Embrace the Day by Susan Wiggs Page A

waiting for her answer, Roarke turned on his heel and stalked over to Prudence.
    Somewhat at a loss, Genevieve followed a small crowd of people to a dusty warehouse that smelled sharply of dried tobacco. Almost immediately, Roarke appeared at her side. There was no trace of anger in his eyes now.
    "I still want to be friends," he told her.
    Genevieve looked away. The women from the
Blessing
were gathering in the warehouse, surrounded by curious onlookers.
    "Like cattle up for the slaughter," observed a man nearby. He was lean and long-jawed and wore a fringed hunting shirt and buckskin pants. He tipped a hat of gray animal fur at Roarke. "How do? My name's Luther Quaid. I hear you're looking for a guide to Albemarle County…"
    The men fell to talking while Genevieve and Prudence watched the proceedings in the warehouse.
    The affair was demeaning. Although Nell Wingfield preened and threw back her skirts to afford a view of her strong legs, behaving much as she'd done on the docks in England, the rest of the women hung back and looked nervously at the men who pressed in around them.
    Bids were shouted at the ship's merchant from a blur of faces, old and young, grizzled and cleanshaven, grinning and frowning.
    Henry Piggot joined Genevieve and Prudence. "You'd best offer yourself," he suggested. "You'll be needing a master… or a husband."
    Genevieve narrowed her eyes at Piggot. "
No
…"
    "You're alone now, and penniless. You have nothing."
    Genevieve flung her head up and directed a fierce look at him. "Alone, aye, and penniless, too. But I've the strength of my hands and back. I'll get work."
    Piggot shook his head. "The only work you'll get is the kind done flat on your back."
    Her mind raced. She'd noticed a single tavern in the port called Swan's. But would they want a Londoner fresh off the boat, with the stench of the slums still clinging to her? Then a thought pushed its way into her mind. Slowly, a smile crept across her face.
    "Didn't you say that Cornelius Culpeper left a
tract of
land in the West?" she asked.
    Piggot nodded, "In Albemarle County."
    "Is it not mine now that he's dead?"
    This time Piggot frowned. "Aye, but not for long. I intend to have the land sold."
    She clutched at his arm. "Let me farm it, Mr. Piggot. I'll pay you what you're owed."
    He snorted and began idly working at his nails with his ivory toothpick. "You? Alone? What does a London tavern wench know of farming?"
    "Nothing," Genevieve said fiercely. "But I'll learn, I'll—"
    "Give the girl a chance," Roarke said suddenly, his eyes taking in Genevieve's look of utter determination. " 'Twas you who got her here, after all."
    Genevieve sniffed. Roarke had conveniently forgotten his part in suggesting the wager. But she held her temper; Piggot seemed to be wavering.
    "A year," she said quickly. "Give me a year, Mr. Piggot. If I fail, the farm is yours. If I'm successful, you'll be paid."
    Piggot smiled. He was never one to resist a wager, especially one he couldn't lose. He went to the ship's merchant, scratched a quill over a bit of paper, and presented it to Genevieve.
    "There's our pact, Mrs. Culpeper," he said. "Put your name to it and the farm's yours."
    Genevieve's heart swelled with enthusiasm. She read the document, then signed her name with a flourish and gave the paper to Piggot, who left in a jovial mood, to gossip over the bizarre wager with his cronies. Genevieve looked up to see Roarke grinning at her.
    "What are you looking at, you sod?" she demanded.
    Laughter rumbled from him. "I believe I'm looking at a farmer, Gennie Culpeper."

    Luther Quaid's flat-bottomed boat brimmed with eager new settlers. The buckskin-clad trader declared they were all as green as the Virginia laurel that grew in profusion along the banks of the James River, but he liked them.
    Standing at the tiller, he studied his passengers. Seth Parker, the only one not fresh from England, was solicitous of his new bride, Amy. They'd be fine, building a life on