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lost both her husband and her only child. Nor did she wish to be fussed over by her deceased husband’s elder sister, made the object of pity during her stay in the woman’s home.
    Chloe shored up her courage to confess the truth, at least a small part of it. “You ask me why I do not accompany you to the village or to the port city of Basseterre anymore. I tell you I don’t feel well or I have something to attend to. I remain at home because the islanders curse me when I pass in the street and call me horrible names. Oh, they don’t do it in your hearing, but they do find ways to let me know I am not welcome here.”
    Anger flared in Elizabeth’s eyes. “I’ll take care of it, Chloe. I’ll make certain--”
    “ No! ” Chloe cut her off. “I don’t wish you to take up my cause and reprimand the islanders. They hate me because I was born on the wrong side of the blanket. My father never married my mother. You cannot change how they feel about me, Elizabeth. I have a family, in Spain. They won’t know I was the love child of the Spanish steward or that I married Richard O’Donovan’s bastard son. All they will know is that I’m the daughter of Juan Ramirez.”
    “You are as a sister to me.” Elizabeth came close and reached up to smooth a strand of Chloe’s hair behind her ear. "I care for you. I don’t want you to run away.”
    “If you truly care for me, then help me find my family, help me get to Spain.”
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Jack usually looked forward to invitations to dine at Ravencrest Plantation.
    The empty place as Jack took his seat at the table was a sobering reminder of the loss the family had suffered this past year. The Beaumonts and the O'Donovans had welcomed Jack to their table with excellent food, fine wine and stirring conversation for nearly a decade. Tonight, the gathering lacked the vivacity and warmth Lady Elizabeth and Gareth provided. Lady Elizabeth was upstairs, recovering from childbirth.
    Even so, it was a full table. The count was present, as was Gareth's widow, Chloe O'Donovan. Lord and Lady Greystowe were visiting from England, with Lady Greystowe filling in as hostess for her husband's sister as she sat across from the count at the opposite end of the table. Mr. Ambrose Duchamp, the count’s steward, was also in attendance. His presence was never an improvement.
    Mr. Barnaby, an associate of the Greystowe's, sat across from Jack. He appeared to be older than Noah but seemed to live forever in a state of grace. He had not aged a day since Jack first met the fellow on Christmas Eve of 1798.
    Chloe O'Donovan sat next to Mr. Barnaby, across the table from Jack. She was quiet, subdued. He didn't like seeing her this way. She had always been a vivacious and outgoing woman at table. He didn't know what to say to her after her great loss. He didn't know what to say to her now, so he found himself saying nothing. There had been many times this past year that she'd been absent from dinner when Jack visited. The poor woman had lost so much.
    Looking away from her momentarily as the footman removed his empty plate, Jack noted Mr. Barnaby, that old meddler, was silently watching him.
    Jack held the man’s potent gaze. It was as if he knew what Jack was thinking. He wanted to ask the old man what the hell he was staring at. The gathering was solemn enough without causing insult, so Jack ate the next course quietly and watched Chloe pick at her food. Barnaby watched him watch Chloe while the rest of the gathering struggled to make conversation. 
    When Gareth O'Donovan was alive the wine and philosophical arguments flowed freely among those present. Gareth had been a thoughtful and enthusiastic host where his nephew, the count, was typically somber and self absorbed at table. Jack's animosity toward the fellow faded as the years went by and their scuffle on that particular Christmas Eve became a distant memory. He grew to admire Gareth O'Donovan for his wit and charm, and could