Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

  “Why, Master Chancelor! If I may say so, the kitchen maid and laundry maids are all agog over ’im. Oooh, I wish me Jimmy had some o’ his looks, I do. Just t’other day I wuz saying to me mum . . .”

  Tori withdrew into her own thoughts, trying to set the pieces right in her mind. Could it be? Was Emmy correct? Tori knew the girl had no reason to lie to her, and certainly she wasn’t stupid. Scarblade was Marcus Chancelor, the man responsible for her predicament! She laughed aloud, seeing the humor in her situation. Marcus Chancelor, because of him her father had lost favor with the Crown. Because of him she had been forced into that impossible match with Lord Fowler-Greene. Because of Marcus Chancelor she had sought out Dolly and arranged to play out the deception on Lord Fowler-Greene. And now, because of Marcus Chancelor, she was being held a prisoner in a camp of highwaymen!

  Her laughter bordered on hysteria and Emmy became alarmed. “Oh, miss, what’s wrong? What can I do for ye?”

  Regaining her control, Tori said sharply, “Hurry, Emmy, get me the towels. I must make myself ready for Master Chancelor when he arrives. I want to ‘surprise’ him!”

  Emmy hurried to do the lady’s bidding. The miss was certainly upset about something! And Emmy hadn’t liked the way she had said the word ‘surprise’!”

  As Tori dried her hair she sat on the chair near the window looking out at the falling dusk. When the footmen came to empty the copper tub, Emmy had shielded Tori from their view with the screen.

  “I hope I didn’t upset your ladyship by anything I said,” Emmy said apologetically.

  “Not at all, Emmy. If anything, you’ve put my mind at ease about a number of things.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t like to think Master Chancelor would be displeased by your . . . er, surprise, him being such a nice gentleman and all.”

  “Have no worry, Emmy, the surprise I plan for Master Marcus Chancelor will certainly please him. You see, I plan to be at my best this evening. I shall dazzle him with my charms, entertain him with my wit, and flatter him with my attention. Why I daresay the man will be beside himself with pleasure!” Tori smiled wickedly to herself.

  Behind the screen Emmy shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment. Somehow she was terribly glad she and her Jimmy were not of the gentry. Being quality folk must complicate one’s life.

  * * *

  Marcus dismounted and tied his great chestnut to the hitching post outside Lord Fowler-Greene’s home. He took the steps up to the door two at a time, his heels making a clicking sound on the recently shoveled porch. As Marcus was about to touch the ornate brass knocker, Lord Fowler-Greene’s manservant pulled open the door.

  “Milord, Lord Fowler-Greene awaits you, he’s in the library.”

  Marcus wasted no time in getting to the library. He threw open the room’s heavy oak doors to find Lord Fowler-Greene sitting in what Marcus supposed was his favorite chair, leafing through an old, dusty volume from the shelves. Immediately upon seeing Marcus, the lord rose and approached him, extending his hand in welcome. “Marcus, this is indeed an unexpected surprise.”

  Marcus smiled and returned the hearty handshake. “I came to tell you I’ll soon be leaving England. I want to thank you on behalf of Chancelor’s Valley for all you’ve done for us.”

  “’Twas hardly enough; the pleasure was mine, I assure you.” In truth the lord had taken a great liking to Marcus and was exceedingly sympathetic to the needs in the colonies. Marcus brought Lord Fowler-Greene up to date on his activities, omitting any mention of the girl he kept prisoner.

  They shook hands, and Marcus, sending him one last salute, left the library, closing the doors behind him.

  He was eager to get back to his rooms. He knew the girl well enough not to give her too much leeway. He heard a sound behind him and turned, stunned to see Dolly tripping lightly down the stairs.

  “Scarblade, Scarblade!” she cried, hurrying toward him to throw herself into his arms. “Ain’t it wonderful? Imagine me here in this place! The gods have surely been kind to yer old friend Dolly.”

  “Dolly,” Marcus asked incredulously, “is it really you?”

  “Aye. Look at me, have ye ever seen me looking so grand? Did you know I’m now Lady Fowler-Greene? Can you imagine?” Marcus noticed Dolly’s speech seemed a bit stilted, but he also noticed that her diction had certainly improved from the heavy cockney.

  “Are you now Lady Fowler-Greene? I’d heard the lord had married, and a love match at that, but I’d not heard he’d fallen for a serving wench from the Owl’s Eye Inn. I’d no idea the lord even frequented a hole such as that.”

  “Shhh!” Dolly cautioned. “I’m being kept under wraps, at least until I’ve learned the manners of a lady and can speak like one, too. Oh, ’Blade, ’tis long hard days Oi—I—” she corrected herself, “I put in learning how to act the lady with Lady Helen as my teacher.” Her lip curled when she mentioned her sister-in-law.

  “But how did you come to find yourself married to a lord?”

  “You’ll think me daft,” Dolly laughed. “Come into the breakfast room and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  * * *

  Tori, looking resplendent in her gown, was standing before the mirror when Marcus strode into the room. He stopped for a moment as he caught sight of her. The wide, low cut of her neckline revealed her smooth, white shoulders and accentuated the curving fullness of her bosom and long slim throat. The color of the dress turned her freshly washed hair, which was artfully arranged atop her head, to a paler shade of gold. Emmy, experienced housemaid that she was, had deftly used a curling iron to produce thick, glossy ringlets over Tori’s left ear.

  Marcus found himself bewitched by the amazing difference in Tori’s appearance. Tori shivered under his scrutiny. Gallantly he reached to the bed for a rich velvet cloak and deftly draped it about her shoulders. Nuzzling her ear, he said in a low, throaty tone, “What a bewitching bandit you make, Dolly, a vixen in velvet.”

  “Don’t you approve, milord?” Tori asked, a ripple of delight singing through her. Her thoughts were becoming muddled. Must he stand so close?

  “Oh yes, madam. I approve heartily!”

  “Good! I most want to please you!” she answered waspishly, her sarcastic tone bringing some semblance of composure to her.

  Seeing her fully dressed, Marcus was disconcerted. His business with Lord Fowler-Greene had taken longer than expected. He hadn’t thought to tell Emmy not to bring in the lady’s clothes until he returned. “You had your opportunity to escape, why didn’t you?”

  “I promised, milord,” Tori replied sweetly. For the moment she was shaken. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t even thought of escaping! It wasn’t her promise that kept her here, she realized; it was her determination to ‘surprise’ Marcus Chancelor. Fool! she rebuked herself, too besotted with your scheme to take advantage of an ideal opportunity!

  Coming further into the room, Marcus spied the copper tub refilled with steaming water. Angrily, he realized he didn’t know what to do with the girl while he himself bathed.

  Seeing his glance at the bath, Tori guessed what was on his mind. “We can set the screen up around the tub, milord, and I can sit in the far corner of the room whilst you bathe.”

  “I assure you, Dolly—” he said the name mockingly—“it wasn’t my modesty I was thinking of; in fact, I may decide you should scrub my back!” Marcus cast her a distrustful look. What would prevent her from running out of the room while he was so conveniently indisposed?

  “I promise I’ll not try to run away,” Tori sputtered, a little worried that he might actually be uncourtly enough to strip and bathe in front of her. “Haven’t I already had my golden opportunity?” she argued, then insisted, “I didn’t take advantage of it, did I? I’ve given my word as a lady, and I mean to keep it.”

  In actual fact, Tori played the idea over in her mind, mulling the possibilities of a successful escape. But all the while carbon-black eyes swam before her and she admitted the horrible trut
h to herself that she did not want to be free of this Marcus Chancelor. She would rather ride the roads with a band of thieves than deny herself ever seeing Scarblade again, ever feeling his strong arms about her and his lips pressed hard against hers.

  Quickly turning away from him to hide the blush suffusing her face, she sat meekly in a far corner of the room while Marcus hurriedly bathed and dressed. When he stepped out from behind the screen, Tori was pleasantly surprised by the handsomeness of his appearance. The dark stubble of beard was cleanly removed, as were the dirty garments he had worn. Here before her stood a gentleman dressed in fine evening wear. The black of his coat was set off by the blue brocade of his waistcoat and the pristine whiteness of his cravat.

  Her eyes raked over him and she saw him smiling strangely at her, the scar on his cheek giving him a rakish look.

  Quickly she hid her admiration and busied herself with her ribbons. Marcus came and stood close behind her, putting his hands lightly on her waist. “You’re lovely, really.” Inhaling deeply of her womanly scent, he kissed her warmly on the shoulder.

  Tori turned to face him. “How kind of you to say so, milord. And may I say you also cut a fine figure. It would seem we are quite a stunning pair,” she teased, “I being the better, of course.”

  The shared laughter eased the strain between them, and after seeing to a few details, they left for an evening at the opera.

  Marcus had hired a coach for the evening. Once settled within, Tori braved a question. “When am I to meet your friend, Master Chancelor?”

  He did not honor her with an answer, if indeed he had one. He merely sat across from her, his knees occasionally touching hers with the rocking of the carriage, and stared at her.

  Knowing when to give over, Tori sat silently for the remainder of the trip to the inn where they were to have dinner.

  Sitting in a secluded corner of the dining room, Tori looked across at Marcus with a penetrating gaze that made him uncomfortable. He would not forget the impact their arrival had on the other patrons. Several gentlemen seated in a group had turned and stared pointedly at Tori when she entered. A low murmur of conversation swept the room, and soon it was apparent the gentlemen were very envious of Marcus’s position as Tori’s escort. The ladies present also turned to appraise the charms of this woman who could create a stir among their men.

  Tori had also noticed the stir their arrival had created. She swelled with pride at being the envy of the other ladies who had to content themselves with pasty-looking, nondescript suitors and spouses. She knew they would have gladly traded places with her to be in the company of a handsome, rugged, well-dressed gentleman with licorice-black eyes.

  Marcus gave his order to the servant and turned his full attention on Tori. “Have you ever been to the opera . . . Dolly? It seems odd to call you by that name; it’s certain you are anything but a tavern wench, much as you would have me believe otherwise.”

  Tori looked up at him through her long, thick lashes, noting the effect this wile had on him. “I think, since we are to be friends, we must know each other’s true names, Marcus Chancelor. I am Victoria Rawlings. My close friends and family call me Tori.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So . . . Miss Rawlings, is it?”

  Now that he knew the elegant Miss Rawlings was no spy, the following day’s tasks would be much easier. And that witch Dolly . . . Lady Fowler-Greene. The two of them, Miss Rawlings and Dolly . . . birds of a feather. Still, he tried to control the shock he felt at her words. He had not expected that she would learn his identity. “I might have expected Emmy would mention my name. Yes, it’s true, my name is Marcus Chancelor.” Before she could utter the question which came to her lips, Marcus leaned forward and told her the reason for assuming a pseudonym. When he had completed his story, he was touched by the sparkle of tears he noted in Tori’s eyes.

  “So now you know the reason for my robbing and plundering, as you so aptly refer to it. But Tori,” he cautioned, the sound of her name on his lips giving her an unexpected thrill, “you must always refer to me as Scarblade, at least in front of the men at camp. Not even they know my true identity. It’s much safer for the plan; the less they know the better the chances of getting the money back to North Carolina. Only Josh, who has known me since I was a boy, knows the truth.”

  Tori agreed, although why she could not say. She should be furious with Marcus Chancelor. Were it not for him, she reasoned, she would not find herself in her present circumstances. But something had touched her, his face when he had spoken of this far-off colony had lifted and brightened. His voice had filled with a tenderness and yearning. No, Tori wouldn’t give him away, if for nothing else than to protect him from that animal Charles. Somehow Tori felt Charles might someday be Marcus’s undoing. Josh seemed to believe in Marcus’s cause, and that was sound enough reason for her.

  * * *

  After a delicious dinner, Tori and Marcus again climbed into their hired coach and rode the short distance to Covent Garden. The immense ornate doors of that famous theater stood open welcomingly. Tori had visited the Garden on numerous occasions with her parents and Granger, but this night seemed special. Now she was on the arm of a most attractive gentleman and she shone brightly under the envious glances they received.

  Once or twice Tori saw recognition in the eyes of an acquaintance. At first she thought one of them might approach her till she remembered that to all concerned she was now the wife of Lord Fowler-Greene and under no circumstances would anyone call attention to the fact that the lord was being cuckolded for a gentleman so much younger and far more handsome.

  Seated in a private box, Tori and Marcus listened to the ethereal strains of the music. With the lights low and the players on stage, Marcus observed his companion. She certainly was a many-faceted girl, he found himself thinking, at home here in the most popular theater in England as well as upon a horse or throwing a knife. He could not help but admire her vitality, her onward rush to meet life and enjoy it to its fullest. The candlelight played soft shadows on her face and shoulders, and he once again tasted the freshness of her skin beneath his lips. Although she was composed and sophisticated at the moment, he, perceived a hint of the wildcat beneath the surface and found it fascinating.

  After the opera, Marcus suggested they partake of a brandy at a nearby tavern. When she looked at him questioningly, he mentioned it was a very fashionable place to go after a performance at the Garden, and many of the society matrons went there.

  “I’d really rather not, Marcus. The long ride into the city and the interminable cold has gotten the better of me, I’m afraid. Couldn’t we just go back to your rooms and have a brandy there? I noticed a server on the table by the window.”

  Marcus smiled, the first genuine smile she had ever received from him, and Tori found herself breathless under his warm gaze. “I’m so glad you suggested we return home. I’m not very comfortable in places of fashion. I much prefer quiet and intimacy.”

  Tori glowed when he called his rooms “home,” and wondered how it would feel if it were their home. All the way back Marcus and Tori sat looking out the grimy windows of the trap, marveling at how the snow could make a wonderland from the dirty city streets.

  Once back in the flat, Marcus poured brandy into little tumblers. He handed her the burnished liquid and made a toast, “Farewell, Scarblade and Dolly, good cheer Tori and Marcus.” Tori drank deeply, stirred by the quiet depth of his voice and the poignancy of the toast.

  “I’m afraid you’ll not get much sleep tonight, Tori; we must be back at camp by the morrow. But, why don’t you try to get some rest? I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave.”

  Tori eyed the wide bed longingly; how long had it been since she had tucked herself under a real feather quilt? Her eyes felt heavy and she stifled a yawn. “Go on, Tori,” he urged. “I’ll just make myself comfortable here on the chair.”

  Tori smiled her agreement and stepped behind the screen in the far corner of the room to remove
her gown. As she was taking down the minute hooks which fastened the gown’s back, she wondered how it was that it seemed so natural to be preparing for bed with Marcus in her room. When she stepped out of her garments, she realized for the first time that she had no nightdress to wear and the billowing petticoats which had stiffened the skirt of the green silk certainly were far from suitable.

  It was then that she spied one of Marcus’s dress shirts hanging from the corner of the screen. A bit self-consciously, she donned the fine lawn blouse, aware of the fact that it didn’t even come down to her knees.

  Peeking out from behind the screen with the intention of instructing Marcus to close his eyes while she jumped into the high poster bed, she saw that he had slid down in the chair, feet outstretched, and had fallen asleep.

  He looked so young, almost boyish, as he lounged there, the lines of worry gone from between his heavy, dark brows. Quietly, she stepped over to the mirror to remove the pins from her coiffure. Picking up a heavy brush from the dresser top, she stroked it through her hair, the shimmering, golden locks cascading to her waist. Pulling the brush through the last stubborn snarl, she caught a glimpse of Marcus’s reflection and realized he was watching her. The image of his face as he studied her was disconcerting, and she turned her attention to removing the last few snarls, conscious all the while that his eyes were upon her.

  Marcus, used to dozing lightly due to long nights on watch at the camp, had awakened to find the light from the nearby candle outlining Tori’s slim woman’s body through the gossamer thinness of his lawn shirt. As she lifted her arms to her head the shirt shortened to reveal lean, rounded haunches and betrayed the darker crease that separated her buttocks from her thighs.

  A cascade of golden waves fell to below her waist, drawing his attention to honey-colored, lissome, smooth legs ending in neat, delicately shaped ankles. A smile played about his lips as he noticed the tightening of the muscles in her legs as she stretched herself on tiptoe to view the unrelenting snarl that defied her brush.