She sat up in bed with a gasp. She had forgotten to send word to the schipper! Would he perhaps have taken it upon himself to transport Nicolas back to the ten Haers’? Not likely! She got up and ran to the window. The River Witch was not in sight.
She frowned—and then realized what in her excitement she had forgotten: that Brett must have taken the Witch. He must have sailed to the mill—not ridden as she had supposed. And he could have taken a horse with him, or picked up a horse at one of the bouwerits for his ride “into the tamaracks.”
All of which meant that the dangerous golden Dutchman was still at Windgate. Waiting for her, downstairs.
Hastily she donned a turquoise velvet riding habit that had been among the things in the sea chest. It was smartly tailored and had a rakish look to it—exactly the way she wanted Nicolas to view her: sophisticated, worldly—not some simple maid he could cozen! Her small chin was carried very high as she clattered down the broad front stairway in her riding boots. Breakfast could be got through— somehow. And after that she meant to speed her unwelcome guest on his way, even if it meant mounting Floss and showing him the way home herself!
Nicolas was waiting for her in the big drawing room, standing before one of the tall windows, looking out at the miraculous view of the river and the opposite bluffs. His hair spilled thick and golden onto his shoulders, mingling with the heavy point lace of his white linen collar. A fresh one from his saddlebags, no doubt! She guessed irritably that last night Nicolas had timed his arrival well, that he had had every intention of spending the night at Windgate.
He stood at his ease and in the bright sunlight she could see him better than she had last night by flickering candlelight. The deep honey tan of his cut-velvet doublet and trousers went well with his coloring, she noted critically. Their excellent cut and fit showed to advantage his robust masculine figure. Looking at his broad jaunty back, Georgiana wished suddenly that Brett cared more for clothes. All his money had been poured into Windgate and the big press where he kept his clothes was practically bare. Except for the dull gray satin trousers and brocaded doublet he had worn on the occasion of their second wedding ceremony in New Orange—and closer inspection had revealed both to be quite worn and the Venetian lace he had worn at his throat much mended, although snowily white; he had nothing suitable to wear to a ball or reception. He was still wearing the same russet cloth suit he had worn in Bermuda and she supposed he would wear the gray to the ten Haers’ ball.
She sighed and Nicolas swung around.
Although he could hardly have missed hearing her clattering descent down the stairs, Nicolas had waited until Georgiana was well in the room before he turned about. It was as if he wanted her to have time to study him as he posed there before the window with the shining river behind him so she could observe what a dashing figure he cut, she thought crossly. At sight of her his golden brows shot up, a smile of delight lit his broad face, and he swept her a bow that would have done credit to a courtier at any court in Europe.
“Ravishing!” he pronounced. “I have not seen a riding habit cut so well since I was at the French court.”
“And when was that?” wondered Georgiana, taken aback.
“Oh, a few years ago.”
“But I thought you had spent all your recent years in Curaçao and the West Indies—or being washed overboard in the Far East?” She sounded a bit sharper than she meant to.
He gave her a tolerant look of pure amusement and her cheeks grew hot. Of course it was all a pack of lies! He had been God knew where all those years—perhaps even in Bermuda! No—surely she would have seen him if he had been in Bermuda. Such a figure as he cut was hard to miss!
“I am even more amazed at your determination,” he added, his puzzled gaze passing down her tight riding habit and up again.
“Determination? What determination, mynheer?”
“To clatter down the stairs dressed for riding when your horse is sure to sink in mud up to her fetlocks. Did you not hear it raining late last night? It was heaviest at dawn.”
“No, I must have slept through it.”
“That bespeaks a clear conscience!” he laughed.
“When I woke and looked out the window, I could see it was damp out but—is it really so very muddy?”
“Through the window I have been watching one of your servants trudge across the lawn carrying a pail. He has slipped add dropped it twice. Even on the lawn his feet are sinking.”
Georgiana's heart sank even deeper. Plainly she would have Nicolas on her hands for another day. One could not turn a guest out without reason and hers would seem flimsy enough to anyone who did not know the whole truth—even Brett would not countenance it.
“Besides,” he added genially, ”as you can also see by the window, it is clouding up to rain again.”
More rain. That was all she needed!
“Perhaps Brett will abandon his plan to visit the outlying boweries and come home early,” she suggested, her turquoise eyes sending off warning sparks.
“More likely he is bogged down like the rest of us,” declared Nicolas cheerfully. “Indeed, if this weather keeps up, I may be the one to escort you to the ten Haers’ ball rather than your husband!” His blue eyes sparkled at the thought.
“If the weather is so soggy as you would suggest,” she told him coldly, “neither one of us could get to the ball because the River Witch is upriver with Brett and I have no intention of arriving at the ten Haers’ in a rowboat.”
“Yes, I wondered last night if you had not noticed the Witch’s absence,” he murmured. “When you told me so regally that I should leave aboard her.”
Georgiana felt a flush creeping into her cheeks. “I had forgot Brett took the Witch.”
“Of course.” He smiled wickedly. “And then too you were excited. I had the feeling I had somehow upset you.”
Georgiana drew a deep breath—and wished she hadn’t, for Nicolas’s admiring gaze was riveted on the sudden strain of the turquoise material of her bodice.
“Shall we go in to breakfast?” she asked menacingly.
“By all means.” Gallantly he extended his velvet arm and she took it, fuming. “But we would have no need to attend the ball in a rowboat. If I am not back by Friday, the ten Haers will send a sloop upriver to see what has happened to me, we will hail it from the pier and arrive at the ball in good style.”
“Why would they wait till then?” she wondered. “Since you were on your way back yesterday, I would expect them to be worried now and think something had happened to you.”
“Oh, no,” he said casually. “I often wander away for a few days. They assume I am wenching.” He grinned.
She felt that last was meant for her and gave him a warning look. “I hope you like pancakes, mynheer, for that is what we are having.”
“And a few other dishes also, I see,” he said, scanning the loaded table. “Yes, I am fortunate to like pancakes and most other foods. I can do justice to a second breakfast!” His manner was blithe. He held out her chair and, once they were both seated, embarked on a roster of the exotic dishes he had sampled in various parts of the world. As he ate, he threw in careless remarks like: “The native girl who shared that dish with me wept when I left but what could I do? The ship was sailing within the hour!” And “I could have had not only the steamed oysters there, but a large plantation as well, had I been willing to wed and bed my host’s daughter! But enticing as was her bustline and wicked as were her green eyes, my foot has always tended to wander.” And “Now, at the Court of St. James’s they flavor it differently.”
Georgiana, eating silently and listening to her voluble guest, realized she was being charmed, impressed, rallied, and withal vastly entertained by an experienced man of the world. She wondered what had wrought this miraculous change in Nicolas. Yesterday he had been her clever adversary—today he seemed more like a suitor! She began to believe that Erica’s brother had died without ever telling Erica about the ring. If Nicolas had know
n the ring could not possibly have been in the packet, as she had claimed last night, certainly by now he would have charged her with it! That he had not, made her spirits rise.
After breakfast, Nicolas insisted on teaching her to play chess. That he could point out exactly which cupboard housed the chess set showed her precisely how conversant with this house Nicolas was. Of course, he might have found it this morning, he might have been poking about as he waited for her to come down to breakfast but. .. suddenly Brett’s words floated back to her: It seemed the lady herself intended to be mistress of Windgate.. ..
Erica!
And Brett had said he’d thought he could trust Erica until he found her in Nicolas van Rappard’s arms. Could that have happened here? The thought made Georgiana’s eyes sparkle, for if it was Nicolas who had removed the lustrous Erica from Brett Danforth’s field of vision, then Nicolas was of some use after all! She resolved to be more gracious to him.
They enjoyed a long leisurely lunch, idly picking at roast pheasant and wild duck and half a dozen other dishes. Listening raptly to the handsome Dutchman’s witty stories, Georgiana wondered how he had come to speak English so well—so far Nicolas had told her at least three versions, all of which she doubted! So thoroughly did she enjoy his droll company, now that he had abandoned—permanently, it seemed—the subject of her doubtful inheritance, that she did not even notice as the afternoon wore on that the weather, changeable in the morning, was clearing up.
When at last he rose and suggested doubtfully that his horse might be able to make it back to Haerwyck now, Georgiana wouldn’t hear of it.“You must stay to supper,” she told him warmly. “And the night as well. I am sure the ground is still very soft.”
Nicolas’s gaze on her was very soft too.
“I should like that, Georgiana,” he said in a low timbred voice.
Georgiana breathed a little faster. She went out to confer with cook about dinner.
Cook was a big energetic woman, much given to the use of herbs and spices. She sang off-key at her work, and around her thick neck hung, conspicuously, a string of Job’s tears, which Linnet had whispered was a cure-all fruit much favored by the Dutch.
“But cook looks so healthy!” Georgiana had protested.
“Never sick a day,” grinned Linnet. “She wears it to ward off what might come!” Her laughter had pealed.
Now, looking at that necklace, and cook’s round, honest, perspiring face as she bent over to sample with a long spoon some broth from a black iron pot that hung suspended above the flames of the hearth, Georgiana smiled. At cook’s behest, she tasted the broth, agreed it could use a mite more parsley and yes, indeed, some bay leaves might help.
“Where did you get your necklace?” she wondered, hoping cook would tell her some fabulous tale of a peddler with exotic promises.
“Well, I—” for a moment cook’s honest face looked confused. “It was give to me,” she muttered. “By a gentleman.”
Georgiana blithely imagined some stout Dutchman in voluminous breeches solemnly calling on cook. “And do you find Job’s tears effective in maintaining your health?” she asked gravely.
“Indeed I do!” Cook bobbed her head emphatically. “I haven’t been sick a day since this necklace was give to me!” She considered a moment. “I know where you could get one.”
Georgiana was touched, but she turned down cook’s offer with a light heart. It occurred to her suddenly that she was feeling awfully good today. Surely everything was going to be all right! That her newfound optimism might be due to Nicolas’s influence did not occur to her. When cook solemnly assured her that they had a batch of fresh-caught eels, enough for a feast, Georgiana went back to the drawing room and asked Nicolas if he liked eels.
“Well, not as close traveling companions!” he responded with a grin. “Did I tell you how I got up to propose an after-dinner toast and fell off the ten Haers’ sloop into the river along with a bucket of eels?”
“No, you didn’t,” laughed Georgiana, “although I can see that you’re going to! But I wasn’t asking you to dine with eels, Nicolas— just on them!”
Nicolas asserted that he was very fond of eels, but added softly, “Indeed, sweet cousin, I doubt I shall taste anything at your board, for the spice of your presence overshadows all!”
“You are given to extravagant compliments, sir!”
“Only when the lady is extravagantly beautiful,” he asserted sturdily.
“Nonsense.” Georgiana gave him a demure look. “I am sure you would do justice to cook’s eels were I not even here! She prepares them masterfully.”
“Yes,” said Nicolas thoughtfully. “I remember.”
For a moment that brought Georgiana up short. Nicolas remembered? He remembered the cooking, he knew the way to the dining room, he had moved directly to the chess set.
“Nicolas, has Brett entertained you here?” she asked blankly. “Never,” he said promptly.
“Then how—?” She gave him a mystified look.
Nicolas was grinning at her. “I have dined here,” he amended. “But not with the master.” With perfect aplomb, he added, “I dined in the servants’ wing.”
Nothing could have surprised Georgiana more. Her jaw dropped. “In the servants’ wing?” she gasped.
Nicolas nodded airily. “And they were delighted to show a stranger around—especially one who was cousin to the builder.”
“Did Brett know of this?” she asked, fascinated.
Nicolas shrugged. “I doubt it.” And in response to the mixture of expressions on her face, “Come now, Georgiana,” he said plaintively. “I had just landed, I was new to the river, I knew no one. I was understandably anxious to see my inheritance without delay. Brett was away somewhere and his household staff graciously gave me hospitality.”
“Wouter must have been away too,” she said quietly. She could not imagine Wouter letting a stranger wander through these rooms, rummaging through cupboards.
“Yes, I believe Wouter was confined to his bed with a cold," acknowledged Nicolas. “Anyway, you will be glad to know that I paid for my supper. I gave cook a necklace of Job’s tears to cure all her ills.”
Georgiana sat staring. Then she broke into wild laughter.
“You?” she cried incredulously. “You are the ‘gentleman’ who gave her the necklace? Oh, Nicolas, you are a scoundrel! She is healthy as a horse!”
“And doubtless the necklace will keep her so!” He looked very pleased with himself.
Georgiana doubled up with laughter.
Dinner, as she had expected, was a rollicking meal, with Nicolas recounting droll stories and proving himself once again a mighty trencherman, devouring enough eels to please even cook, who believed all mortals to be on the verge of collapse if they were not stuffed like a Christmas goose. When the servants were out of earshot, Georgiana merrily teased him about ingratiating himself with cook and Nicolas took it all in good part, plainly enjoying the raillery as much as she did. And afterward, over the fine wines—for Georgiana was serving him the best from Windgate’s cellars—he sat across from her lazily enjoying the view.
That view was very good, for Georgiana had dressed with exceeding care tonight for a guest who—now that he had left off baiting her—she now made most welcome. Her gown of peachbloom velvet was cut dashingly low and just a hint of gold lace barely protected her pink nipples from peeping out. The sleeves were huge and slashed and lined with matching peachbloom satin embroidered with gold threads. A special chemise had come with this dress—the loveliest in the sea chest of garments Brett had bestowed on her—and it was of a deeper peach cambric. Its fluffy sleeves poured fashionably out of the larger oversleeves and just below the elbow spilled a torrent of gold lace like a waterfall over her slender arms. The tight bodice swept down into a V below the waist and the peachbloom velvet overskirt was split down the front and caught up in great billowing panniers at the sides to reveal her best petticoat—of gold satin so heavily embroidered with roses
stitched of glittering gold threads that the effect was a golden shimmer as she moved.
“You should wear that gown Friday night at the ten Haers’ ball,” Nicolas exclaimed. “You will be a sensation in it!”
Georgiana flushed with pleasure. This was indeed the gown she intended to wear to the ball. The best seamstress at Windgate had spent the last two days making careful alterations to sleeves and skirt and bodice. No matter that there were still a few pins left in it—in fact one of them was sticking her right now—she had worn it tonight to “try it out” on this experienced courtier to see what impression it would make on him. Apparently it was a success!
“You should wear your hair that way also,” he added critically. “Those little gold ornaments catch the candlelight and sparkle like fireflies whenever you turn your head.”
Georgiana could not help but be pleased, for she had dressed her hair with great care in the latest fashion and the impression of a swirl of golden hair lit with moving fireflies was exactly the impression she had intended to give.
“In Peru,” he told her negligently, “the ladies of Spain wear real fireflies caught up in their hair and attend balls looking as if dozens of tiny candles are caught in their curls.”
“You have been to Peru?” This was really impressive, for Peru was Spanish. For a Dutchman to have been there must mark him either as a spy or an adventurer who counted his life for little.
“Oh, yes, I have been to Peru.” Although he was still wearing the same honey-tone velvet suit, he had brought an abundance of fresh linen in his saddlebags and looked very fit. Fresh lace-point boothose spilled over the tops of his wide-topped boots and a cascade of cambric and heavy white point lace spilled out from beneath his heavy and slightly wavy golden hair. He looked dauntingly splendid across the table. Georgiana felt wickedly that any girl along the river would envy her her handsome guest. “Indeed I have been to Peru more than once,” he told her, lifting his wineglass lazily to study its ruby light. “I was once in the service of a Spanish grandee.” He laughed at her startled look. “Of course he was somewhat deceived—he thought me a minor nobleman of Valencia, one José de Garcia. My Spanish is excellent, Georgiana.”
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