Emerald digested this information in silence. Then Jette was right. There was indeed much about Baret she did not know. Evidently he had not always been what Great-aunt Sophie had called him—“a scamp.”
“I admit Grayford is a dear boy, and I’m told Felix has wondrous plans for him.” Again the woman leaned toward Emerald and whispered, “There he is now.” She turned and gave Emerald a searching appraisal. “Are you related to Grayford by any chance?”
“Um … the family is so large I couldn’t truthfully say.”
Emerald turned her head and looked across the banister at the stepgrandson of the earl.
He was standing alone on the other side of the room, surveying the guests. Although Emerald knew next to nothing about his character, he impressed her as a man who was full of himself. Whereas Baret was earthy and dark, his cousin was urbane and fair like Lavender, and his well-fitted naval uniform presented a man who was as slim and straight as he was tall.
Geneva joined them on the stairway then. She was arrayed in satin as silver-gray as her eyes, setting off her red hair. “So you’ve met my cousin’s daughter, have you, Isabeau?” she asked pleasantly enough.
Isabeau did not restrain her look of shock. “Karlton’s daughter?” A slight look of pity shone in her haughty eyes.
“Yes, this is Emerald Harwick.”
“Oh. That Emerald. Yes. The name suddenly springs to memory.”
They had stopped on the stairs. Emerald showed nothing in her expression at hearing the woman’s change in tone, but Isabeau carried on bravely.
“My dear! How charming you look. I never realized. I thought …” And her probing eyes studied Emerald’s features as though searching for signs of African ancestry.
Emerald felt her resentment rising. It was this insidious attitude of superiority in the English that irked her the most. “You look nothing like the Buckingtons, my dear—oh, but of course you wouldn’t … well … you are an eyeful, my dear. You had best watch her tonight, Geneva. She’ll have every rake in Port Royal after her, including Sir Jasper.”
“I’m quite able to take care of myself, thank you,” breathed Emerald.
But the woman, having decided that Emerald was no one of importance after all, had already dismissed her and was proceeding up the stairs to the upstairs hall, Geneva leading the way.
Emerald was obliged to follow them down the upper hallway and across a spacious anteroom to another carpeted passage, and finally they arrived at a room so large and spacious that Emerald thought it might easily pass for a second ballroom. There were mullioned windows edged with green-and-gold satin brocade, polished walnut furniture, cupboards, tables, and chairs, as well as a large four-poster bed that dominated one wall.
Emerald took in the ornate decorations, the woven tapestries, and silver and gold plate that gave a touch of richness to the room.
Lavender was there, adding finishing touches of red tropical flowers to her hair. “Baret sent them,” she told her.
“They are lovely.”
“They’d go better with your hair.”
“Oh, I hardly think so. Red becomes you so.”
Lavender laid the flowers aside and, turning, inspected her. “How well do you know the viscount?”
Startled by the question, and that Lavender would even ask, Emerald felt uneasy. “Why, hardly at all—”
“No matter,” interrupted Lavender and turned her back. “I’m surprised he asked you here today is all. I suppose you insisted.”
Emerald wanted to deny the suggestion, but if she did even more innuendos would surface. She changed the subject, glancing about. “Such a grand room.”
“You should see Buckington House. This is nothing.”
“It may be splendid, but I should get lost in a room this size,” said Emerald. “I prefer something more intimate. Notice how our voices seem to echo?”
“One gets accustomed to luxury.” Lavender frowned and looked across the room at her mother, Lady Beatrice, who was adorning herself before the large mirror. “Baret should have come by now. He promised he’d attend the ball.”
Lady Beatrice added a heavy jewel-encrusted brooch to the bodice of her dress. She ignored Emerald as though she were invisible.
Emerald removed her presence across the room to a blue tapestry settee and rested her feet. She was not accustomed to high-heeled shoes.
“Where did you get the brooch, Mother?” asked Lavender.
“It’s made of emeralds and Margarita pearls—isn’t it lovely?”
“I hear a buccaneer confiscated it from a Spanish don.”
“And collected it as a government ‘due’ by your father,” said Beatrice boldly. “It’s been tastefully awarded to me as an eighteenth wedding anniversary gift.” She laughed. “As for Baret—” she cast her daughter a grave look “—he’s in disfavor with the earl,” she warned. “The earl is furious with him.”
Lavender picked up a flower and frowned. “How do you know?”
“They argued last night. Baret is likely to be disinherited if he sails with Henry Morgan.” Beatrice straightened her brooch. “I’ve heard the wife of the lieutenant-governor has a necklace of pearls set in Peruvian gold, taken during the last buccaneering raid on the Main,” she murmured.
Lavender seemed to shrug off her alarm over the news of an argument between Baret and his grandfather. “He already told me about his grandfather’s displeasure. It doesn’t matter. My marriage has been settled since I was a child.”
And Emerald saw her cousin glance over at her with a wry smile. “Unlike my poor cousin here—whose reputation is soiled.”
“That will be enough, Lavender,” said Beatrice. “Emerald is a guest tonight like your other friends.”
“Of course, Mother.” And Lavender made an amused but playful frown at Emerald behind her mother’s back.
Lavender had told her that she was destined to become a countess after the death of her invalid grandmother in London. This title from the Thaxton side of the family would make her even more of a prize for the handsome young viscount.
Several other titled ladies in England nurtured the same hope. But unlike the other daughters of London nobility, Lavender did not fear competition. She not only had the determination of her mother to aid her, but she knew that her dowry had influenced the Buckington nobility, especially the earl.
“Baret has vowed that if I would allow him the liberty to take to sea for the next few years on some purpose he cannot now explain, he will return to marry me and settle in London at Buckington House,” she announced. “Even if he does join Henry Morgan, the earl will forgive him eventually. He won’t disinherit him. He has too much pride in the Buckington name to see the title go to a nephew.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain.”
Emerald wondered if she should be listening, but neither Lavender nor Lady Beatrice paid her any mind.
At the tone of her mother’s voice, Lavender turned from the mirror to look at her. “What do you mean?”
Emerald thought Beatrice a woman of wintry beauty. She had the same fair hair as her daughter. Like her sister Geneva, she was accustomed to showing restraint in public, since her position made for a busy and sometimes artificial social life. But even in the privacy of the chamber when she was obviously worried, Beatrice was poised.
“Why shouldn’t I be certain about Baret?” asked Lavender again.
Beatrice arched a brow and stated without shame, “I discovered a letter from London in Geneva’s drawer. It was written by Felix.”
Emerald wondered that she would say this in her presence.
Beatrice turned to her without expression. “See you say nothing of this to anyone.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Emerald,” said Lavender. “I’ve always shared our scandalous secrets with her. There’s little you’ll do, Mother, that will surprise her. And I too have learned many of your ways.” She laughed and turned to Emerald. “Mother is convinced Geneva is working with Felix to have
my father recalled to London and therefore removed as lieutenant-governor of Jamaica.”
“I believe Geneva is scheming against your father’s good standing with His Majesty,” said Beatrice, “and I have a right to know what we’re up against.”
“What did Felix write Geneva? Was it about Jamaica?”
“Not this time. The scheming knave is more confident than ever of convincing the earl he should inherit instead of Baret. If Baret does show himself tonight, you best speak a word in his ear. Unless he returns to London as the earl wishes, he may end up as nothing more than one of Henry Morgan’s odious buccaneers.”
Lavender frowned for the first time.
Beatrice turned to her daughter as her voice became firm. “Sir Jasper has become the second most powerful planter on Jamaica. A merger of our two sugar estates would give the family an even stronger voice for the West India interests in Parliament.”
“Never,” said Lavender. “The man is loathsome. I suppose Father has tried to convince you I should marry him?”
Beatrice watched her daughter as the maid removed a wig from a box and held it out for display. “Not your father. It was Felix. Don’t look so unhappy. You must have known that Jasper was always a possibility. The entire family agrees. And he’s a close friend and sugar associate of Felix.”
Emerald felt uncomfortable listening to a family squabble over whom Lavender must marry. She could see by Lavender’s expression that she would not succumb easily.
Emerald turned away and busied herself by opening her own dress box and removing her fan for the ball.
Lavender went on, undisturbed it seemed by her presence. “What about the earl? What has he said to this?”
“The earl does not know yet. But he takes a great interest in what goes on in Jamaica. Sir Jasper met with him in private while in London.”
Lavender’s surprise must have pricked her mother’s sentiment, for she said more gently, “Darling, surely you must know you cannot marry Baret if his title and inheritance are taken from him.”
Lavender gazed into her mother’s eyes, a look of dismay on her face. “That must not happen! I won’t let it!”
For a long instant they stared at each other.
“You had best talk to Baret,” said Beatrice.
Lavender turned away to allow the maid to dress her for the masquerade.
After Lady Beatrice left and shut the heavy door behind her, Emerald whispered, “I could never marry a man I did not love.”
Lavender cast her a cool glance. “It doesn’t matter who you marry, but my marriage is important since my children will be heirs to Foxemoore.”
As far as the family was concerned, Lavender was right. It didn’t matter. Emerald realized suddenly that she was blessed with a freedom Lavender did not have.
She watched as the maid draped her cousin with the gold-bejeweled gown and tried the matching mask over her face. Then without another glance toward Emerald, she left for the ballroom.
Emerald looked after her, refusing to allow her cousin’s rejection to discourage her. She turned abruptly to the mirror and looked at her dress. There were no jewels like Lavender’s, but she did have pearl combs that her father had given her when she was thirteen, and they set off her lustrous mahogany curls.
“Your mask, miss.”
Emerald took the maroon satin piece with embroidered white lace and tried it on.
A stranger stared back from the gilded mirror.
The granddaughter of archpirate Captain Marcel Levasseur had at least found her way into the Great House for a ball!
Emerald went to join the important gilded guests.
Pausing on the staircase, she looked over the huge ballroom. Everyone was masked. Satin-gowned ladies wore elaborate wigs and eye masks, and lavishly attired gentlemen in black masks were arriving as a thousand candles glittered on the ceiling and walls, causing the wall hangings of gold cloth to ripple.
Emerald came down the stairs, one hand on the banister, wondering what to do next.
A voice to the side of the handrail interrupted her thoughts.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come down, although I shall play the game and pretend I do not know who you are.”
He was dressed in uniform, and though he wore a mask she recognized him to be Grayford Thaxton, stepson of Felix.
Grayford gave a light bow and extended a hand, smiling.
“I shall be highly disappointed if you deny me this first waltz.”
“I am pleased to oblige, your lordship.”
“What makes you think a man in naval uniform would be titled?”
Emerald smiled. “Because I also know who you are. You were pointed out when you first arrived. You are Grayford Thaxton.”
“And you are Emerald Harwick. I assume you are now a cousin since the marriage of my father and Geneva.”
“Rather confusing, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “I thought I was the only one to think so.”
He waltzed well, and Emerald was careful to follow his lead.
“Are you pleased about the wedding?”
Emerald could not answer at once. “I’m certain I wish them well. But whether I was pleased or not wouldn’t matter.”
Grayford smiled, showing even white teeth. “I see you know my stepfather well.”
“Actually I haven’t met him yet.”
“You will,” he said, and something in his tone made her wonder.
“I shall be stationed at English Harbor,” he said. “With any luck I shall have the privilege of sinking a ship or two. I fear another war with the Dutch is soon to break. Unlike the first war in the fifties, this one will likely include the West Indies.”
“The sea appears to run in the family blood,” she said. “I believe you have a cousin who is a privateer. Lord Baret Buckington.”
The smile did not leave his face, but she noted that there was no humor in it.
“Ah, yes. You’ve broken the first rule.”
“Rule? What is that?”
“Bringing up Baret,” he said wryly. “I’m surprised Lavender didn’t mention that he is considered an unwelcome topic in the family.”
“Then I’ve made the first of what are likely to be numerous errors tonight. But I hardly thought that mentioning your cousin—”
“Speaking of Baret is not troublesome to me, although it is disappointing, when he has deliberately chosen to affront all he previously stood for.”
She looked at him. “Because he’s a buccaneer?”
“I suppose that is the polite way to put it. Though my stepfather might suggest he is far closer to following the ways of Henry Morgan, the way his father did. A pity too. Baret might have won command of His Majesty’s vessel had he been more disciplined and less prone to reckless ventures.”
“I did not know he had an interest in the military,” she said. “I had the notion he preferred the ways of the independent privateers.”
“So it seems,” he said tonelessly. “I suppose what he is on the inside took time to develop.”
“Then he was not always considered an unpleasant topic?” she suggested, trying to keep her curiosity masked.
“He was the earl’s pride—the grandson who could do no wrong—until his father turned to piracy.”
“Seems rather strange that the earl’s own son would become a pirate,” she said. “Indeed, he had everything in London.”
His expression changed. “Another tale. One best left to the murky past. As for my cousin … well, Baret felt the charges against his father were false. He’s done about everything he can to anger the earl—and all in the name of trying to prove his father innocent.”
“So now you and he are on unfriendly terms?”
“In the beginning we went to the Academy together. He took it quite seriously. More so than I. Baret graduated at the top, but he turned against the Admiralty—and my stepfather.”
Emerald tried to take all this in, wondering. Baret was more complex than sh
e had first judged him.
“The command I now have in the West Indies would have been his, had he not been discharged,” said Grayford ruefully.
She looked at him. “Discharged?”
His eyes reflected the irony he must have felt. “He entered Spanish waters near Cuba to sink a galleon,” he said flatly. “While Felix and others at court were negotiating peace with Spain for His Majesty.”
This news sounded very much like Captain Foxworth, she thought, and wondered that she retained a faint admiration for his boldness.
As she glanced over Grayford’s shoulder, she noticed a man standing apart from the merrymakers, watching the milling dancers and a group of jugglers dressed as bears—or was he watching her?
She sensed that he was, though she could not be certain of his gaze beneath the dark mask embroidered with gold.
He was a commanding figure, and she was not the only woman to notice him. A few heads were beginning to turn, perhaps hoping he would favor them with a waltz.
He was exquisitely dressed and must have been a titled nobleman. Even the sedulously curled periwig and white lace ruffles at his throat and wrists—a fashion that Emerald secretly loathed on men—did not detract from this gentleman’s virility.
She noted that his clothes were worth a fortune—the coat was of rich blue-green velvet, with elaborate gold embroidery. And when the jeweled pin in his cravat caught the light of the chandeliers, the colors glinted a deep blue, and she suspected they were sapphires.
Was this the earl?
“Enough hoarding of the fair damsel, Grayford,” said a bold voice as the music ended and a second waltz began. A man stepped up beside them and, taking her arm, claimed her, sweeping her away before she could reply. Even disguised and wearing a mask, she knew who it was.
“No offense, sweetheart, but you owe me an apology since the occasion of our meeting was so rudely interrupted in the drawing room.”
She looked up into his pale eyes and broad smile. “Sir Jasper,” she breathed with exasperation, “do you ever give up?”
He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I am a determined man.”
“And fickle. I understand you wish to marry Lavender.”
“The earl prefers she marry Grayford, but there is always hope. And you, my dear? Surely you’re not still doting on that indentured slave Jamie? A pity! A sad heart will he bequeath you once the Harwicks hang him.”
Buccaneers Series Page 21