The Pursuit of Tamsen Littlejohn Read Online Free PDF Page A

there more to your uncle’s story?”
    “Only that Uncle Bryan surprised everyone by leaving his land to my father, after having quarreled so bitterly in the past. My father had grand plans for it once upon a time, but of course he never followed through. I’m amazed he never sold the tract. But I shall. What need have I of it when there is Long Meadows to hold me to Virginia?” He paused again, holding her gaze. “I think you would like it there.”
    His eyes were telling her he wanted her to like it. She thought she liked the man. At least she didn’t loathe him as she’d feared. “Your father passed just this spring? I’m sorry for your loss.”
    “You needn’t be,” Mr. Kincaid replied abruptly. He must have seen her startlement. “I beg your pardon. That must sound a terrible thing to say, especially when clearly you once lost a father.”
    Surprised by the observation, she said, “When I was seven years old.”
    “And you admired him?”
    “He was the light of our lives, mine and Mama’s.”
    Mr. Kincaid reached across the table and took her hand with a boldness that stole her breath. His eyes were very blue and disconcertingly direct. “I envy you that, Miss Littlejohn. My father, in contrast, was a man to engender neither admiration nor respect. Collin Kincaid was a drunkard who brought grief to father, brother, and sons alike. I daresay most egregiously to my mother, God rest her soul. But this one good he did me—he left me land in Carolina, which in turn has brought me to you.”
    Tamsen saw the turning of his thoughts in his eyes, felt it in the pressure of his hand. Her stomach gave a lurch. This time her heart matched it. It was what her stepfather wanted, why she was here. She simply hadn’t expected it to come to the boil so swiftly.
    “Mr. Kincaid,” she began, but he was already speaking.
    “I cannot be anything but forthright with you, Miss Littlejohn. When I saw your portrait in Salem, I was certain you couldn’t be half so beautiful, and if you were, you were bound to know it. It would have made you haughty, cold, to think all men your devoted worshipers. Instead, I find you nothing of the sort, but tender-hearted and warm. So I warn you, I am about to throw caution to the wind and—”
    “Mast’ Ambrose. Sorry to trouble you now, sir.”
    Like a fraying thread, the tension between them snapped. Tamsen looked up to find the young mulatto she’d noticed earlier standing at their table, battered hat clenched between work-scarred fingers. She looked to Mr. Kincaid. High color flamed in his face as, scowling, he said, “I asked not to be disturbed while I met with Miss Littlejohn. I was very clear.”
    “I ain’t forgot, sir.” The slave’s hat was getting a thorough mangling. “But something—”
    “Let it wait, Toby.” Dismissing his slave with an abrupt shoulder, Mr. Kincaid reached for her hand again.
    But Toby hadn’t left, only taken a step behind his master, clearly too distressed to obey. Tamsen glanced across the taproom. Mr. Parrish had allowed himself to be engaged in conversation and wasn’t for the moment watching. “Please, Toby? Tell us what’s wrong.”
    “Thank you, ma’am.” Mouth trembling, the slave stepped forward. “It be Tess, Mast’ Ambrose. She done them errands you sent her on, but some men catched her on the way back, drug her off to the woods, and took turns—”
    Mr. Kincaid lurched to his feet and backhanded Toby across the mouth. The slave cringed, eyes flaring with shock. His master’s face had gone chalk white. “How dare you speak such filth in front of Miss Littlejohn?”
    Nearby conversations faltered while Mr. Kincaid, low voiced, orderedToby from the taproom and reclaimed his seat across from her. With a kerchief from his coat, he wiped his slave’s spittle off his hand.
    Witnessing a lap cat transform into a panther and proceed to attack an unsuspecting passerby could not have been more shocking. Voices around them rose