“Oh, I’ll have cold meats and wine set out at once.” Georgiana’s relief showed in her voice.
“Perhaps you will share them with me, Georgiana.” He turned to Nicolas with stiff courtesy. “And you, sir, you are welcome to join us.”
Nicolas realized that he had been fortunate to come through this encounter with the formidable Englishman unscathed and chose not to chance another this night. “I’m to bed,” he said easily. “For with the ground as wet as it is I have a hard ride ahead of me tomorrow.”
“The River Witch can take you home,” offered Brett carelessly.
“Faith, I may avail me of that offer,” said Nicolas with a grin. “For my horse barely carried me up here. Whether he’s up to the return trip is anybody’s guess!”
He bowed and left them together and Georgiana was alone with her husband. He stood studying her and she waited tensely for him to speak.
“I’m starved,” he said, and headed for the dining room, where food was being hastily set out on the long board, for Wouter had seen the master ride in.
After the servants had gone, Georgiana closed the door. “Brett, in spite of what you may think, I didn’t encourage Nicolas.”
He cast a look at her sumptuous peachbloom velvet gown. “That dress, I suppose, was not designed to encourage him?” he asked dryly.
“I meant to wear it to the ten Haers’ ball” and—her words came out in a rush—“I did so want to try it out on someone first and see what was said about it. I admit it was silly of me but there you have it!”
So naively feminine was this answer that Brett, looking at Georgiana in some amazement, accepted it for what it was—the truth. “So you see, he was just riding by and—”
“Are you telling me that the man rode north carrying a diamond necklace and did not have something in mind?” Brett cut in, setting upon the cold meats with the zeal of a starving man.
Georgiana took a deep breath. The truth would bring on a duel and she did not want that. She certainly didn’t want Brett hurt and—she now admitted it to herself—she didn’t want the smiling Dutchman hurt either. “I think the necklace was in the nature of a peace offering,” she said hurriedly. “After all, we are cousins and he has been trying to wrest your estates from you and that could hardly be deemed civil!”
“No, it could not,” Brett agreed with raised eyebrows.
“And so Nicolas wanted to make it up to us—how could he know you were not home?” She was involved in a web of lies now, for she knew very well how Nicolas knew, but she dared not let Brett know that.
“He might have guessed me absent, since he could see the River Witch was missing from the pier.”
“Ah, but he was already here by then, and anyway you often send her on errands, do you not? Does she not ply up and down the river at your bidding?”
“That is true.” Wine and meat were getting to him, he was feeling more expansive and very indulgent of the beautiful woman who faced him so earnestly, trying to explain away the scene he had just witnessed.
“So Nicolas arrived and it was raining, and although I did not want to, I felt obliged to give him a night’s lodging. And he was charming to me and taught me to play chess—so you should be grateful to him,” she added ingenuously, “for he has added to my accomplishments.”
Brett looked squarely at his golden-haired wife. She looked exceptionally beautiful tonight, he thought, flushed-faced and with those little sparkling things in her hair. His heart softened but he kept his voice firm.
“I would be just as grateful if other men did not add to your accomplishments,” he said dryly, holding out his glass for her to pour more wine.
Georgiana was pouting. “You came in at the only moment that could have made trouble between us.” There had been a couple more such moments but she chose to forget them. “I think you should look at it from my point of view, Brett. Here I was alone in this big echoing house with everything strange to me—I’d have been glad to see the devil himself. And probably asked him to stay to dinner to boot!”
Brett laughed. Whatever her misdemeanor, he had forgiven her. And Nicolas van Rappard would be returned to the ten Haers’ tomorrow morning via the river—he would see to that personally. And there was little likelihood that their paths would cross frequently in the future, even if Nicolas van Rappard now chose to pay court to the ten Haer heiress, Katrina, for Katrina would probably nourish a grudge against them and would not seek them out, and although there were occasional balls and parties at the big houses along the river, their lives were busy ones and, in the main, isolated.
When he rose from the table, he threw an arm around Georgiana. “You look like a peach tonight,” he told her. “With that dress and your coloring.”
Georgiana refrained from saying that Nicolas had told her the same thing—and with somewhat more heat.
“But”—Brett leaned his dark head down and his lips brushed the silky skin of her upper breast—“I prefer you with it off.” His head came up and his gray eyes smiled into hers. “Shall we go upstairs and do something about that?”
He lifted her up in his arms and carried her like a bride up the grand stairway. And later, when the peachbloom velvet gown was a pufflike heap on the blue Chinese rug, and all their clothing lay scattered about the room where they had flung it in their haste, Georgiana fell backward into the big featherbed and stretched luxuriously, watching with delight the fiery flicker her every shrug or stretch brought forth in the eyes of the naked man who watched her.
“Beguiling wench!” he muttered. “Don’t think you can trap me with your witching ways. I know you were only amusing yourself with van Rappard but that’s a dangerous game and you’re not to play it!”
Georgiana laughed recklessly. “The only games I care to play are with you, Brett!” She held out her arms enticingly and he went into them. Georgiana sank beneath him with a sigh and abandoned herself to all the desires of the flesh.
Part Two
The Gorgeous Rival
To love him? Or leave him and try to forget?
She asks herself, which is the worst?
If she who yearns for a love returned
Ever must hunger and thirst?
Windgate On The Hudson,
1673
Chapter 13
Nicolas van Rappard was not the only uninvited guest to appear at Windgate that week. Another arrived by river sloop on the evening of Nicolas’s departure—and at sight of this one Georgiana caught her breath.
For the woman who disembarked and walked in leisurely fashion down the long wooden pier—walked as if her feet would know the way in the dark to the main house—was Erica Hulft.
From the tall windows of the great house they had watched the sloop sailing toward the pier.
“ ’Tis Govert Steendam’s sloop,” Brett told her in surprise. “I wonder why he sails upriver? Come, Georgiana, we will go down to greet him.”
Govert Steendam.... Georgiana recognized the name as belonging to one of New Orange’s wealthy burghers. She wished she had not been working hard all day at supervising the rearrangement of the basement stores. The Dutch burgher had surprised her in her housedress!
Halfway down the slope, they saw a woman clad in fiery tangerine velvet and copper lace disembark. Beside her, Brett missed a stride and stiffened. Casting a glance at him, Georgiana saw his hawklike face harden to watchfulness.
A moment later she realized that beneath that wide-brimmed plumed hat the new arrival had hair like a fox’s brush.
Erica Hulft was moving sinuously toward them.
“I wonder what she wants,” muttered Georgiana.
Brett did not answer. His stride picked up speed and Georgiana was hard pressed to keep up with him down the steep slope.
“Brett!” Erica held out a creamy-gloved hand in greeting and gave Brett a lazy look through copper lashes. Such was her manner, thought Georgiana irritably, that it might well be Erica who was welcoming them to Windgate instead of the other
way around!
Brett took that outstretched hand, carried it lightly to his lips.
“Erica, I believe you have not met my wife. Georgiana, this is Erica Hulft. Of New Orange—and other places.”
If his last words had been intended to nettle Erica, they did not have the desired effect. “Yes, many other places indeed,” she agreed instantly, giving him a dazzling smile.
Georgiana gave Erica a stiff little nod.
“We have not met but—I have seen you, of course.” Erica turned her winsome smile on Georgiana. “From the dock in New Orange, I believe it was.”
“You have seen me twice,” Georgiana corrected her clearly. “Once in New Orange and once in Bermuda. I seem to recall that you sat in a carriage and waited for me outside the entrance of Mirabelle.”
“Really?” Erica’s copper lashes fluttered, but her light voice with its slightly French inflection was unperturbed. “Your memory is better than mine, but of course it is possible.” Her negligent tone said anything was possible.
“But you have been to Bermuda, have you not?” pursued Georgiana ruthlessly.
“But of course!” Erica’s deprecating little laugh said one had been everywhere—naturally!
“You must pardon me, Erica,” Brett cut in with a glance back at the sails. “But I keep expecting to see Govert Steendam disembark.”
“Ah, you have noted that this is his sloop!” laughed Erica. “No, Govert is not with me. He sent me on ahead.”
Georgiana was quick to note that “sent me on ahead.” She wondered what it meant, and what transactions Erica Hulft had with Govert Steendam.
“You are journeying upriver alone, then?” Brett asked
“Yes, to look at some land south of the van Rensselaer holding."
“Then you will of course sup and stay the night with us? ”
It was a common enough invitation; any patroon along the river would have invited the aristocratic-looking lady sailing upriver on Govert Steendam’s sloop to stay the night, but Erica seized on it joyfully as if it were something quite out of the ordinary.
“But I would love to!” she purred. “It will be so nice to visit Windgate again and”— she turned her smile on Georgiana—“to see all the changes the new bride has made in the different rooms.”
She is telling me neatly that she is familiar with every room in the house, Georgiana thought hotly. She wants me to know where I stand! “I have not had time to make many changes,” she announced in a cool voice. “Nor yet to plan parties.”
“Oh, I do hope Govert and I will be invited when you do give a party.” Erica took Brett’s arm as if she owned it and began moving gracefully up the slope, holding up her voluminous velvet skirts with her other hand. The deep gold satin linings of her slashed sleeves flashed as she moved, emphasizing the richness of her gown.
“You and Govert?” asked Georgiana in a blank voice. Abruptly she took Brett’s other arm. With every step she hated herself for letting Erica catch her in a hastily stitched up linsey-woolsey housedress. True, it’s wide gray blue skirts swung attractively around her trim ankles, for it was short in the Dutch style, and the bodice was a marvelous fit for her slim figure—but it was no match at all for the elegant garb of the woman beside her.
“Oh, I forgot you didn’t know,” that careless voice went on. “Govert Steendam and I are to be married.”
Did she imagine it, wondered Georgiana, or did a slight ripple go through the arm she was holding so tightly? Brett’s voice, when he spoke, could not have been calmer. It was precise, almost formal. “I didn’t know you and Govert were so close. Erica.”
Erica shrugged and the tangerine plumes of her wide-brimmed hat rippled seductively. Georgiana yearned to tear them off and push her unwelcome guest back on to the boat that had brought her, and cut it adrift. She tensed at Erica’s murmured, “The association is recent—I admit it. Those abandoned”—Erica had tilted her head so that she was looking up directly into Brett’s eyes—“fall into other hands.” This was strong stuff. Georgiana had a sudden wild desire to bring it all out into the open. “Who abandoned you?” she asked recklessly—and was instantly sorry she’d asked.
“My lover,” said Erica, still in that careless voice. Her gaze, Georgiana saw, had never left Brett’s face. She was watching him intently.
“I do not think you were ever abandoned, Erica.” Brett sounded grave and chiding. "Rather that you chose to roam.”
“Ah, yes, I was ever a rover—you always said so!” Laughter bubbled up in Erica. “Ah, here we are at last at your front door! It takes strength to climb the steep slope to your door, Brett—-only the strong should attempt it!” Her amused gaze slid over Georgiana.
“Fortunately I am young and strong,” pointed out Georgiana stiffly and they all went into the dim wide hall.
Although her bubbly guest would have been delighted to settle her tangerine skirts in the big drawing room, Georgiana left Brett downstairs and ruthlessly escorted Erica to one of the big guest rooms. “To freshen up after your tiresome journey upriver,” she told Erica sweetly. Their passage was constantly interrupted by Erica’s light comments: “How I always loved that picture!” Or “This rug was always lovely underfoot.”
“I take it you have spent some time at Windgate?” Feeling forced to comment on the obvious, Georgiana flung wide the guest room door. “Your luggage will be brought up directly,” she added. “I heard Brett calling to one of the men to bring it.”
“Oh, no need to bother about my luggage. I’ve only an overnight bag anyway. I’ll just freshen up a bit—I don’t intend to change for dinner.”
No, you don't need to, thought Georgiana bitterly. You came ashore dressed for dinner! And you were careful not to announce your arrival in advance. You meant to find me dressed in some serviceable rag like this one, so Brett couldn’t fail to notice the difference between my dowdiness and your elegance!
She forced her thoughts away. Erica was speaking again.
“Yes, I’ve spent a bit of time here.” Nonchalantly. “Ah, I see you have not changed the curtains in this room—I’d thought you might. Fifi chewed that one at the corner—just there.”
Georgiana stared at the corner of the curtain. It did look a bit chewed.
“Fifi?” she asked blankly.
“My puppy.”
Now Georgiana remembered. In Bermuda, Erica had been carrying a silky little Pomeranian.
“And do you have him with you. Erica?” She tried to laugh. “We could let him chew up the other curtain so they would match!”
Erica sighed as she drew off her gloves. “Unfortunately not. Fifi fell overboard and drowned on the way here. It was my fault—I was not watching. Things—have a way of slipping through my fingers. But no matter,” she added cheerfully. “I always replace them!” As I have replaced Brett, was the plain implication.
“I should think it would be hard to replace a pet you loved," frowned Georgiana, marveling at Erica’s hardness of heart.
“Not so difficult,” said Erica coolly. “Govert will buy me a dozen Pomeranians.”
But not Windgate . . . and not Brett, thought Georgiana. Those you have come to take for yourself! She had begun to feel suffocated and longed to be free of her unwelcome guest.
“Dinner will be served as soon as you come down.” Firmly, she closed the door on Erica and hurried back to change into something more aggressive. She would need all of her finery to equal Erica’s copper elegance.
“Wear something simple,” Brett advised, watching her as she tore frantically through her wardrobe, tossing gowns to right and left. “For contrast.”
“Why?” demanded Georgiana through her teeth. “I have no wish to be overshadowed by that woman!”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “There’s no chance of that, Georgiana.” He was thinking how young she looked with her face flushed and her turquoise eyes snapping.
In her anxiety over choosing a gown, Georgiana did not catch the caressing note in
his voice. “I will wear the lemon silk shot with gold threads,” she decided in a rebellious voice. “That surely should be simple enough to please you. And my best gold petticoat.”
“Here, I will help you with your hooks,” Brett offered as she pulled the gown willy-nilly over her head. Suddenly his arms enfolded her and he gave her a small reassuring hug. “She is copper,” he murmured against her shining hair. “You are gold.”
It was just what Georgiana needed. She smoothed down her silken skirts, gave Brett a flashing smile, and seized her silver hairbrush. “Shall I wait for you?” he asked.
For a moment her heart lurched, but she could not begin her marriage by not trusting him. For a moment the silver brush wavered in the air. Then: “No,” she said bravely. “Go on down and entertain our guest.”
Minutes later a slightly breathless Georgiana burst into the drawing room and found them companionably sharing a glass of wine before one of the front windows. They looked, she thought with a pang, as if they belonged together.
Erica turned blithely as Georgiana entered. “I was just telling Brett that the ten Haers have postponed their ball for another week. I do not know why—probably because Katrina’s face has broken out again and her mother wants to give her time to look presentable.”
“Again?" Georgiana was fascinated. She urged more wine on Erica. “Is she plagued this way often?”
“Often." Erica nodded. “Every time Katrina goes into a rage her face breaks out. It infuriates Rychie—her mother.”
“And what caused Katrina’s rage this time?” wondered Georgiana. Erica laughed. “Tell her, Brett!”
“I will leave that to you,” Brett frowned.
Erica turned with laughter still bubbling on her lips. “Katrina went into fits of rage when she learned Brett had married you, Georgiana. Oh, don’t look at me that way, Brett. Georgiana could have heard it from anyone on the river.”
“Nicolas did not speak of it,” Georgiana said coolly. “And he’s their houseguest.”
Rich Radiant Love Page 20