The Prize. Brenda Joyce
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Hughes had mounted her on his horse in front of him, she had worked side by side with her father every single day. She knew every inch of Sweet Briar, every tree, every leaf, every flower. (The plantation was a hundred acres, not five thousand, but Sarah Lewis had needed to be taken down a peg or two.) She knew all about tobacco, the crop that was Sweet Briar. She knew the best ways to transplant the seedling crop, the best way to cure the harvested leaves, the best auction houses. Like her father, she had followed the price per bale with avid interest—and fervent hope. Every summer she and her father would dismount and walk through the tobacco fields, fingering the leafy plants in dirty hands, inhaling their succulent aroma, judging the quality of their harvest.
She had had other duties and responsibilities as well. No one was kinder than her mother, and no one knew herbs and healing better. No one cared more about their slaves. Virginia had attended dozens of fevers and flux, right by her mother’s side. She was never afraid to walk into the slave quarters when someone was ill—in fact, she packed a darn good poultice. Although Mama had not allowed her to attend any birthings, Virginia could birth foals, too, and had spent many a night waiting for a pregnant mare to deliver. Why shouldn’t she be at home now, running Sweet Briar with their foreman, James MacGregor? Was there any point in being at this damnable school? She’d been born to run the plantation. Sweet Briar was in her blood, her soul.
Virginia knew she wasn’t a lady. She’d been wearing britches from the moment she had figured out that there were britches, and she liked them better than skirts. Papa hadn’t cared—he’d been proud of her outspoken ways, her natural horsemanship, her keen eye. He had thought her beautiful, too—he’d always called her his little wild rose—but every father thought so of a daughter. Virginia knew that wasn’t true. She was too thin and she had too much hair to ever be considered fair. Not that she cared. She was far too smart to want to be a lady.
Mama had been tolerant of her husband and her daughter. Both of Virginia’s brothers had died at birth, first Todd and then little Charles when she was six. That was when Mama had first looked the other way about the britches, the horses, the hunting. She had cried for weeks, prayed in the family chapel and, somehow, found peace. After that, her smiles and sunny warmth had returned—but there had been no more pregnancies, as if she and Papa had made a silent pact.
Virginia couldn’t comprehend why any woman would even want to be a lady. A lady had to follow rules. Most of the rules were annoying, but some were downright oppressive. Being a lady was like being a slave who didn’t have the fine home of Sweet Briar. Being a lady was no different from being in shackles.
Virginia paused before the headmistress’s office, the decision already made. Whether Sarah Lewis had spoken the truth or not, it no longer mattered. It was time to go home. In fact, making the decision felt good. For the first time since her parents had died, she felt strong—and brave. It was a wonderful way to feel. It was the way she had felt right up until the minister had come to their door to tell her that her parents were dead.
She knocked on the fine mahogany door.
Mrs. Towne, a plump, pleasant lady, gestured her inside. Her kind eyes held Virginia’s, solemn now, when usually they held dancing lights. “I’m afraid you will have to learn to dance sooner or later, Miss Hughes.”
Virginia grimaced. The one person she almost liked at the school was the headmistress. “Why?”
Mrs. Towne was briefly surprised. “Do sit down, my dear.”
Virginia sat, then realized her knees were apart, her hands dangling off the arms of the chair, and quickly rearranged herself, not because she wished to be proper, but because she did not want to antagonize the headmistress now. She clamped her knees together, clasped her hands and thought about how fine it would be to be in her britches and astride her horse.
Mrs. Towne smiled. “It isn’t that difficult to cooperate, dear.”
“Actually, it is.” Virginia was also very stubborn. That trait her mother had bemoaned.
“Virginia, ladies must dance. How else will you attend a proper party and enjoy yourself?”
Virginia didn’t hesitate. “I have no use for parties, ma’am. I have no use for dancing. Frankly, it’s time for me to go home.”
Mrs. Towne stared in mild surprise.
Virginia forgot about sitting properly. “It’s not true, is it? What that wicked Sarah Lewis said? Surely I am not to remain here—forgotten—a prisoner—for another three years?”
Mrs. Towne was grim. “Miss Lewis must have overheard me speaking privately with Mrs. Blakely. My dear, we did receive such instructions from your uncle.”
Virginia was shocked speechless and she could only stare. It was a moment before she could even think.
For a while, she had been afraid that Eastleigh would send for her, forcing her to go to England, where she had no wish to go. That, at least, was one dilemma she did not have to face. But he would lock her up in this school for three more years? She’d already been here six months and she hated it! Virginia would not have it. Oh, no. She was going home.
Mrs. Towne was speaking. “I know that three years seems like a very long time, but actually, considering the way you were raised, it is probably the amount of time we need to fully instruct you in all the social graces you shall need to succeed in society, my dear. And there is good news. Your uncle intends to see you wed upon your majority.”
Virginia was on her feet, beyond shock. “What?”
Mrs. Towne blinked. “I should have known you would be dismayed by the proposal. Every well-born young lady marries, and you are no exception. He intends to find a suitable husband for you—”
“Absolutely not!”
Mrs. Towne was now the one speechless.
Anger consumed Virginia. “First he sends me here? Then he thinks to lock me away for three years? Then he will send me to another prison—a marriage with a stranger? No, I think not!”
“Sit down.”
“No, Mrs. Towne. You see, I will marry one day, but I will marry for love and only love. A grand passion—like my parents had.” Tears blurred her vision. There would be no compromise. One day she would find a man like her father, the kind of love her parents had so obviously shared. There would be—could be—no compromise.
“Virginia, sit down,” Mrs. Towne said firmly.
Virginia shook her head and Mrs. Towne stood. “I know you have suffered a terrible tragedy, and we all feel for you, we do. But you do not control your fate, child, your uncle does. If he wishes you to stay here until your majority, then so it shall be. And I am sure you will come to be fond of your future husband, whoever he may be.”
Virginia couldn’t speak. Panic consumed her. A stranger thought himself to be in control of her life! She felt trapped, as if in a cage with iron bars, worse, the cage was being immersed in the sea and she was drowning!
“My dear, you must make an effort to become a part of the community here. You are the one who has chosen to be disdainful of the other fine young women here. You have not tried, even once, to be friendly or amusing. You have set yourself apart from the moment you arrived and we allowed that, being respectful of your grief. I know why you held your head so high, my dear, but the others, why, they think you prideful and vain! It is time for you to make amends—and friends. I expect you to make friends, Virginia. And I expect you to excel in your studies, as well.”
Virginia hugged herself. Had the others really thought her too proud and vain? She didn’t believe it. They all despised her because she was from the country, because she was so different.
“You are so clever, Virginia. You could do so well here if you bothered to try.” Mrs. Towne smiled at her.
Virginia swallowed hard. “I can’t stay here. And they don’t like me because I am different! I’m not fancy and coy and I don’t faint at the sight of a handsome man!”
“You