A big, broad, blonde woman came running toward them, her skirts lifted high above her ankles. "Was that Travis what just come in?" she shouted before she even reached them.

"Yes, and this is his wife Regan. Regan, this is Janie Langston."

"Wife?" Janie asked, surprised. "He did do it! That Travis is a wonder. He said he was going to England and bring back a wife. Honey," she said, putting her hand on Regan's arm. "You got your work cut out for you being Mrs. Travis Stanford. I hope you got courage enough to stand up to him."

With that, she started running toward the wharf.

Chapter 12.

"Who else lives here?" Regan asked Nicole.

"Quite a few people, really. There are field workers, weavers, the dairy people, gardeners—all the people needed to run a plantation."

"Plantation." Regan whispered the strange word. They were entering a long row of box hedges, and her view of the buildings around them was obscured. "Travis said you were going to have a baby, and the children said something about two babies."

A lovely smile crossed Nicole's face. "Twins seem to run in Clay's family, and four months ago I had a boy and a girl. Come inside, and I'll gladly show them to you."

Looming above them was a large brick house, about the same size as Weston Manor. Regan hoped shock wasn't showing on her face. Of course there were wealthy people in America too, and of course some of them would have mansions. It was just that in England people spoke of America as being so young that there hadn't been time to really build much of anything.

Inside the house, the rooms were startlingly lovely, large, s.p.a.cious, the furniture upholstered in silk, the wallpaper hand-painted, portraits on the walls. Fresh-cut flowers graced tables and desks.

"Shall we go into the drawing room? I'll bring the children down."

Left alone in this room, Regan was further amazed at the elegance of it. A Sheraton desk with delicate inlay was against one wall, a gold-framed mirror above it. Facing it was a tall cabinet of leather-bound books.

She'd only known Weston Manor, and by comparison the English house was shabby and poor. Here everything sparkled with cleanliness and care. There was no chipped woodwork, worn upholstery, or scuffed surfaces.

Her attention left the room's furnishings when Nicole returned, a baby in each arm. At first Regan was afraid to hold either one of the children, but Nicole persuaded her she could do it. Within moments Regan had the little boy smiling and cooing back at her, hardly noticing when Travis entered and sat beside her on the sofa. They were alone in the room.

"Think we could make two at a time?" he asked quietly, taking the baby's hand and letting him grip his finger.

The expression on Travis's face as he watched the baby was one of joy. "You really want a child, don't you?" she asked.

"For a long time," he said seriously, then added with his usual bluntness, "I never much wanted a wife, but I could surround myself with children."

Frowning, Regan wanted to ask him why he'd saddled himself with a wife now, but she knew the answer. He wanted the child she carried. Later she would show him that she was of more use than for breeding stock. Together they'd work and build up his farm. Perhaps it would never be as nice as the Armstrong plantation, but someday it could be very comfortable.

"What do you think, Travis?" Clay asked from the doorway, his chest expanded several inches in pride, Mandy by his side, Alex behind him, and the second baby in the crook of his arm. Regan thought he looked as happy as anyone alive.

"Clay," Travis began. "How did those new cows work out? And did you have any mold on last year's hay?"

As the two men seemed to want to talk business and both of them were happy with the babies, Regan handed Travis the baby she held and stood up. Travis showed no qualms about taking the child, unlike Regan who'd been afraid she'd drop him. "I think I'll find Nicole," she said, and Clay gave her directions to the kitchen. Outside the room she heard Clay say, "She's prettier than I ever thought you could get," to which Travis only snorted.

Her head held high, she went through the flower-bedecked hallway and out the back door, turned left, and headed for the kitchen, which was in a separate building. Inside the big room everyone was bustling about, and Nicole, her arms covered in flour, was directing all of it. When a young girl accidentally dropped a basket of eggs, sh.e.l.ls and all, into a bowl of batter, it didn't upset Nicole at all. Two children, dressed plainly but cleanly, ran through the building, and Nicole just caught a pail of milk before it overturned. Even as she righted it, she looked up, saw Regan, and smiled warmly.

Wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n, she came forward. "I'm sorry I had to leave you, but I wanted to see that a nice supper was prepared for you."

"Is it always like this?" Regan asked, half in horror.

"Most of the time. There are an awful lot of people to feed." She started to untie her ap.r.o.n. "I need to cut some herbs, and maybe you'd like a little tour before supper. If you're not too tired."

"I slept most of the way here," Regan smiled. "And I'd love to see the* the plantation."

Later, Regan didn't believe anything could have prepared her for what Nicole showed her. A man hitched a two-wheel wagon for them, and Nicole drove them about the plantation, pointing out each of the dependencies. Regan had been right in her first estimation. The plantation was a village of sorts, but all owned by one man. Nearly everything needed for living was made, grown, or caught on the plantation. Nicole pointed out the dairy, dovecote, loom house, stables, tannery, and carpenter shop, and around the kitchen was a smokehouse, malt house, and wash house. Nicole showed her the acres and acres of fields planted with cotton, flax, wheat, and tobacco. And across the river was a mill where their grain was ground. Cattle, sheep, and horses grazed in separate areas.

"And you manage all of this?" Regan asked in wonder.

"Clay helps some, too," Nicole laughed, "but, yes, it takes a lot of work. We don't get away much, but then we don't have to since everything we could ever want is right here."

"You're very happy, aren't you?"

"I am now," Nicole answered. "But it hasn't always been easy." Her eyes went to the mill across the river. "Clay and Travis have been friends since they were boys, and I hope we'll be friends too."

"I have never had a girlfriend," Regan said, looking at this woman who was the same small size she was.

They had no idea what a striking pair they made, Nicole with her black hair, and Regan's dark brown with its red-gold highlights.

"Neither have I," Nicole said. "Not a real girlfriend I could talk to and confide in." With a smile she flicked the reins, and the horse started to move. "Someday, when we have a lot of time, I'll tell you how I met Clay."

Blushing, Regan thought that she could never, never tell anyone how she met Travis. For one thing, no one would believe her story.

"I'm hungry. How about you?" Nicole asked. "And I can feel that those babies of mine are about to starve."

"And without a doubt Travis is hungry," Regan laughed.

"Is she as young as she looks?" Clay asked, jostling his son on his arm and looking through the window at Nicole and Regan pulling away from the house in the buggy.

"Would you believe I don't know how old she is? And that is one question I'm afraid to ask. It'd be my luck that she'd turn out to be sixteen."

"Travis, what on earth are you talking about? How did you meet her? Couldn't you have found out from her parents how old she was?"

Travis had no intention of telling the story to anyone. Years ago, when Clay's older brother James was alive, he might have confided in him, but now he couldn't bring himself to tell of kidnapping his wife.

Clay seemed to understand, for there were things he didn't want to tell about himself—and what had gone on between him and Nicole. "Is she always so quiet? I don't mean to pry, but the two of you seem an incongruous pair. "

"She can hold her own," Travis smiled, eyes twinkling. "To tell you the truth, I don't know what she's like. She seems to change every minute. One moment she's a little girl with dreams of romance, and the next she's*" His voice trailed off as he remembered early this morning, her lips moving up his inner thigh. "Whatever she is, I find her fascinating."

"And what about Margo? I don't believe she's going to be too happy to welcome your little wife."

"I can handle Margo," Travis said in dismissal.

Old memories, only half-healed, clouded Clay's eyes. "Watch her with your wife. A woman like Margo eats sweet little things like Regan for breakfast. I know," he added softly.

"Margo can't do a d.a.m.ned thing, and I'll let her know it. I'll be around to protect my wife, and Regan ought to know what I feel about her. I married her, didn't I?"

Clay didn't say any more. There was a time when people had given him advice, but he hadn't listened, and he knew how easily marriage vows could be made—and just as easily broken.

That night, as Regan slipped into the canopied bed beside her husband, she told him some of her impressions of the day. "I never knew anything like this existed. It's as if Clay and Nicole were the sole owners of an entire town."

He pulled her close to him. "Then you like our plantation system?" he murmured, relaxing into sleep.

"Of course, but I am glad there aren't many of them. I don't see how Nicole can run a place this size.

Thank heavens you are just a poor farmer."

When she received no reply, she looked over at Travis and saw that he was asleep. Smiling, she snuggled closer to him and drifted into a quiet, gentle sleep.

The next morning parting was surprisingly difficult as they all stood on the wharf and said goodbye. Nicole promised to visit Regan very soon and to give her any help she could. Clay and Travis exchanged comments about this year's crops, and then all too soon they were climbing into the little boat and heading upriver.

Regan found she was very excited about seeing the place where Travis lived and wondered if it could possibly be as big and wild and crude as he was. She hoped she could refine his home as she wanted to refine him.

After a while of slow, easy sailing, they came to another break in the trees. An enormous wharf with more ships could be seen in the distance.

"This isn't another plantation, is it?" she asked, moving to stand beside Travis. This looked many times larger than Clay's place, so surely this was a town.

"It certainly is!" Travis said with a big smile.

"Do you know the owners of this place?" As they sailed nearer she could see that this plantation looked like a blown-up version of Clay's. By the wharf was a building as large as Clay's house. "What is that?" she pointed.

"It's the ship's store and the warehouse. The captains can replace sails and damaged gear at the store, and goods waiting transport are stored in the warehouse. The a.s.sessor's house is that smaller building."

There were three small craft tied at the wharf, two barges, and four shallops as Travis called them. To her bewilderment Travis steered the little boat to this wharf.

"I thought we were going home," she said in consternation. "Do you want to see friends here?"

Travis leaped onto the wharf and pulled her up before she could say another word. Taking her chin in his warm hand, he lifted her face to meet his. "This," he said quietly, his eyes locked on hers, "is my plantation."

For a moment she was too stunned to speak. " All*all of it?" she whispered.

"Every blade of gra.s.s. Now come on and let me show you your new home."

Those were the last words they were allowed each other before a mob of people descended on them.

Shouts of "Travis!" and "Mr. Stanford!" echoed from one building to another. Travis never released

Regan's hand as he shook hands with what seemed like hundreds of people who came running from every corner of the plantation. And he introduced her to every person, saying this man was head carpenter, this one the second a.s.sistant gardener, this woman third upstairs maid. On and on the list went, and all Regan could do was to stand and nod at them while her mind kept repeating, They are all employees. They all work for Travis—and for me.

Somewhere during all the introducing, Travis declared the day a holiday, and before long the field hands were coming to greet Travis too. Great, thick, muscle-bound men came laughing and smiling, teasing Travis that he'd probably gotten soft while he was away. A swift wave of pride shot through Regan as she saw that none of the men was any more muscular than her husband.

As they started walking away from the river, greeting people along the way, some of the employees began asking questions. It seemed that half the plantation was falling apart.

"Where's Wes?" Travis demanded, walking so fast Regan was nearly running.

"Your Uncle Thomas died in Boston, and Wes had to go to straighten out his affairs," said a man who was an overseer.

"And what about Margo?" Travis frowned. "She could have handled some of these problems."

"About twenty of her cows are down with some sort of disease," the man answered.

"Travis," said a st.u.r.dy, red-haired woman. "Three of the looms are down, and every time I tell a man to fix them he says it's not his job."

"And Travis," another woman said. "The Backes have some new chickens from the East. Could you authorize some money to buy some?"