A Thoroughly Compromised Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  Jack helped her down and she self-consciously reached a hand to her hair in a last effort at a toilette. ‘You look fine.’

  There he went again, changing on her. The sharp tones of their little quarrel in the carriage had given way to the low-toned reassurance of a trusted friend.

  Dulci looked up at the house and favoured Jack with a smile. ‘You can say I’m right any time you’d like.’

  ‘Right about what? It’s hard to tell, Dulci, you like to be right about so many things. A man needs a bigger clue.’

  Dulci elbowed Jack play fully in the ribs. ‘About walking out of my house and going halfway around the world with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We made it.’

  Jack grinned, his eyes sparkling with his special brand of mischief. ‘I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere, Lady Dulcinea.’

  Dulci winked. ‘There is.’

  The sea stretched grey and endless from the deck of the ship, so far from land there weren’t even any seagulls to break the sound of the waves. Wind filled the sails, but nothing could move Calisto Ortiz’s boat fast enough for him. By his calculations, Wainsbridge would be in British Guiana by now and he was still two weeks out if all luck held.

  There’d been no choice but to follow Wainsbridge. Vargas had raked him over the proverbial coals after news had come regarding Wainsbridge’s departure and with the king’s sanction to do so. Vargas had been furious about Ortiz’s accusations in the first place. When Gladstone had announced Wainsbridge had left to investigate the claims first hand with the king’s approval, Vargas had wanted to strangle him, because no one would set out across the ocean with the king’s approval if they’re wrong or guilty.

  What was worse was that Ortiz suspected Wainsbridge wasn’t going solely for the honour of his country at the negotiating table, or even to clear his own name. Wainsbridge was going for the purpose of ruining him. Wainsbridge would find that map-maker and then all would be irrevocably linked back to him. The only advantage he had over Wainsbridge now was that he knew where to find the map-maker. He could go straight to the man, whereas Wainsbridge would have to make enquiries. Ortiz hoped it would be enough to slow Wainsbridge down and even the distance between the two weeks that separated them.

  Too much was at stake for Wainsbridge to ever see London again. If Dulcinea Wycroft had actually fled with him, all the better. No one knew where she’d disappeared to, but she was most assuredly missing from London. Ortiz was an expert at turning misfortune into opportunity. He’d hoped to use her as a lure, as blackmail to keep Wainsbridge in London, but he’d been too slow by minutes. Here, she could serve the same purpose. Wainsbridge had thought to save her, but in truth the man had flung her out of the pan and into the fire.

  Ortiz stared out over the horizon as if he could make land appear all that much faster. He was coming for the man who’d wronged him and hell was coming with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dulci proved to be absolutely charming. The Carmichael-Smythes adored her, the governor’s wife making every effort to in corporate her into the female society of town. She took Dulci to tea with the rector of St Andrew’s wife, she took Dulci to the embroidery circle, ladies’ political and charity meetings. It certainly helped that Dulci was newly come from London and an earl’s sister, but Jack knew the women would have loved her anyway. She was vivacious, friendly to all she met, and she glowed with the climate of her new circumstances.

  Through the window of the second-floor library, Jack watched Dulci and Lady Carmichael-Smythe pile into the open carriage, chatting amiably as they set off to run errands for the welcoming ball to be held in a few days’ time. Dulci was wearing a blue gown trimmed in simple lace, a wide straw hat with a matching ribbon, and sporting a new sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. There seemed to be no hat brim wide enough to adequately shelter Dulci’s face from the tropical sun. But she didn’t mind. The colour agreed with her. The ladies had showed her how to mix a lotion to protect her skin from burning and Lady Carmichael-Smythe plied her endlessly with hats. Jack thought Dulci had never looked finer.

  The carriage pulled out of the drive and Dulci hazarded a glance up towards the window. She shielded her eyes against the bright sun. He fancied for a moment that she sensed his presence before she turned back to Lady Carmichael-Smythe.

  Jack stared after the departing carriage. It seemed he was doing a lot of watching from afar these days. Dulci was busy, caught up in the little social whirl of Georgetown and busy with her work. The governor had eagerly introduced her to a scientist staying in town between expeditions who had knowledge of the tribes and she spent her free afternoons visiting with him in the governor’s home, taking copious notes under the watchful, motherly eye of Lady Carmichael-Smythe.

  The good lady’s motherly eye extended to all aspects of Dulci’s conduct. The diplomatic woman never expressed regret over Dulci’s arrival in the presence of a single male, but the woman made sure such a lapse would not occur again on her watch. The woman, whose own son was grown and back in England, took great efforts to keep Dulci’s reputation pristine. Dulci’s chambers were in the opposite wing of the gubernatorial mansion by no mistake.

  There was no chance of sneaking in and out of her rooms undetected. Not that he’d intended to engage in such behaviour in their host’s house, but he’d never been much good at keeping honourable intentions when Dulci was around. Breaking those rules seemed more and more unlikely and Jack found that he was in explicably jealous as time wore on.

  Jealous of Dulci and the transition she’d made into this new place. If the transition had been difficult, she gave no outer signs of it. Looking at her, one would never imagine a few months ago she’d aspired to settings far grander than the ones she now found herself in, or that she’d worn gowns far more exquisite than the ones she wore now with the same personal elegance. In short, she looked as if she belonged. Worse, she acted as if she belonged. In honesty, Jack had to admit she more than acted, she did belong and that was the source of his jealousy.

  She didn’t need him.

  He’d rather thought she would. She was halfway across the world. She knew no one. Anyone else, man or woman, would have been grateful for his mentorship. But Dulci had not. From the moment Lady Carmichael-Smythe had whisked her upstairs for a hot bath and a look through her wardrobe for suitable gowns, Dulci had not needed him. It begged the question if she ever had. He conveniently chose to ignore that he’d planned to put distance between them on purpose for her protection. But it wasn’t working.

  He’d wanted Dulci to need him, wanted her to recognise him as someone more than her erstwhile lover, someone more than a foil for her wit and eccentricities, a partner in occasional wildness. But Dulci defied all logic.

  He should be thankful. He had work to do, evidenced by the papers piled on his desk. Luck was with him. Schomburgk was in town, preparing for a botanical expedition. He’d had a letter from the man today, wanting to renew their acquaintance. Jack knew all he had to do was ask and Schomburgk would gladly take him on and assist in the mapping portion of his mission. It was all working out just as he’d outlined to Dulci their last morning on board ship.

  Jack sifted through the items on his desk. Along with the note from Schomburgk there were replies to his enquiries about the map-maker who might have drawn up Ortiz’s map. Soon it would be time to go and meet people, to make the mapping journey, time to leave Dulci. No matter what she thought or imagined, the interior was no place for a woman, or for some men. The swarms of midges, the humid climate, the mosquitoes, made it intolerable for all but the most intrepid. Dulci would hardly miss him when he went and perhaps, thanks to all the diversions she’d acquired, she wouldn’t protest his going without her.

  Jack knew he should be thankful. Dulci wasn’t clinging to him, impeding him from achieving his goals, slowing him down. She was well adjusted and off on her own sort of adventures. What was wrong with him that he wished she wasn’t? He might pr
ivately confess to himself that he’d fallen in love. But he could not declare those sentiments until the mission was complete and he knew Dulci was safe. Right now, association with him risked putting her in danger if Ortiz followed them.

  Oh, he didn’t want to change Dulci into a simpering pattern card of English womanhood. He liked Dulci exactly as she was. It was her very character that drew him to her. But he’d like to know, just once, where he stood with her. Of course, that raised a whole host of other concerns that he didn’t want to examine too closely. The foremost being, why did he care about where he stood with Dulci? Followed by, what would happen if she didn’t hold him in any great regard? Could he stand the truth if the truth was she enjoyed him as a lover and nothing more? In the past he would have found the unchanging nature of such an association reassuring.

  Or, his con science prompted, did he want a different answer? Was the old answer no longer reassuring? What if she felt something more? What would happen if she said she was in love with him?

  Was that the answer he wanted? It shook Jack to his core. He stared blankly at the papers in front of him. That was the answer he wanted. He could not doubt he was in love with her, or continue perhaps to ignore that reality, pushing it to the back of his mind. One only wanted someone to love them, if he loved them in return. Jack had to be careful here. Unrequited love was for fools and he preferred to learn from their mistakes instead of making his own, especially in a world where he’d had to prove himself to those who felt only those with titles were worth any regard.

  There were those like Gladstone who’d never truly accept him. There were others who accepted him only on the grounds that he was a novelty to include in their menagerie. Jack hadn’t really cared about their opinions. They meant little enough. But he did care about Dulci’s opinion, which seemed to remain unaltered, although there were times when he wondered if her regard was all it seemed, that perhaps he’d underestimated her feelings. A woman could not love as she did and emerge emotionally un changed. Jack knew women and he knew Dulci.

  It was on these assumptions he would bet this next roll of the dice. It was clear she was not going to declare her feelings. If he wanted to know where he stood with her, he would have to ask her. The ball in his honour would take place in a few days prior to his intended departure with Schomburgk. Perhaps it would provide the perfect setting for such a disclosure. If the disclosure was positive, he could leave her in Georgetown with plans to make. If the disclosure was negative, he’d leave her with time and distance, a chance for both of them to manage their embarrassment over the awkwardness that would remain. It would enable them to pick up with a thread of normalcy when he returned.

  Jack fiddled with a quill, laughing at himself planning his strategy like a general amassing an army for a frontal attack. Of all the frightening things he’d faced in his life, love topped the list.

  ‘These ribbons will look delightful with your dress for the ball.’ Lady Carmichael-Smythe held up a length of yellow ribbon the shade of spring daffodils. ‘Another thing we can cross off our list,’ she said happily, putting the ribbons in Dulci’s already full shopping basket. ‘There’s nothing like bright ribbons to turn a man’s head.’ She shot Dulci a sly look as they moved on to another market stall. ‘Not that the viscount needs to have his head turned, my dear. It’s already full-pivot in your direction.’

  ‘He is merely attentive.’ Dulci wrinkled her nose at the meat stand they passed. She would never get over the odd variety of goods sold next to each other in this marketplace. Jewellery sold next to fish, cloth sold next to vegetables. Anything and everything was on display here. No wonder people often called it the bizarre bazaar.

  ‘Of course he is, you are his responsibility,’ she pressed. ‘I think you’re very brave to come all this way for the sake of your studies and your brother’s business interests.’ She peered at Dulci from under the brim of her hat. ‘It’s easier to be brave when there’s a handsome face at stake, don’t you think?’

  Dulci took a studied interest in a bolt of fabric at the next booth, hoping to avoid any direct discussion of Jack. ‘The viscount has been my escort across the sea. Beyond that, we have no claim upon each other outside of his friendship with my brother.’ Dulci hoped to end any further enquiry.

  Nothing was going as she hoped with Jack. Her plan to show him how successful she could be here hadn’t reaped the desired results. The more she dazzled, the more he withdrew. He wasn’t supposed to withdraw. He was supposed to pursue. Any other man in her court would have run himself ragged behind her. But Jack was not entranced with her and she doubted daffodil-coloured ribbons would change that. Jack had his work and his king and he’d never made any pretences to offering her more than his body on occasion. She was a practical woman by nature, and she knew the merits of something being better than nothing.

  ‘The blue would look pretty with your eyes.’ Lady Carmichael-Smythe held up a bolt of cloth. ‘This would make into a nice afternoon gown. Perhaps a lovely dress and a little encouragement would change things with the viscount. I cannot believe he is in different to you. Long journeys have a way of changing one’s perceptions. What was once taken for granted often becomes quite dear in such cir cum stances.’ Her eyes sparked with romantic mischief.

  ‘It may be that I do not wish things to change between myself and the viscount.’ Dulci teased, the older woman’s good humour infectious in spite of her denials.

  ‘He is the most handsome man to step foot in the colony for ages…’ Lady Carmichael-Smythe laughed ‘…excepting my dear James, that is. Everyone will line up to dance with him at the ball.’

  Dulci turned deadly sombre for a moment, schooling her features in the most serious expression she could master, ready to have a little fun with her hostess. She leaned forwards confidentially and whispered in Lady Carmichael-Smythe’s ear, ‘It’s a good thing Wainsbridge is so handsome. His looks make up for his lack of skill on the dance floor. His dancing is deplorable.’

  Lady Carmichael-Smythe looked genuinely horrified by her revelation. ‘Oh dear, I never would have expected…’ she stuttered. ‘It will be such a disappointment…’

  Dulci’s frown dissolved. ‘Do not worry, he dances divinely.’ She laughed. ‘But the look on your face was worth guineas.’

  Lady Carmichael-Smythe laughed, sharing in the joke. ‘You’re terrible to tease me. A hostess must take these things seriously. We can’t have our guest of honour made a laughing stock.’ Her eyes twinkled and she linked her arm through Dulci’s as they made their way out of the market. ‘You know what they say, dear. You can tell a man’s prowess in the bedroom from the way he dances.’

  I know, Dulci thought. Too bad there wasn’t a similarly simple indicator of his heart. Instead, Dulci smiled back and said, ‘And your James? He’s a good dancer?’

  The woman grinned broadly. ‘Oh, yes, the best.’

  The carriage ride home was filled with chatter about the ball, most of it originating with Lady Carmichael-Smythe. Dulci made the right noises at the right times, but the entirety of her thoughts were elsewhere. She did under stand that Jack had an ambitious agenda and time was of the essence. The faster he could accomplish his goals and get himself or the information back to England, the better it would be. Still, she had not anticipated being so thoroughly cast off, so obviously shut out.

  Jack would leave in the mornings for meetings. He would spend the heat of the afternoon in the study beneath the punkah fan writing letter after letter and making list after list.

  She had lists, too, but hers were of balls. His lists were for the inevitable expedition he would take to make William’s map; an expedition that would exclude her if she didn’t do something about it soon. For all her social outings and her work with her artefacts, she was lonely and not just any company would do. She was lonely for Jack. They’d gone from the intimacy of daily proximity on board ship to virtual separation in the governor’s mansion. She craved a touch, a kiss, a stolen moment in
an alcove.

  The carriage turned into the drive and a servant met them on the steps, whispering a hurried message to Lady Carmichael-Smythe. ‘For dinner tonight?’ she breathed in excitement. ‘Tell Cook we’ll manage something.’

  ‘What is it?’

  An excited hand fluttered to Lady CarmichaelSmythe’s breast. ‘We’re to have a guest for dinner, my dear. Robert Schomburgk is to dine with us tonight.’

  Dulci met the announcement with part-dismay and part-anticipation. In her ruminations on the way home, she’d half-thought of trying to get Jack alone. A supper guest would preclude any efforts in that regard. Surely sneaking off for a tryst in the alcove was considered bad form even in the colonies. But to talk with a man who’d seen so much of the southern Americas was an in credible opportunity. This would mean much for her research.

  Dulci dressed care fully for dinner from her se lection of borrowed and altered gowns Lady Carmichael-Smythe had so generously provided. She settled on a gown of sea-foam green with a tight bodice and a plunging neckline delicately accompanied by a white lace fichu that gave the illusion of modesty, just in case opportunities for something other than research arose. One always had to go prepared.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Robert Schomburgk’s moderate good looks were greatly enhanced by his excitement for his subject, Dulci decided over the soup course. Dinner was proving to be eminently enjoyable. Originally, she’d be grudged the presence of a dinner guest as a barrier to Jack. But Schomburgk was an entertaining addition to the table. Together, he and Jack regaled them all with tales of their Anegada expedition.