Love Once Again

by Joann Simon

  Sexually, he had to admit, the lady did excite him. She was a seductress between the sheets, always ready for in-novation, always able to please him highly without falling to the tricks of a paid whore. She had a way of holding a tiny bit of herself to herself, tantalizing him to discover what other secrets she might have in store. As sure as he was of her ultimate intentions—a solid and respectable marriage between the two of them—she never allowed him to feel he had her totally within his grip. She was one of the most sought-after women in New York for both her beauty and her fortune, and although she was never so foolish as to throw the fact in Christopher's face, he was ever aware of the not unconsiderable number of hopefuls in wait to capture her heart and assets should he not toe the line.

  But Christopher, too, knew he held a trump card. Rhea was falling in love with him, although she never admitted it

  —her feelings were increasingly evident in her actions— but he remained safely untouched by any chord of that emotion. Though he felt no distaste at the thought of her as his wife and knew that they would deal well together, her rather calculating approach to life precluded his ever feeling for Rhea the soft, sweet, overwhelming passion he'd known for Jessica. There'd been no guile in the love Jessica had given him; and none in the love he'd returned.

  In the rush to bring as much cargo into his warehouses as possible before the winter freeze closed up some of the local harbors, Christopher was often at his office desk long after the clerks had left and locked the door behind them. One early November evening as he sat working alone, he heard Robert Bayard's familiar knock at the street door.

  "Ah—happy to catch you still in, Dunlap," Bayard called as Christopher released the latch and let him in.

  "Good to see you, Bayard. Come back while I clear my desk. I was just getting ready to leave." They entered Christopher's working domain, lit by a shaded oil lamp on the desk, a gift from Rhea. Christopher pointed toward the decanter on a table to the side of the room. "Pour us a glass, and we can sit and chat for a while, unless you are in a rush."

  "No. That was one of the reasons I stopped by, as it has been a while since we talked and I am in no hurry to get back to my rooms." He handed a glass to Christopher. "I put in a bid on that Jennings cargo, and Hone is expected to auction off another lot of East Indian tea in his rooms tomorrow."

  "So I heard at Tontines this afternoon." Christopher began to organize the papers on his desk and locked several in his top drawer. "We will be needing that cargo. I have orders booked for New Haven and Providence."

  "Providence, eh? I thought the Providence men were bringing in their own goods."

  "Several brokers up there are in short supply."

  "Excellent. Perhaps we can build up a little continuing trade there."

  "My hope exactly." His desk cleared and locked, Christopher took his glass and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the desk. "Ah, how pleasant to relax."

  "I do not wonder. You have not given yourself a break in weeks ..."

  "I have no choice—these are important days if this venture is to be a success."

  "Except for the times you are in the company of a certain lady," Bayard said, adding to his previous remark as if Christopher hadn't spoken.

  "Yes."

  "How are things progressing there?" Bayard lit up a thin cigar and puffed the tip to a glowing red.

  "Well enough."

  "So you will soon be coming to the point and making it a permanent arrangement?"

  "There is no hurry."

  "You begin to sound like Mawson." Bayard chuckled.

  Christopher returned his smile. "I have thought that myself."

  "How is Mawson, by the way? He's been out of my sight for several weeks. Work is progressing on the merchantman?"

  "Very well. Mawson's built a model and has been scouting around for shipwrights and carpenters. He has already had a shipment of timbers and mast beams brought down from his old friends in Maine and expects to begin the framing up at Corlears within the month."

  "I shall have to go take a look."

  "If all goes according to schedule, we should have an ocean goer under our flag by spring." Christopher smiled with satisfaction.

  "I have been putting together some information on markets abroad, also keeping an eye out for a good captain for you.""There is one gentleman I have in mind. Fish is his name, although we would have to lure him away from the Griswolds."

  Bayard's eyes fairly danced at the prospect. "There is nothing I would enjoy more. Those gentlemen have given me enough worry over the last years. I owe them a bit in return."

  A half hour later both men were glad enough to start home for a warm meal, parting company at the corner of Pearl Street as Bayard headed across town and Christopher to the south.

  "I shall see you in a few days," Bayard called, "with news of the auctions. Give my regards to the Lady Taylor."

  "I would be delighted. I have often wondered if you had a light in your eye where the lady was concerned."

  " 'Tis a bit late for either of us to be concerned about that."

  But in fact Christopher saw comparatively little of Rhea in the ensuing weeks, socializing only at the weekends.

  She did not allow herself to slip too far from his thoughts, sending him cheery notes or having one of her servants deliver a basket of cheese, bread, fruit, and wine for his noon repast—yet she also managed to convey that she was leas than delighted by his inattention.

  The list of forthcoming holiday entertainments among the elite was a long one, and Christopher could spare himself for only the most important engagements. He felt pangs of guilt for neglecting Rhea and tried to make up for his absences by being particularly attentive when they were together, as was the case in early December as they lay snuggled together in a room at the City Hotel.

  The remains of a delicious light supper and chilled bottle of champagne rested on the table beside the bed, brought up earlier from the hotel kitchens as Christopher's treat to Ehea. Beside the empty champagne bottle was a vase of blood-red roses, another gift from Christopher and a special luxury in wintery New York.

  Warm beneath the down covers on the bed, surfeited with the food and drink and their just completed lovemaking, Rhea wrapped her arms tightly about his torso.

  "I think I shall chain you to this bed, make you my prisoner so you will spend the whole of the night with me."

  "Why such drastic measures, my dear?"

  "It seems I must use drastic measures," she murmured. "I see so little of you of late—-so when I do see you, I despise seeing the evening end."

  "Then we shall stretch this one out as long as we can." He felt especially guilty that evening. He'd been supposed to meet her at eight-thirty, but there had been problems with the unloading of one of his schooners, and he'd had to go down to the wharves himself to straighten things out. It had been close to ten o'clock when he'd arrived at the Wilson mansion, and the sparks had fairly flown from Rhea's eyes. He had explained, apologizing profusely, and she had forgiven him; yet he still felt more amends were due.

  She cuddled closer. "When will all this business rush be finished?"

  "Soon, I hope. With the cold weather settling in, it should ease."

  "But not before the holidays."

  He hesitated. "No, perhaps not."

  He heard her disappointed sigh.

  "I know it is difficult for you," he said quietly, "but I have been thinking of a way we might make it up. I received an invitation a few days ago to a weekend Christmas ball in Connecticut. It would give us several days all to ourselves." Even as he spoke, he wondered at the wisdom of his suggestion. Connecticut carried so many memories of his happy days with Jessica . . . memories that he held sacred.

  But Rhea had immediately perked up. "We could travel up and back on one of your schooners," she said thoughtfully. "It would be a chilly trip, but you have a cabin on board, do you not?"

  "I do."

  She grinned. "Then what problem t
he chill weather? When is this ball?"

  "The week before Christmas."

  "Personal acquaintances of yours?"

  "No. The invitation comes from the owner of a firm in Eastport with whom I do considerable business. I have never met the gentleman myself, having dealt strictly with a son-in-law, but if this gentleman throws a party with the same enthusiasm he runs his business, it should be enjoyable."

  "Mm, business," she mused, sounding dubious. Christopher knew that she had already made up her mind; was sure of it when she took his hand and squeezed it. "Yes, I think I should like to attend. I have never been to Connecticut, and the promise of your constant companionship for several days is one I cannot let pass by. . . But will it not raise comment, the two of us traveling alone together for such a distance and so long a time?"

  "You will bring your maid."

  "Yes. . . but one wonders at the standards of these country gentry. I would not want it bandied about that I was a woman of loose reputation."

  Christopher chuckled. "Such niceties do not now seem to bother you overmuch."

  "You know perfectly well that word of these rendezvous of ours will never leak out. But openly to travel off with a man for three or four days .. ." She let him carry the thought to its completion.

  For a few seconds he was silent, debating; then on impulse Christopher made a decision.

  "Then you will tell them that you are my fiancee. Surely that information will assuage any gossip." It was a decision he'd known he would eventually make. He reasoned now that it really made no difference that he'd come to it sooner than he had originally anticipated. And perhaps it was better to have the tension relieved, the situation out in the open between them.

  Although Rhea's last comment had been intended to prod him to such a commitment, she sat up now, almost afraid to believe what she'd heard. Her eyes were alight, her cheeks flushed.

  "Do you mean it?"

  "It would be highly dishonorable for a gentleman to make such a statement and not mean it."

  "Oh, but how wonderful! Oh, Christopher, how I have waited . . . hoped . . ."

  "I think you knew our present course would eventually lead to this point."

  "But never was I sure. You are not a predictable man." She leaned over and kissed him warmly, then sat up again, brimming with excitement. "Ah, there are so many plans I shall have to make. And the announcement! When—"

  He brought his fingers up to cover her mouth gently. "Rhea, as for the public announcement, I would prefer you wait until after the new year. . . until things have settled down a bit at the offices. As it is, I quite honestly do not have the time to give to all the festivities involved in an engagement. . . all the parties and whatnot. You understand, do you not? It is only another month."

  Rhea was upset, but quickly wiped the frown from her brow. She had the good sense now not to be greedy. She forced a sympathetic smile to her lips. "Yes, yes, of course I understand. As you say, the time still is short enough, and we can tell our news privately to those who should know."

  "Yes."

  Again she snuggled up against him. "We shall have to begin looking for a house, although Father may offer us the Broad Way mansion. And set a date—I think late

  spring, perhaps May—ah, but there is time for all this talk later." Her voice dropped to a coaxing purr as she pressed her breasts against the hard breadth of his chest, ran her hand possessively down his back. "For now, my handsome fiance, come make love to me."

  As he pulled her tight in his arms and felt the silken softness of her skin under his palms, the full curves of her body melting into his, he forced away the uncertainty that had suddenly worked its way through his consciousness.

  Why should he have this unexpected, piercing doubt? He had done the right thing. Yes, of course he had—he was sure of it. What more could he ask in life with Jessica gone?

  CHAPTER 9

  There were moments when Jessica could hardly believe so much time had passed; could hardly believe that she had survived as well as she had from day to day. It had been almost two years since she had found herself in the cottage on the Beard farm.

  Kit was a sturdy toddler now, just having celebrated his second birthday, and was a joy to everyone on the farm. He was a well-behaved child whose energies and curiosity nevertheless often carried him into mischief, but there were plenty of loving nursemaids to keep him well supervised. Many a fall afternoon that year, Jessica would stand at the kitchen windows watching her son scamper across the backyard on Jeb's heels, full of childish questions, eager to give a not-always-helpful hand with the feeding of the animals. How much more like his father he looked the older he got!

  The resemblance almost startled her. Sometimes she felt Christopher's image should be dimming in her mind, yet when she closed her eyes, his features were there before her, sharp and clear as ever. She missed him no less with the passage of time, but now the pain had become an ever-present dull ache. Gradually she had learned to face the reality that she would never see him again.

  Although they seldom spoke of it to her, all the members of the farm household presumed that when her husband hadn't returned after the announcement of peace the previous winter, he had been one of the casualties of the war; and those that had had suspicions that there'd never been a husband, kept their mouths shut in the face of Jessica's stoic strength. Her dignity shamed them—even Rachel, who had yet to relent and show Jessica any warmth or friendship.

  Amelia Beard had persuaded Jessica to write to the Dunlaps' former address in New York. Since Mrs. Beard would give her no peace until the letter was posted, Jessica had complied, knowing full well, since she had invented the story of their living in New York, a letter would never reach him. And several months later the much handled envelope had been returned "Not at this address."

  However sympathetic they were, Jessica knew from Molly's and Amelia Beard's unsaid words that they thought she should find another husband. She was alone, had a child to raise; she was young and attractive, and there were fine, hard-working men in the area who, given some encouragement by her, would have been delighted to offer her marriage. Still, she could not find it within herself to give up Christopher's memory or to actively seek another relationship.

  At least her relationship with Elizabeth Beard had taken a step for the better. Though at times Elizabeth was still the spoiled younger daughter, she was gaining some maturity, making life a bit simpler for Jessica. Elizabeth had never gone to her mother after their argument over a year before; instead, there'd been a reluctant truce, Elizabeth realizing that she could not push Jessica too far. Then too, since the end of the war, social events had become more frequent. Elizabeth was in her glory and therefore less needful of antagonizing Jessica to relieve her boredom. She had beaux now—and one young man in particular, Terrence Day, the spoiled son of wealthy parents from a neighboring town.

  At the age of twenty-five, he was a skilled dilettante and, as far as Jessica could surmise, had never lifted a finger to an honest day's work in his life. Neither of the Beards fully approved of him, but Elizabeth was awed. He was handsome and charming and knew precisely how to play to her vanity.

  Lucas, as well, was still a patient admirer of Elizabeth's, and since he'd bought out half-interest in the sawmill, she wasn't quite so condescending to him as she'd been before; but he could come nowhere close to equaling the credentials of her other suitor.

  Jessica was more than ever Lucas's friend and confidant. He never complained, but it was to her he mentioned his growing impatience with Elizabeth; his coming closer to a decision to let the whole thing go. Jessica's friendship with him was so relaxed and honest, they were so at ease with each other, that she couldn't help but wonder sometimes whether something might have developed between them if it hadn't been for Elizabeth. But it was a thought she quickly put out of her mind. Despite Lucas's impatience, he was still utterly enamored of the Beards' youngest daughter, to the exclusion of considering any other woman.

>   That Elizabeth knew this and used Lucas so pitilessly was one of the remaining sore spots between her and Jessica. Jessica would see red as she listened to Elizabeth recounting the events of a party she'd just attended.

  "The Lathropes were there and Jeremy Stone, and Lucas, of course. You know how infatuated he has always been with me . . . he came right over as soon as I arrived— and you have to admit, he is handsome. I saw Corinne Smithe watching us, but Lucas paid not the least heed to her. I danced and chatted with him until Terrence arrived; there really was no one else the least interesting at the party."

  "You underestimate Lucas."

  "So you have told me. But really, Jessica, he can be such a rustic . . . particularly compared to Terrence. Terrence was wearing the most divine green evening jacket. . . the latest thing, he told me. He had his tailor in New York make it up after the new styles in London. Lucas looked so dowdy in that brown thing he has been wearing since before the war.

  And, of course, Terrence knows just everybody, and everything that is going on. He was telling me . . ."

  And so Elizabeth's conversation went on, lauding Terrence to the skies, while Jessica inwardly seethed at Elizabeth's poor judgment. Couldn't the girl see that Terrence Day was only out for himself, and would accept only the wealthiest and best connected young woman he could catch? No wonder that the elder Beards were not overly delighted with their daughter's infatuation with the man! Of course, she was still their spoiled child, and they had difficulty in denying her her whims. But it was a shame Elizabeth herself was not more perceptive. Jessica had a feeling that the girl was in for a big letdown when Terrence eventually showed his true colors.