfect place. Several months ago he sent a notice to inform the owners that he was calling the note due. They had to pay off the loan, a considerable sum, or vacate. He would have felt sympathy for the owner’s plight except... “The note I called in was held by a carpetbagger.” He could still remember his parents talking about the plague of Northerners who came south after the war. They bought up every bit of land they could, preying on the misfortunes of the defeated and cash-poor Southerners.

  Margaret stiffened her spine. “My uncle bought the property after the war. Two years ago he died, leaving the place to me. My parents... well, I love them dearly, but they never understood why I believed in women’s suffrage. And because of my views I’d been terminated from my teaching position in Boston. So I came south... and started the school.”

  When she finished her explanation, Thomas stood staring at her. Then his hands came up, bracketing her face. She seemed surprised when he lowered his head, but she didn’t back away.

  Kissing him was even better than the images that had been floating through her head. She grasped his forearms and gave herself up to the magic of his mouth. When he pulled her closer, she went willingly, eagerly. Opening her lips and nearly swooning from the enormity of the feelings she had for him. She moaned when he separated them enough to study her face.

  “Tell me, Maggie.” he said as his thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Do you believe in miracles?”


  “Well, I—”

  “How about a voice from nowhere and happily ever afters?”

  Margaret couldn’t answer for laughing when he grabbed her about the waist and twirled her around the room. “You will, Maggie mine. You will.”

  “Are you certain that’s enough?”

  Devon draped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a quick kiss. “If we pile anything else on that wagon the horses won’t be able to pull it.”

  Margaret had to agree with Thomas’s father. He was a large man, handsome, with brown hair and green eyes. That his son favored him wasn’t the only reason Margaret liked him. “Really,” she said, smiling down at them from the wagon seat. “This is enough... more than enough. I never imagined...” Margaret looked across the seat at Thomas, unable to continue.

  “She’d only been able to purchase the children some peppermints,” he explained.

  “Oh, that reminds me.” Felicity turned to her oldest granddaughter, a redheaded beauty named Alice. “Run inside and fetch that basket of oranges off the hall table.”

  “Now, Mother, we don’t want to take everything.”

  “Don’t say another word, Thomas Blackstone. You know very well, we’re giving what we want to give. Isn’t that right, children?”

  To a one they agreed, but Margaret wasn’t sure Merry and Andrew’s younger offspring weren’t voicing what their elders expected from them. Still, each of the children had voluntarily given up one toy to be taken to the orphanage.

  While they were packing those on the wagon, the older Blackstones rummaged through their wardrobes, looking for blankets and scarves, and warm woolen hats. Felicity had entered her larder like a general waging war. When she emerged, there were hams and flour and enough rice to feed the children till Eastertide.

  “Are you sure you won’t stay the night and start off first thing in the morning? It will be dark before you reach the King plantation.”