Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine

by T. Davis Bunn

  “My husband was no friend of the new royal court,” Lillian said to the window. “His allegiances were too closely tied to the old king. When the Portuguese venture failed, these same broadsheets which slander you took vast delight in proclaiming to the world just what a failure my late husband was. What a fool, they jested. The headlines went on day after day, week after week. It was not the financial ruin alone which demolished Grantlyn’s health. Added to that was the shame.” The sunlight was hot upon her skin, but not nearly as searing as the memories. “I was shunned. For over a year I did not set foot outside my own home. The next time I saw any of my friends was at my husband’s funeral.”

  “Ma’am, I can only say how sorry—”

  “That is true shame, sir. This is nothing. A week, perhaps two, and another scandal will shove this one aside. A month more, and people will again recognize you for the fine man you no doubt are.” Lillian turned back to the room and gazed directly at Samuel. “And your daughter as the fine woman she is.”

  Lavinia met her eyes now, sheer gratitude flush upon her features.

  “Is that what you wished to speak with me about?” Lillian asked Samuel.

  “No.” Samuel Aldridge set his own cup aside. “No ma’am, it is not. My wife urged me to come and seek your advice. She said your wisdom meant more than your aid on that night, and now I see what she meant.”

  “Lavinia is most kind, sir.”

  “We are faced with a conundrum, my lady. One which confounds us utterly. I do not see what you can do to help us. But I also have no idea where else . . .”

  Lillian walked back over and settled herself into the chair. She composed herself to wait as long as was required.

  Samuel Aldridge reached to the side table and retrieved the little silver teaspoon, in order to give his fingers something to do. “Are you familiar with William Wilberforce?”

  “The name only. I have never had occasion to meet the gentleman.”

  “He is a wonderful man,” Lavinia said softly.

  “He is indeed,” agreed her husband. “A good and wise counselor, and a friend. We have been involved with Mr. Wilberforce for years, and I can honestly say, ma’am, it has never been my honor to meet a finer man.”

  “I should wish to meet him for myself.”

  “Something we can gladly arrange.” Samuel Aldridge twirled the spoon such that it reflected the sunlight in scattered prisms about the room. “William, our dear friend, well, ma’am, that is . . .”

  Lavinia finished for her husband, “He has urged us to send Abigail to America.”

  “I do not understand—” “America,” Samuel intoned.

  “Her life here is intolerable,” Lavinia said.

  “Only because she has made it such herself,” Samuel retorted, the annoyance creasing his features once more.

  Lavinia winced slightly but continued, “The church is furious with her.”

  “Again, only because of Abigail’s own actions. And rightly so, I might add.” When Lavinia did not respond, Samuel asked Lillian, “Forgive me for speaking of such a personal issue, my lady. My wife tells me you are not a believer.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then it is scarcely possible for you to fathom the importance the church plays in our life.”

  “All of Abigail’s friends are of the church community,” Lavinia added. “Most have been ordered by their parents to have nothing whatsoever to do with her.”

  “She is more than alone,” Samuel said, pain creasing his voice as it did his wife’s face. “She is distraught.”

  “Abigail will not leave the house,” Lavinia said, suddenly close to tears. “She will not speak. She scarcely eats enough to keep body and soul together.”

  “How can this be?” Lillian’s gaze swept from one parent to the other. “All because of one minor misstep?”

  “You consider this, this scandal to be something minor?”

  “Forgive me, sir. But yes, I do.”

  Samuel Aldridge’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

  “This, sir, is nothing. You daughter struck me as a beautiful, vibrant, intelligent young lady. Of course, she has made a grievous error. But how can she believe she has ruined her life?”

  “This, effectively, is what dear William has told us as well,” Lavinia offered, watching her husband as she spoke. “He feels that everyone has reacted too strongly. He suggests that Abigail be granted a respite, I believe was the word he used. From us, from the church community, and from this city.”

  “I cannot leave now,” Samuel said, speaking directly to his wife. “You have heard something of the problems we face on the Continent,” he added, turning to Lillian. “It will take months to resolve these, longer still to arrange my affairs here such that I could return to America.”

  “William did not suggest,” Lavinia replied, “that we accompany her.”

  “You would do this?” he asked his wife. “You would let your daughter go?”

  “She needs this, Samuel. You are the observant one. You are the wise leader. Surely you must see this for yourself.”

  “What I see is that my daughter has placed her life in peril and damaged our family’s good name, not to mention the causes we hold dearest!”

  “Yes, all this is true. No one is denying this. Not me, and certainly not your daughter. But did you not hear what William told us? We must look beyond this.”

  “You were not so certain of all this when we met with William.”

  “The idea came as a great shock. Of course I don’t want to let my daughter travel halfway around the world without us.”

  Lavinia wiped her eyes impatiently. “But I also know she cannot stay. You heard her speak. She yearns for adventure. What possibly could we—”

  “She is a child! How is she to know what she wants?”

  “You are wrong there, husband. I am sorry, but it is true. Abigail is an adult.”

  “How can you say that? She refuses to even consider taking a husband!”

  “That is far from the only measure of a woman’s maturity,” Lavinia reminded him quietly.

  Both of them must have become aware of Lillian observing them. Samuel Aldridge collected himself. “Please forgive us, madam. Here we have come to thank you and seek your wisdom, but all we do is return to the same discussion—” “I shall accompany her.”

  Her guests froze with shock.

  “I shall go with her to America,” Lillian said. “It is the perfect resolution to this matter. Does she have anyone with whom she might live?”

  “B-both our families, y-yes. They would be most happy to receive her.”

  “She adores her grandmother,” Lavinia added, new hope in her voice. “My parents live in Georgetown, the port city adjacent to our capital.”

  Samuel reluctantly allowed, “William Wilberforce has suggested that she go and work with Gareth and Erica Powers. They live just half a mile from my wife’s parents and have been longtime friends.”

  Hearing the name spoken so soon after the banker’s departure rocked Lillian hard. “The Powers, did you say?”

  “You know them?”

  It was Lillian’s turn to stumble over her words. “Th-the name only. P-Powers is a famous pamphleteer, is he not?”

  “Indeed. And a valued ally in our struggle against the evils of slavery.” The words seemed to emerge of their own accord. “My dear Lady Houghton, how could you possibly consider leaving all this and going to America on our behalf?”

  How? How indeed was she ever to be anything but completely honest with these fine people? Lillian looked from one to the other, as moved by their evident love for each other and their daughter as she had ever been moved by anything. “I assure you, Mr. Aldridge, I would not be doing this solely for your daughter. I need to make this journey. Desperately.”

  “Need?”

  “The Portugal venture came far closer to wiping us out than anyone knows.” There. It was said. The secret she had sought to hold back for so
long. The first of many.

  “Forgive me, ma’am. I did not know.”

  “Of course not. How could you possibly? But the fact remains. I am perched upon a knife’s edge. At any moment I could be encased in ruin and woe.” A thought occurred to her. “There is something you could do for me, as a matter of fact.”

  “Anything.”

  The blank offer, so boldly stated, left her desperately tempted to tell him everything. For an instant she was very jealous of Lavinia Aldridge. To be married to a good strong man, a man with a head for business, a man who loved her and their child more than his own life. What would this mean?

  “Just say the words, ma’am, and I will be happy to do everything in my power to assist you.”

  The world returned to proper focus. What possible good could come from telling them of the merchant banker who had acquired all her husband’s debts? Simon Bartholomew was a world removed from fine people like these. He was one of the Crown’s own bankers and a man who loved vengeance for vengeance’s own sake. Samuel Aldridge might well be ruined.

  Lillian said, “I seek to sell my jewelry.”

  Samuel Aldridge was clearly disappointed by the paltry nature of her request. “That is not necessary, my lady. Allow me to forward you whatever sum you might care to name.”

  “Upon what guarantee, sir? I have nothing. My own house is secured by a note, held by a banker. . . .”

  “Yes, you were saying something about a bank?”

  She steeled herself. “Never mind that. I already face substantial debts, sir. I must seek to start over. I understand there are lands for sale in America?”

  At this, Samuel Aldridge brightened. “Indeed so, my lady. The Great Land Purchase, they are calling it. Why, my own family is in the process of acquiring several thousand acres.”

  “And this land, it is both fertile and inexpensive, do I understand this correctly?”

  “From the reports I am receiving, ma’am, the land is the finest on earth. And it is selling for three American dollars an acre.”

  “That is most astonishing. I would scarcely believe it save I have read similar reports myself.” This was her answer. This is what she would do. Begin a new estate, far removed from all the turmoil and disgrace. “I wish to ask your assistance in selling my jewelry and my paintings. It is all I have, sir. That and my silver plate.”

  “But—”

  “Everything must go, and in great secrecy. I cannot possibly approach an auctioneer myself. Word would emerge, and I would be ruined as well as dishonored.”

  “Of course, I am happy to help. But I repeat what I said earlier, my lady, I am quite willing to offer you a personal loan.” The man’s features shone with a resolute force. “Your good name is all the guarantee I could possibly ask.”

  To be offered such kindness, and over money, and only moments after the merchant banker had departed, was too much. Lillian could not quite stifle the first sob.

  “Here,” Lavinia said, bolting to her feet. “Have a sip of tea.”

  “I’m all right, thank you. Forgive me. I was not expecting such kindness.”

  “After all you have done for us.” Samuel Aldridge appeared genuinely astonished. “What else are we to show you?”

  “Even so, I am most grateful.”

  “As you have yourself said earlier, ma’am, let us speak no more of it.”

  “Then we are decided?” Lavinia asked her husband.

  “On the face of such an offer,” Samuel Aldridge replied slowly, “I confess to thinking that perhaps God’s hand is at work here.”

  Lavinia anxiously asked their hostess, “I must request your honest and open opinion. Do you feel that we are doing the right thing in permitting our daughter to travel so far from her home and family?”

  “I know your daughter hardly at all,” Lillian answered thoughtfully. “But I do know human nature. And if I am certain of anything, it is this: if you chain a person down to hold them, when they finally break free they will never return. And break free she will, if anything you say of her strong and independent nature is true.”

  The piercing quality of Lavinia’s gaze surfaced for the first time that day. “You seem to speak with some experience.”

  This time Lillian retreated to her cup. In truth, she spoke from more experience than either of them could imagine. But there was nothing to be gained from speaking of that. Though the strange urge to unburden herself remained strong as it had since their arrival.

  “Might I ask when you would be prepared to depart for America?” Samuel asked Lillian.

  “As soon as I see to a few personal affairs and make arrangements for my son.”

  “I believe I recall my wife saying he is at boarding school?”

  “Eton.”

  “Our Horace begins at Eton next term!” Samuel exclaimed. “Your boy must come spend his holidays in our home,” Lavinia said.

  “God’s hand is most certainly upon this,” Samuel declared. “What could possibly come from such a meeting other than His perfect good?”

  Chapter 11

  Lillian Houghton sat at the confectioner’s tiny table and watched her son consume an enormous amount of sweets. The lad’s appetite was astonishing. “Do they not feed you at Eton?”

  The boy’s face was liberally sprinkled with sugar dust and chocolate sauce. He laughed delightedly. “Of course they do, Mama. What nonsense.”

  “Don’t talk like that to your mother, Byron,” she admonished dutifully.

  “Well, it’s true.” He took another great bite of a round cake filled with raspberry sauce, then licked his fingers. “I say, this one is especially fine.”

  “You are making such a mess. You have jam on your collar.” She dipped her napkin in her water glass and leaned forward. “Here, let me tidy you up.”

  “Oh, Mama, please don’t go on so. People are looking at us.”

  She smiled through her hurt. “I should think you would like to have your mother make a fuss over you.”

  Byron’s face reddened. “I’m almost a man now, Mama.”

  “Yes,” she ruefully agreed. “I can see that.”

  He took the napkin from her and bent at an awkward angle, trying to find the stain himself. “Where is the spot?”

  “Never you mind, it’s almost vanished now.” By leaning over, Byron had decorated his shirt with chocolate. “Are those friends of yours at the window table?”

  “Probably.” Byron did not turn around. “But I don’t want to talk with them now, all right?”

  “Whatever you wish, my dear.”

  “It’s just—well, all the boys want to meet you.” He fumbled with his words in the manner of one who wished he was more grown than he actually was. “They go on about you in the silliest of manners.”

  This she could understand. The headmaster was no different, nor was the senior teacher Lillian had just met with. Both gentlemen were apparently dumbstruck in her presence. Normally she took such male adulation as her due. But today it was simply another distraction from the matters at hand. “Byron, I must speak—”

  “The senior lad wishes to meet you, Mama. He has made rather a point of it. He can make life ever so difficult for me. Would you mind terribly if we stopped by his room after?”

  “No, dear. But you mustn’t interrupt me.”

  “Sorry, Mama.”

  He really was a darling child. Lillian caught herself. Child no longer. He was sprouting up at an alarming rate. She was fairly certain he had grown another three inches since he had been home at Christmas. Byron was a mirror image of his father, with the same sandy hair falling over his broad forehead, the same rather pronounced chin that would grow strong and manly in time, the same keen gray eyes. His father, the late count, had never been a particularly handsome man. But his rather oversized head had contained a remarkably keen insight and a prodigious appetite for learning. “Your headmaster says you might be head boy material.”

  Byron also shared his father’s habit of flushin
g far too easily to ever lie well. “He never.”

  “Have I not just come from speaking with the gentleman? He tells me you are at the top of your class in almost every subject. And you are becoming quite the cricketer.”

  Lillian found herself blurting out, “Darling, would you care to take a trip with me to America?”

  He froze in the process of selecting another cake. “Leave Eton?”

  “Just for a year. Perhaps even less than that.”

  “But Mama . . .” Byron sat back in his chair. “All my friends would move on without me.”

  “You can catch up with them. Besides, think of the adventure. America, darling. The great frontiers. Does that not excite you?”

  He looked stricken. “I would rather stay with my pals, actually.”

  “But I must go, my darling. Wouldn’t you miss me?”

  “Yes, of course, Mama. But . . .” He fidgeted in his chair.

  Lillian perused the confectionery shop while her son contemplated his answer. It had three bow windows, each forming a discreet alcove. The windows were veiled with translucent white curtains and framed by heavy velvet drapes of emerald green. The tables were round and marble topped. The servers padded softly across deep plush carpeting. It was the sort of place designed to appeal to Eton’s wealthiest families. Lillian nodded to a titled gentleman she knew vaguely, who was having tea with his own son. The man twirled his moustache and gave her a sparkling eye. Lillian turned away.

  Why not marry? She certainly had enough offers. The answer was obvious. Whoever took her hand in marriage would have to know about her past and accept responsibility for covering her debts. Plus there was the risk that the scandal might erupt, unless of course she married someone powerful enough to threaten the banker with ruin. . . .

  Her mind had traveled this same circuitous route so often she stifled the thoughts before they descended again into frustration and woe. The fact was, were she to give herself in marriage under these circumstances, she would face the constant threat of having her secrets used against her. Lillian had been fortunate with her first husband. Grantlyn had been a man of his word, and in his own way had been affectionate enough. Lillian was a woman of the world and knew just how disastrous such arrangements often were. No. There had to be another means of escape.