George fled to her room. On returning to the kitchen, she found McGuire hacking at a loaf of bread while a subdued Billy lounged in a chair with his booted feet resting on the fireplace. It was a somber meal. She toyed with her beans while her cousin did the same. Now and again she felt him staring at her, but kept her head lowered. Only McGuire ate with his usual enjoyment, wiping his plate clean with slabs of bread.
That evening, she sat out on the porch gazing with unseeing eyes into a star-studded sky. If only I was beautiful Marcus might grow to love me, even if I am poor.
“George.” McGuire’s voice startled her. “Did I frighten you, gal, I didn’t mean to.” He sat down beside her.
“Don’t take to heart what the boy said. He’s too impulsive for his own good, but he didn’t mean to upset you. Keeps forgetting you aren’t a man. You have no mother and there’s no woman for you to talk to. I brought you up the same way as my sons. Maybe I did wrong…”
“McGuire.” She touched his arm.
“Don’t interrupt. Easier I suppose. A man on his own with three boys couldn’t bring you up as a gal. My Molly always wanted a little gal. You can’t know what pleasure you gave her. Such a pretty wee darlin’ you were. After Billy was born, there couldn’t be any more children.” His voice sounded gruff with emotion.
“My Molly loved dressing you up in pretty clothes. Always making something for you, she was. Don’t get me wrong, she loved our boys, it was just because you were a gal. If she had lived and that sonofabitch hadn’t….” His voice trailed off. “You wouldn’t have to accept a gown from a stranger.”
“I’ll give it back to Marcus if you want me to.” McGuire had never spoken with such emotion before.
“No, keep it. Why shouldn’t you have pretty clothes and go to parties? I’ve failed you. I should have done something sooner.” He shook his head sadly. “Your mother and my Molly were two of the prettiest gals I ever saw.”
“Tell me about them; I mean, you hardly ever mention them.”
He lit his pipe. “I can’t tell you much, not yet, the time isn’t right, but let me say this. Both your parents were hard working people like Molly and me, you have nothing to be ashamed of. They were innocent victims of a rich man’s greed and lust for revenge.”
He paused, as if considering his next words. “I can tell you this about your mother, Christina, was a righteous, Godfearing woman. As for your father, Jake was the fastest gun I ever saw, and no matter what you might hear, he never shot a man who didn’t draw on him first. Your parents were murdered.”
“What!” If she had been standing she would have dropped to the ground.
“Powerful men wanted him dead. Wanted all of you dead.”
An ice-cold chill froze her to the bone.
If we hadn’t escaped with you, and the Valentines hadn’t taken Johnny, you’d both be dead, too.”
McGuire ignored her shocked gasp. It wasn’t Jake’s fault, he thought bitterly, but his legacy had cast a dark shadow over all their lives.
“I know what you feel for this Englishman, but there’s no future in it for you. He would never marry you, even if he really cared for you. Men like him always marry someone of their own social standing. He obviously came out here to marry Kathryn Stanton and he could only offer you one thing.”
She felt devastated when he voiced the thoughts continually torturing her.
“Marcus wouldn’t hurt me, he likes me.”
“Who wouldn’t like a pretty little thing like you? He’s a man. A man who has had plenty of experience with women, too, if I’m any judge.” His voice became savage. “I’ll kill him if he hurts you. He mustn’t find out that Johnny’s your brother, either. If the sheriff’s hired guns found out, they could use you as a weapon to destroy him. He’d do anything for you, George.”
Even risk the noose. On pain of death she would never tell a soul she was his sister. She would go to Marcus’ party, nothing wrong with that. Like McGuire, Johnny would understand her desire to wear a pretty gown. Who would it hurt if she pretended for a short time that Marcus loved her?
She wanted to know more about Jake and Christina, too, but the questions would have to wait until McGuire decided the time was right. It intrigued her, though. Why would people want to do her or Johnny harm? What guilty secrets could possibly surface after all these years?
Chapter Six
The night of the party finally arrived. All day, George worried and fretted; one minute excited about going to her first party, then panic would engulf her. I’ll probably trip over my skirt or something equally foolish. Maybe I’ll be tongue-tied, or perhaps blurt out something unladylike and embarrass Marcus. Her emotions seesawed all day.
It took an hour to dress and prepare her hair. No matter how hard she tried, it would not stay up, so she finally brushed it vigorously and left it flowing about her shoulders. The green of the gown emphasized the deep color of her eyes, worry and apprehension gave them a haunted brilliance. Her skin looked alabaster white, there was slight bruising beneath her eyes, which added rather than detracted from her appearance, she decided, gazing into her mirror.
The dress was made from silk. The low bodice bared her shoulders and would have displayed most of her breasts, except for tulle looped up with flowers across the front. The sleeves were full and caught in at the wrist, while the skirt had flounces and fine pleating around the hemline. Green satin shoes matched perfectly, and they felt so comfortable they might have been specially made for her.
What bliss having lacy pantalets and petticoats caressing her skin. She had never seen, let alone worn anything so grand.
McGuire stared in astonishment when he first saw her, his Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded hoarse.
“You look beautiful, just like your mother. I don’t know where you got your hair from, though. Christina was ice blonde, Jake pitch black. You have your father’s green eyes, though. My Molly was the one with the flaming hair, the color of fire, it was.”
McGuire lowered his head, but not quickly enough to hide the raw pain in his eyes. Billy stared hard at her, too. He blinked several times, as if he could not believe what he saw.
“You look beautiful, George. Too good for that Englishman,” he finally said.
Her lips trembled.
“All right.” Billy threw his hands above his head in surrender. “I’m sorry for being such a pig the other day, but I’ll flatten him if he hurts you.”
“You need something about your throat, gal. Wait here a minute.”
McGuire disappeared into the bedroom, returning within a short time holding a gold locket on a fine chain. To her surprise he slipped it around her neck, carefully pushing the strands of hair aside, so they would not catch in the clasp. The oval locket was embossed with gold swirls, and it nestled snugly in the valley between her breasts.
“It belonged to your mother.”
“Thank you, McGuire.” She kissed his whiskered cheek and, for the first time ever, saw an embarrassed flush staining his weather-beaten face.
They waited, all three of them, and it was impossible to tell who was the most anxious. Obviously, they realized how much this evening meant to her.
She loved the whispering sound the skirt made as it rustled along the ground and the feel of soft silk stockings against her legs.
Eight thirty passed, followed by despair. Marcus had forgotten to send someone over. Maybe he didn’t want her to attend his party after all. Perhaps Kathryn had persuaded him that she would not be a suitable guest. Worse still, he had decided to announce his betrothal to his cousin, and wanted to spare her the painful humiliation of hearing it in public.
Billy fumed about him letting her down, while McGuire tried to allay all their fears. When George was at the point of distraction, the sound of cart wheels came to them. Impatiently, she waited for the knock, hoping desperately Marcus had changed his mind and decided to collect her himself.
Billy opened the door
to the driver who turned out to be Dave Gleeson’s father. George decided Marcus must have made this arrangement on purpose because she knew him.
The closed in carriage had padded seats, and as Mr. Gleeson helped her settle in she felt like a fairy princess going to a ball.
It was a dark night, fine and quite warm fortunately, as she had no cloak. The white lace gloves fitted her slender hands perfectly. In fact, everything fitted so well they might have been specially made for her.
With mounting excitement, George watched through the window as they drove under the stone archway at the beginning of a long, winding drive leading to the Stanton house. When they pulled up outside the imposing front entrance her stomach knotted with nerves. Supposing she tripped over? She was unused to dresses, the hoop skirt made her feel slightly unbalanced, even though she had practiced walking for hours on end over the last few days.
“Thank you for collecting me, Mr. Gleeson.”
“Enjoy yourself, gal, but be careful.”
A uniformed manservant, helped her alight, and her feet sank into a soft carpet runner. She was walking on carpet outside. Obviously, Marcus didn’t want the grand ladies attending his party to soil their dainty evening slippers.
Up on the porch they went. The servant didn’t utter a word. George was glad, because she was tongue-tied. By the time he escorted her through the main entrance, her legs wobbled so much she feared they might collapse, and hundreds of butterflies whirled around in the pit of her stomach.
“Georgina.” Her eyes widened as Marcus strode toward her, breathtakingly handsome in a navy knee length jacket trimmed with velvet about the collar and cuffs. His matching trousers had a braided side seam. As her gaze flew back to his face, she noticed a row of lacy frills on his white shirt. A nerve pulsated at the side of his mouth as he dismissed the servant with a brief nod.
“You look beautiful,” he said huskily. “As I knew you would.”
“Thank you, Marcus. Everything fitted.” She gave a nervous trill of laughter. “No one knows about the gown, I mean.” She bit her lip to stop it trembling.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t be so ungallant as to risk you being humiliated. Come along, I want to introduce my beautiful Georgina to everyone.” His white teeth flashed in a reassuring smile, and with her arm linked through his, they entered the ballroom.
She could scarcely believe her eyes. Such opulence, gilded wall lamps and magnificent chandeliers lit up the room. A hundred or more people were in attendance. The women wore lavishly decorated gowns, none are as beautiful as mine, she decided with a surge of excitement. Even though the men were handsomely attired, their appearances paled into insignificance compared to Marcus. He looked like a prince, with just the right amount of haughty arrogance. And I’m his princess, for tonight, anyway.
George had only seen Colonel and Mrs. Stanton on a few occasions. They greeted her with chilly politeness. They did not want the likes of her here, but at least made some effort to disguise their animosity; Kathryn rudely turned her head away. She engaged Marcus in conversation, purposely excluding George. By the tensing of his arm, which was still linked through hers, he had noticed the snub. The older Stantons drifted away, leaving the three of them together.
Kathryn did most of the talking, Marcus put in an occasional word while George’s contribution to the conversation was nil. The other girl’s rudeness really shook her up, sapping the small amount of confidence she had built up to attend this party.
When the Bank Manager’s son strolled over to speak with them, his open admiration of her appearance boosted George’s crumbling confidence.
“We’ll leave you two together.” Marcus strode off, almost dragging her after him.
“Would you care for a drink?” His voice sounded low and savage. “Kathryn had no right treating you in such a rude manner.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m used to being treated badly by the likes of her.”
He made no comment, but his jaw thrust out. He caught the attention of a passing servant who brought over two glasses of what turned out to be champagne. It tasted strange at first to her untutored palate. The tiny bubbles tickled, and she screwed up her nose.
Marcus laughed softly. “Sweet Georgina.” He took a step closer, obviously remembering where they were, he stopped dead.
“Would you care to dance?” He must have seen her longingly watching the others.
“I would like to,” she said wistfully, “but I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy.” Taking her glass, he handed it to a passing servant before drawing her on to the dance floor and into his arms. Her head barely reached his shoulder and his heart thudded against her cheek.
Following his whispered instructions, George felt she was doing quite well. She forced herself not to melt against him. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the subtle perfume of him, a tangy pine cone freshness.
“I’m not standing on your feet, am I?”
“No, you’re as light as thistledown.” He gave a soft laugh. It came from somewhere deep within his throat, causing her heart to flutter as desperately as the wings of a caged bird.
During the evening, she danced with several other young men. Some she knew, others were strangers, but they seemed nice and their frank admiration was pleasing. Marcus only left her a few times to mingle with his other guests, but George missed him. Selfish expecting him to spend every minute with her, but this was her special night. He was her prince, she his princess. Deep down she somehow knew this time would never come again, and she wanted to savor every second of it.
She was happy. Her cheeks felt flushed, her eyes probably shining with excitement and most probably the two or three glasses of champagne she had consumed. If I live to be a hundred I’ll never forget this night. I never want it to end.
George didn’t know exactly when the atmosphere changed. Nothing specific, just a stifled giggle or a whispered word by women as she danced by. Later, speculative glances from a few of the young men. If Marcus noticed, he gave no sign, except for a frown every now and again. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but could not quite dredge up the courage, fearful of saying anything, which might spoil this magic evening.
At suppertime, he excused himself to get them something to eat, so she went to the lady’s retiring room to check her appearance. As she was about to enter, a young woman spoke her name.
“Everyone knows Marcus bought that gown for her.”
“Expensive, too,” another trilled.
“Wonder how she expects to pay for it.” The words were followed by a tinkling laugh; it sucked the warmth from George’s body, leaving her frozen to the bone.
“A rake like the Honorable Marcus Lindquist will surely find a way. She’s probably paid for it already. What else would you expect from the likes of her?”
Somehow, George managed to move away on leaden feet. How could you, Marcus? She felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. How could he have been so cruel? Had he, like everyone else, been laughing behind her back all evening?
She trembled so badly her teeth practically rattled. Escape from this fiendish humiliation was the only course left open now. To save her life, she could not have re-entered the ballroom again.
“There you are, Georgina, I wondered where you were.” Marcus met up with her in the hallway. “What is it?”
There was no way she could hide her heartache. “You promised, Marcus,” she whispered brokenly.
“What is it? Are you unwell? Too much champagne, my darling?”
“You promised, Marcus, then you told.” She brushed the tears away with trembling fingers.
“What’s wrong?” He put out a hand to touch her and this acted as a catalyst. With a strangled sob, she turned away from him and started running. He called out, but she dared not stop her headlong flight. If she didn’t get away, she would surely die. Once outside, the night air pricked her skin with hundreds of icy needles.
“Stop. Please, Georgina.”
He was only a couple of yards behind her now. She forced herself to greater effort, but the beautiful fairy princess gown hampered her so much he caught up.
“What is it?’ His hand shot out to grasp her shoulder. Hurt turned into angry desperation and she lashed out at him. He cursed with pain when her flailing fists contacted with his face. Shock snapped his head back and she pulled free. Her locket caught on one of his buttons. For a moment, it almost strangled her. Finally, the chain gave way and she ran as if a pack of wolves were snarling at her ankles.
Marcus charged after her, cursing under his breath as he nearly collided with a tree. It was so dark, that after floundering around for a time he realized it was hopeless. Unless he wanted to do himself a grievous injury, the only sensible recourse was return to the house and decide the best course of action.
On the porch, he started tidying up his clothes. He suddenly spied the locket caught up on one of his buttons. He slipped it into his pocket, wondering bitterly what had gone wrong. Something had grievously upset sweet Georgina. He would never forget the misery on her face or the betrayal darkening her eyes to jade. She looked shattered, and so tragically beautiful, the image would be imprinted on his brain forever. Not a vestige of color remained in her cheeks. It was as if all the life had been drained out of her. What had she said? “You promised, and then you told.”
“Marcus, there you are.” He forced a smile as Kathryn glided toward him. “You haven’t asked me to dance yet. In fact, you’ve neglected me shamefully because of that George creature.”
“Be careful what you say about Georgina.”
“Why should I?” She tossed her head derisively. “I don’t know how white trash like her dared to come here, especially when she had no gown to wear. You bought....”
“You,” he snarled, stepping closer to her. With an effort, he controlled his first impulse, which was to shake her pretty head from her shoulders. Turning on his heel, he strode back into the ballroom, seething at Kathryn’s treachery.
No wonder Georgina had been upset. Only natural for her to blame him. How was she to know he only took Kathryn into his confidence so he could find a decent dressmaker?
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