This Side of Heaven Read online

  WRITERS, READERS, AND CRITICS RAVE

  ABOUT “THE MISTRESS OF SIZZLING

  SENSUALITY.”*

  KAREN ROBARDS

  “Karen is one of those writers I buy without needing to read a review.… The high tension [is] sustained throughout, keeping me glued to the pages.”

  —Johanna Lindsey

  “Karen Robards writes an absolutely splendid tale, and is among the best for giving the reader incomparable sexual tension.… She is certainly one of the few authors who successfully moves from historical to contemporary fiction and back again with gifted ease … [she writes] romantic adventure that will leave you breathless.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “Behold the wondrous star in the firmament of historical romance that is Karen Robards. With each new book her luster intensifies.… No one writes with more fire … Ms. Robards has a fine talent for combining sex with romance, along with choosing interesting backdrops.”

  —Romantic Times

  Ms. Robards writes “spellbinding romance.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  *Romantic Times

  Dell Books by Karen Robards

  THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

  THE SENATOR’S WIFE

  HEARTBREAKER

  HUNTER’S MOON

  WALKING AFTER MIDNIGHT

  MAGGY’S CHILD

  ONE SUMMER

  NOBODY’S ANGEL

  THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN

  FORBIDDEN LOVE

  SEA FIRE

  ISLAND FLAME

  Published by

  Dell Publishing

  a division of

  Random House, Inc.

  Copyright © 1991 by Karen Robards

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-80135-7

  v3.1

  To Doug, Peter, and Christopher—my three loves

  Contents

  Cover

  Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  1

  The prow of the Dove’s longboat accidentally bumped the first of the landing pilings. The barrels of sugar and molasses that crammed bow and stern teetered, scraping together noisily.

  “Careful, there!” Captain Rowse snapped to the oarsmen as the unexpected shifting of its load caused the boat to heel. Seated directly in front of him—he was in the stern, she nearly in the center of the boat—Caroline had to grab the edge of the plank seat to keep her balance. Her slippered feet slid off the leather-bound lid of one of her own sizable trunks, where, for want of another place to put them, they had settled. The large, lidded basket that rested in her lap tilted precariously. She grabbed for it, restoring it to an upright position seconds before its precious contents were tipped into the bay. Her feet returned to their perch. One hand settled on the basket’s lid; the other curled around the thick handle, tightening until her knuckles showed white. That was the only outward sign she gave of the nervousness that was making her stomach churn so she could hardly keep her breakfast down. Had she been aware of how much her grip revealed, she would have deliberately relaxed it.

  It would be too humiliating to let the silent men around her know just how apprehensive of her reception she was. Carefully she avoided their gazes, her posture both lonely and proud as she looked past the straining sailors toward the unfamiliar land that was to be her new home.

  Her eyes remained unreadable. She had learned it was best to keep them so. They showed none of the dismay she felt as she took in the forbidding gray shoreline that sloped upward to end in earthen fortifications, and the ugly raw wood of the dock. Beyond the dock perhaps a hundred acres of grassland had been hacked from the towering blue-green forest. The grassland was studded with rows of tiny, boxlike sheds. What could they be? Fishermen’s shacks? Surely they were too small, too mean, too few, to comprise the town that she had supposed lay directly beyond the bay.

  The brisk morning air blowing in from the sea smelled strongly of salt and fish. A fine spray splashed from the crest of a playful wave to splatter her cheek and cloak with icy water. Lifting a pale, long-fingered hand, Caroline wiped the beads of moisture from her face. It was early spring of 1684, and at home in England the weather would be misty and cool. But here the March air was plain cold, although the sun shone with almost vulgar intensity. Caroline reminded herself grimly that this was not England. It was unlikely that she would ever see England again.

  This was not how she had pictured Saybrook. Her half sister Elizabeth’s letters had contained glowing descriptions of her home in Connecticut Colony. During the difficult years that had preceded this moment when every downstroke of the oars brought her nearer to what she very much feared would be a humiliating comeuppance, Caroline had taken her sister’s words and elaborated on them to create a picture of a verdant paradise that she could visit anytime she closed her eyes.

  But as was ever the case, the reality was already proving far inferior to the fantasy. Doubtless the hope she’d cherished of her sister’s warm welcome was misplaced, too. Although in all fairness, given the circumstances, Elizabeth couldn’t be blamed if she were to be less than elated to see the baby sister she must scarcely remember.

  “Ahoy there! Daniel Mathieson!”

  The shout, coming almost in her ear from Captain Rowse, made Caroline jump. Both hands clamped around the basket’s handle, and her lips pressed together in an effort to forestall the tart words that rose to her tongue. But the impassive shell she had learned to hide behind remained in place, and she did no more than glance witheringly over her shoulder at the captain, who was waving at someone on the dock. From the last name, she knew the man he hailed had to be her sister’s kin. Her heart pounded, but her expression did not change. A facade of haughty dignity was far more effective than cringing apologies, she had learned.

  The boat brushed the pilings again, farther along the dock than its first inadvertent contact, and this time a sailor leaped ashore to catch the hawser and make the craft fast. Caroline clenched her teeth. Her time of reckoning was at hand.

  “Up with you, missy.” Captain Rowse placed a hand under Caroline’s elbow and all but l
ifted her to her feet. “You there, Homer, lend Miss Wetherby a hand. Cooee, Daniel Mathieson!”

  Wincing from the booming shout, Caroline scorned the sailor’s proffered hand and clambered onto the dock without assistance. The wooden boards suddenly seemed to tilt beneath her, and she staggered. A male hand grasped her arm, steadying her.

  “Careful there, you ain’t got your land legs back yet,” a gruff voice cautioned. Caroline jerked free. Shrugging, the sailor turned away to other duties while a man in a wide-brimmed black hat emerged from the chattering crowd gathered to watch the unloading of the tall ship. Captain Rowse, bounding onto the dock beside Caroline, greeted the newcomer with a hearty thump on the shoulder, while at other points along the dock more longboats from the Dove arrived and began to unload cargo along with the other passengers.

  “What can I do for you, Tobias?” Daniel Mathieson, for that was clearly who he was, greeted the Dove’s captain genially. Tall, with auburn hair and weathered skin, Daniel was attractive despite the sober garb and short-cropped hair that marked him as a Roundhead. His blue eyes roamed curiously over Caroline. She met his interested look with frosty composure. Not for anything would she permit him to see her anxiety, which was now so acute that she had to clench her teeth to avoid becoming actively ill.

  “Is Matt about?”

  “Nay, he’s to home. He’s expecting naught, and he’s too much work to do to waste time on such a useless pursuit as viewing the docking of a ship, he said.”

  Captain Rowse chuckled. “That sounds like Matt.” He sobered, glancing at Caroline. “Fact is, I’ve something for him. This young—lady, to be precise.”

  “What?” Daniel turned incredulous eyes back to Caroline. She met his gaze without flinching.

  “ ’S truth. Claims to be his sister-in-law. Come to make her home with him, she says.”

  “ ’Tis the first I’ve heard of such!”

  Before Daniel could give further voice to the surprise that had widened his eyes and pursed his mouth, Caroline spoke up with chilly dignity. She was not a child, or an idiot, to be discussed as if she were riot even present! “I am Caroline Wetherby. Ephraim Mathieson is husband to my sister Elizabeth. From your surname, I presume she is also some connection of yours. Perhaps you would be so good as to take me to her.”

  “May the good Lord preserve us!” Daniel’s tone expressed the same surprise as his expression. Without making any direct reply to her request, he took a quick and thorough inventory of her person. Caroline’s eyes narrowed as she was clearly weighed and seemed to be found wanting, although there was little enough of her available for him to see. Except for her face, with its delicate, even features and large, almond-shaped eyes of a brown so golden as to be almost amber, and an inch or so of sleekly pulled back black hair, none of which any gentleman had ever before found displeasing, the vast hooded cloak she wore concealed the rest. But the cloak itself, of deep scarlet velvet purchased when her father had been flush and held on to through the subsequent lean years, was probably quite enough to provoke his dismay. Judging from the drab brown, gray, and black homespun that was the predominant attire of the citizenry around her, the vivid hue alone was likely to be looked upon with disfavor. Indeed, several among the milling crowd were already casting her censorious looks. Those that were most disparaging came from the Dove’s other passengers, who had somehow learned, in the mysterious way news travels throughout small communities, of her plight. The story would soon be spread all over Saybrook, Caroline realized as she watched the new arrivals greeting friends and acquaintances among the colonists. Already a few of them had their heads together with those who had come to greet them, and were shooting furtive glances her way. Caroline’s spine stiffened at the unwelcome scrutiny, but in no other way did she acknowledge she was aware she was the subject of their gossip.

  “You haven’t yet heard the worst of it.” Captain Rowse, no doubt relieved at the prospect of soon being rid of his unwanted burden, was grimly amused. “Miss Wetherby owes me for her passage. She has spent the better part of the voyage assuring me that her brother-in-law will pay her shot.”

  “How can that be?” Daniel sounded appalled.

  “The young—lady—boarded late and beguiled my first mate into accepting a piece of jewelry instead of hard cash for her fare. The gems turned out to be paste. ’Twas her misfortune that we had a jeweler aboard, or we’d never have known of the deception till we tried to get our money out of them. Which was her plan all along, I’ve little doubt.”

  “I’ve told you and told you: I’d no notion of that! The brooch was my mother’s. I thought it real.” The outburst escaped before Caroline could stop it. Her eyes blazed with indignation at Captain Rowse; then she caught herself, forcing the passion from her face and her manner and sheathing herself once again in a facade of ice. She held her head high as she faced Daniel Mathieson’s baffled uncertainty and Captain Rowse’s patent disbelief.

  “How much?” There was a hollow ring to Daniel’s question. At Captain Rowse’s answer his eyes widened, and he gave a low whistle. “Matt won’t like that.”

  “So I guessed. But what’s to do? I suppose I could take her before the magistrates.…”

  “No. No.” Daniel shook his head. “If she is in truth some relation to Matt …”

  “Would you kindly stop talking about me as if I weren’t here, and take me to my sister? I’m certain that she, at least, will be glad to see me.” Caroline wasn’t nearly as confident as she sounded, but no one save herself could know about the queasiness of her stomach or the nervous dampness of her palms.

  A helpless expression crossed Daniel’s face. He and Captain Rowse exchanged glances, and the captain shrugged.

  “Were I you, I’d let Matt sort it out.”

  “Aye.” Clearly coming to a decision, he nodded and reached for Caroline’s basket. “You’d best come along with me, miss. I’m brother to Matt—Ephraim, that is. Though he doesn’t care overmuch for the name.”

  “I’ll carry my own basket, thank you,” she said coolly. “If you would be so good, you may see to my trunks.”

  “Her trunks?” Daniel asked as Caroline moved away from them, head high.

  “Three of ’em,” Captain Rowse answered with a crooked grin, indicating the baggage that his men had piled nearby. “Hoity-toity thing, ain’t she? Wonder what Matt will make of her?”

  Daniel shook his head, and reached down to shoulder a trunk, “He won’t be any too pleased, I can tell you that.”

  2

  The dirt road on which Caroline trod behind Daniel and Captain Rowse led through the center of the cluster of buildings that she had seen from the boat. On closer inspection she saw that they were indeed small dwellings made of clapboards that had not yet had time to weather. Yellowed squares of paper, or perhaps hide, covered the windows. Smoke rose from nearly every chimney. Young children under the care of a harassed-looking older sister scampered from one house to another, giggling as they took in the passing trio and the strangeness of Caroline’s garb. A homespun-clad woman with a baby on her hip, her hair modestly concealed beneath a white linen cap, waved to them from her stoop, her expression openly curious.

  “Morning, Mary!” Daniel called, lifting a hand to the woman.

  “Goodwife Mathieson!” Captain Rowse echoed, touching his hat. The surname led Caroline to assume that the young woman was also some connection of her sister’s. A sister-in-law, perhaps? She was thankful when Daniel did not stop but continued to set a brisk pace toward the outskirts of the village.

  As she walked, she found that the houses surrounded, in somewhat haphazard fashion, a grassy field that she took for the town common. A large, rectangular building with real glass in the windows had been erected in its center. From the four-sided steeple on the top and the little cemetery that lay to its left, Caroline decided that it must be the church. A black-robed, white-wigged dominie emerged to stand at the head of the steps, confirming her guess.

  He watched
them, unsmiling, although his hand lifted in response to Daniel’s greeting.

  “Reverend Master Miller looks like he’s had a taste of something sour today,” Captain Rowse remarked when they were well out of earshot.

  Daniel grunted. “He and Matt had a falling-out, and he’s not overly fond of any of us as a result. Considers Matt ungodly.”

  Captain Rowse grinned. “I doubt he says that to Matt’s face.”

  Daniel shook his head. “His folly doesn’t stretch to complete lunacy. Though doubtless he’ll come nosying around in a day or two to find out about her.”

  A jerk of his head indicated Caroline. Her shoulders stiffened at what she sensed was the slighting nature of the reference, but she said nothing. In truth, as they drew steadily closer to their destination she was growing more apprehensive by the minute. Certainly she was too nervous to relish quarreling with her escorts. Would Elizabeth welcome her? If she did not, then what was to become of her? Lifting her chin high, Caroline refused to allow herself to speculate.

  Once they left the common behind, there was little to see but wide, stumpy fields hacked out of the virgin forest that rose, dark and cool-looking, perhaps a mile away on either side of the road. In civilized England the countryside had been neat and tidy, the norm being grassy meadows and well-cultivated farms bordered by low stone walls or tidy hedgerows. But this—this was rampant wilderness. The surprise of discovering that the wooden shacks were houses was nothing to the astonishment she felt upon realizing that the square with its tiny community of church and boxlike dwellings was Saybrook. All of Saybrook. Except for outlying farms, there was no more to the town.

  They met a man in a leather jerkin leading a limping horse toward the village. Daniel and Captain Rowse exchanged greetings with him but didn’t stop to talk, although from the stranger’s interested glance at Caroline he was obviously curious as to her identity. Again Caroline was grateful for her escorts’ reticence. In her bright scarlet plumage, which would not have been thought worthy of so much as a second glance at home, she felt as conspicuous as a cardinal amid a flock of sparrows. She barely managed to control the impulse to pull her hood closer about her face. But her pride would not allow her to hide.