Lady Savage

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “I . . . I have thought it over,” he stuttered, “and have decided I would be an absolute fool to put aside your kind offer. It is far too good an opportunity for . . .” How to say it without confessing everything he felt and longed for and making an even greater idiot of himself? “Far too good an opportunity for a . . . a man in my position to refuse. If I have not mortally offended you—and I could not blame you if I have, for I was unforgivably rude—I would like to take you up on your offer.”

  She stood stock-still in the middle of the room, her lips pressed together and her hands clenched at her sides. Tears streamed down her face, and it pained him to have caused her any such emotion, even if it was rage that had inspired the teardrops. He saw, then, in the shadows, Zazu gazing at him like he was some kind of imbecile.

  Savina stood staring at him. His expression was unfathomable, but had the look of desperation in the wrinkled brow and haunted eyes. He was out of work and had no income. He was living at a coffeehouse, and though he didn’t want to take it, clearly, her offer of marriage must have seemed like the best of possible futures for a man with no money and no immediate prospects.

  But she knew that he liked her, at least. And in time they could perhaps rekindle the attraction they had shared during their night together. Her life and future hung in the balance, the choice now hers. Should she calmly agree, or should she tell him that given his outburst, she had changed her mind and the offer was no longer open?

  The clock on the mantel tock-tocked the minutes away while she tried to be calm, tried to consider her answer rationally. Instead her thoughts tumbled around her brainbox like mutinous kittens. She searched his eyes. He was hoping she would accept, now; she could see it in his eyes.

  “All right,” she said, forced to a conclusion and hoping for the best. “I suppose it will do.” She put out her hand, not quite knowing what else to do. “There is nothing to wait for then; let us get married soon and sail at the first opportunity.”

  He took her hand and they shook, a business deal sealed and done.

  Nineteen

  He and Savina spoke for a few minutes to work out the details. He was willing to wait to marry once they reached Jamaica, but she said she wanted her father to be able to attend the ceremony. It left them little time, since she wanted to leave England and sail before the weather made it impossible. It meant there were only a few opportunities left on ships already scheduled. She had a ship in mind, and it was sailing in one week.

  Everything was rushed. She told her father of her plans, and then sent Tony into the library to speak to him. The meeting was stiff and awkward, with Mr. Roxeter understandably perplexed at the turn of events. He called his daughter back in, and she made plain to her father that marrying was her best option to be taken seriously by the other plantation owners in Jamaica, especially since they would be doing something radically different in their use of paid labor. Every time she made her sensible plans plain, it was like another knife in Tony’s heart, for he was certain no woman who was in love could have used such cool language in referring to her marriage. It truly would be a marriage of convenience for her.

  Tony left soon after that to begin the task of severing his ties in England and saying farewell to those of his friends with whom he had still an acquaintance. He was considered, among them, as they gathered that evening at a tavern, singularly fortunate to have snagged a woman of wealth, even if she did only wish to marry him for propriety. How could he explain to those friends slapping him on the back and buying him ale that what he wanted from Miss Savina Roxeter even more than her hand in marriage was a confession of undying and eternal love? He would sound a complete sap.

  But he had plans. With his saved funds he exited his coffeehouse abode the morning after his engagement to a little-known shop in an unsavory section of town few of the fashionable knew of and even fewer deigned to enter. He entered the Stygian gloom, the floor creaking under his feet better than any bell to announce his presence. The old man behind the counter looked up from his task, his eyes huge behind thick glasses.

  “Mr. Gold,” Tony said, striding forward.

  “That is still my name, though some would dispute it.”

  Leaning on the counter, Tony gazed down at the project the old man, wizened and bent with age, his hands hobbled with arthritis, was laboring on. “It’s beautiful,” he said of the intricate broach in which the jeweler was setting precious gems that sparkled in the light of his peculiar lamp.

  “It’s not so bad,” the man grudgingly admitted. “And what would you be wanting, young Mr. Heywood?”

  Even after so many years, even with all the affection between them, it was still Mr. Gold and Mr. Heywood. This hobbled old man on the other side of the worktable had stood in as the father he had lost, had paid his schooling, had supported him in what he wanted to do, even though Tony was supposed to be working for him as an apprentice and learning the jewelry trade. When Tony had expressed his determination to travel, it was Mr. Benjamin Gold who had used every contact he had to find him a good job, his first position as secretary. It was unspoken between them, but there was a bond of reliance and love that would never break, even if they never saw each other again. “I wanted to see you. I’ve been away a long time.”

  “You are famous, my young friend. Famous and with adventures. Tell me about them.”

  Tony sighed and sat on a stool across the workbench as the old man worked. He told him everything—or almost everything—and they filled in the year since they had last seen each other. Though their attachment was an old one, and strong, Tony had not felt the need to come see the goldsmith immediately; he knew that all he had to say to him would wait, and now he had even more to tell him. He eased back into their friendship like an old worn coat, and finally made them both tea on the little stove at the back of the shop.

  They sat companionably and shared a midday meal, and the tea, and their conversation wandered far afield. Savina’s name came up often, of course, and once or twice the old man had looked at him sharply but had not commented.

  At long last Tony took a deep breath and said, “I am to be married.” His tone, he realized as he said it, was one of hesitation, for he was still muddled about his feelings. It hurt, in a most peculiar way, to be marrying Savina, knowing she didn’t care for him the way he cared for her. What if she never did? Could he bear that?

  “Should I congratulate, then, or express my condolences?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Gold’s face, deeply lined and etched with pain, twisted in what may have been a grin. “So much courage it took to even say it that you had to take in a deep breath, like you were announcing you had been arrested for murder.”

  Tony smiled and leaned his elbow on the worktable as Mr. Gold went back to his patient and methodical task. “I’m not exactly in a normal situation for an engaged fellow.”

  “How is that?”

  “Well, she is the loveliest young lady in the world.”

  “I have heard the same sentiment expressed by many a young gentleman, and many an older one, too.”

  “How many of them can say that the lady is the one who proposed?”

  Mr. Gold looked up and squinted. “She did? Do you mean through her solicitor, or her father?”

  “No,” Tony said, enjoying the relation of his story for the first time. “No, she herself did the asking . . . it is Miss Savina Roxeter. What she proposed was a partnership. You see, she has received a bequest and is buying a plantation back in Jamaica.”

  “Ah, yes, she is the young lady who was with you during your marooning on the deserted island and your dramatic rescue. Now, I have heard some gossip . . . she wouldn’t happen to be the most famous Lady Savage, would she?”

  “So you had heard all about my adventures before I even told you?”

  “I hear much. But always it is better to hear it from the source, you know. I find much was exaggerated, as I had suspected. Some had it that you all reverted to nature,
palm skirts and strange lingo, unsavory practices. Such nonsense people believe. So, is it the young lady who is this Lady Savage?”

  “Yes,” Tony admitted, “she’s the one.” He shouldn’t have been surprised, he supposed. Mr. Gold’s connections went deep and wide and everyone talked to him, perched on this same stool as he worked away creating his masterpieces.

  “And is she as wild as her sobriquet would imply, young sir?”

  Tony thought about that. “No, she’s not wild. That was a bit of silliness on the part of some very flighty young ladies among the passengers of the ship that rescued us.”

  Gold shrugged. “I thought as much.”

  “But she is very intelligent, and beautiful, and—”

  “And she has asked you to marry her.”

  Tony sighed. “Yes. For all the wrong reasons, I fear. I am to be her business partner, the financial genius, you see, in her bold experiment, her new endeavor, a plantation in Jamaica that will not use slave labor.”

  Mr. Gold looked up and stared into Tony’s eyes for a long minute. “I think such a young lady is a rare gem indeed, Mr. Heywood. You know how I feel about slavery; to find a young lady who is so lovely, intelligent, but also with such a good heart . . . and how fortunate that she has chosen you, since you are already so in love with her that you cannot bear the pain of her asking you for strictly financial reasons or to satisfy society’s notions of propriety.”

  “Is it so apparent, Mr. Gold?”

  “Only because I have known you these many years,” he said, setting aside his tools and straightening his back with a wince and a grimace. “So you come to me for something more than to tell me your good news, yes?”

  Tony sighed. “She doesn’t love me yet.”

  “This you are certain of?”

  Nodding slowly he said, “Yes. She likes me, she respects me, but love . . . don’t you think I would know if she felt that way?”

  “Women . . . who can understand the way their minds work? And they would say the same of us.”

  “But I love her.” The words echoed in a whisper up to the high, dim reaches of the crowded shop. “And so I’m going to marry her and—”

  “And make her fall in love with you?”

  Tony grinned. “That’s my intention.”

  “If anyone can do it, you can. Will you take something from me? I would like to be a part of it.”

  “I would be honored if you would make something for Savina. And . . . will you come and see me married? It will be in Bristol, before we sail.”

  Mr. Gold nodded. “I surprise even myself now, but yes.”

  “I intend to woo her once we are safely wed and on our way back to Jamaica. I’ll do everything in my power to show her how I care, and make her care for me too.” He paused and stared at his old friend. The light, directed down at the worktable, left his bony features in relief, the deep-set eyes dark, the cheeks high and jutting. “I won’t ever be coming back here to England, Mr. Gold, not that I know of, anyway.”

  The older man gazed at him steadily and nodded, a world of sad understanding in his pouched and bloodshot eyes. “England will be the poorer place for your defection. What we create must be most wonderful, something befitting such a fascinating young woman who could capture the heart of such a fellow as you. And though I know you will insist on paying for it, I would ask that you let it be my gift to you both.”

  Tony stuck out his hand. “Thank you.”

  • • •

  “It’s been days, Zazu, and I’ve hardly seen Tony.”

  “He must have much to do, more than yourself, for England has been his home his whole life.”

  “I know, I know. And at least he’s coming this morning. We have some details to work out.” Savina turned away from the window and the dreary scene of frost and blight. She rubbed her arms. “I can’t get warm. I can’t even feel my fingers, I’m so cold.”

  Zazu, quietly mending a dress hem, looked up at Savina. “You’re worried. Sit and talk to me.”

  Savina flung herself down next to Zazu and thought over the last few hectic days. Her father and Mr. Chandler had quite frankly not believed her when she announced her plans. But she had, with the solicitor’s reluctant help, arranged for the purchase of the vacant plantation. The English owner was quite willing to get rid of it, but it was still at great cost and took much of her inheritance. Her father had hoped she would change her mind; it had come as a great blow to him, she thought, when she announced her engagement to Tony minutes after proposing to him. She should not have taken her fiancé into her father right then, after making such a momentous announcement, but she knew time was going to be tight, and she needed her father to get used to the idea of her upcoming nuptials. He had reacted badly and had made his disapproval known to both of them.

  She had tried to soothe things by telling him that she would at least be settled and safe; wouldn’t he want her to have protection and companionship since she was set on going back to Jamaica with or without it? Tony had acted oddly for the rest of his brief visit and had left the house with no more than a handshake from her, the most intimate contact they had had since agreeing to marry.

  Each day since, her father had tried, at every opportunity, to talk her out of the whim, as he insisted on calling it. With his continual badgering added to her own worries, she felt as if she had made a few decisions in haste, and now could not be sure that everything she did had been for the best. She expressed all of these worries to Zazu as the younger woman sewed; Zazu calmly told her to take each action step by step, then, and decide if it had been all right.

  “That sounds logical,” Savina said, sitting up straight and folding her hands on her lap. She ordered her thoughts. “I came back to England only because I felt I had no other choice. Father was coming back, and I became affianced to Lord Gaston-Reade, and so had to return also.”

  “First,” her friend said, cutting her thread and tying it off, “do you feel you made the right choice in breaking your engagement to Lord Gaston-Reade?”

  “Yes,” Savina replied, sure of her ground. “I could never have cared for him, and it was wrong of me to agree to marriage with him in the first place.”

  “Then you did what was necessary and right.”

  “Correct,” Savina said with a nod. “That was the right thing to do. Then I learned of my bequest.” She bit her lip. “It’s so much money! I never expected to have so much. I want to go back to Jamaica with you, and I want to live there.”

  “So, buying the plantation was a good idea and you don’t regret that.”

  “No, I’m happy to do that. It was a dream, that place, and now it’s mine.” She reached over and touched Zazu’s arm. “Ours.”

  “And then there is Mr. Heywood . . . Tony,” Zazu said, setting her sewing aside.

  “And then there’s Tony,” Savina agreed. She examined her hands, now recovering from all the hard work on their little cay in the Caribbean. Soon it would be as if all of that never happened. What if the love she felt for Tony was the same, merely a passing thing that needed the desolation of their deserted cay to keep it burning hot as it had then? In that moment, sitting in the cold dreary parlor of a London house, she could not feel everything she had once felt for Tony, the powerful physical attraction, the respect, the admiration, the utterly helpless feeling of falling in love. Had it gone for good? Or had fear driven it deep in her heart? How would she ever know? And how did he feel?

  “That’s what it is, of course. I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of . . . ?” Zazu encouraged her.

  “Afraid I will regret marrying Tony . . . or worse, that he’ll regret marrying me. It was like an interview for a position, not an offer of marriage.” She twisted her hands together. “Zaz, what am I going to do? I don’t think he loves me. And I’m no longer sure I love him.”

  Zazu examined her friend’s face, searching her expression. “Are you not afraid right now?”

  “Of course I’m afraid,” Sav
ina cried, leaping up and pacing to the window. “I’m terrified! Terrified he won’t ever love me. Terrified I’ve made a dreadful mistake. Terrified I don’t truly love him, that it was the experience . . . being on the island, being together so much, his kindness, that made me feel as I did.” She turned away from the window toward her friend. “He hasn’t kissed me a single time since we were rescued. What if . . . what if he never does again? I made it sound like a business arrangement, and I don’t know how to . . . what if he comes to resent me for the marriage and feels he was unfairly pressured into it?”

  Crossing the room, Zazu took Savina’s hands in her own and squeezed them. “You should talk to him, tell him your fears, let him know how you are feeling.”

  Jenkins entered and bowed. “Mr. Anthony Heywood for Miss Savina Roxeter.”

  Tony followed him in, hat in hand. Zazu squeezed her hands and released them, said hello to Tony, and then followed Jenkins out to the hall, winking at Savina and closing the door behind her.

  She was left alone, staring at Tony, who gazed steadily back at her, his brows drawn together and his mouth twisted in a puzzled frown.

  “I’m . . . happy you came,” she forced herself to say. “I have something I want to ask . . . or say to you. Please, have a seat.”

  He set his hat on a table and sat on the settee near the window. She paced in front of him for a moment, then turned and faced him. If he loved her as she loved him surely he would have shown it somehow. He hadn’t had any trouble on their island, after all, and she didn’t think him a shy or reticent man, and he had rejected her marriage offer first, after all. That had to have been his first instinct. Whatever attraction he had felt was fleeting, and instigated only by their odd surroundings.