by DiAnn Mills
“My mother was born in the Hudson River Valley.”
She smiled cautiously at the nonanswer and tried to imagine this virile Mephistopheles ever having a mother. “Your name is French. You must be descended from the Normans. My mother loves everything about France—except the government. I was tutored in Paris, but since I have the face of a pug dog, nothing succeeded in making me fashionable.”
“Lapdogs are de rigueur in Paris, I hear.” His voice quivered. Was he amused? She dared not meet his eyes to see.
“I once owned a spaniel, but my father refuses to buy me another.”
“You prized this dog?”
“I adore animals,” she said, eyes narrowing.
“I meant no offense, Miss Talbot. I, too, esteem dumb beasts.”
The dance concluded, and he escorted her from the floor. “May I call upon you before I leave town, Miss Talbot?”
Georgette avoided his gaze. “Perhaps.” She curtsied.
Someone bumped her from behind. Unbalanced, she pitched forward and bounced into Mr. LaTournay. The American’s gloved hands gripped her bare shoulders and pulled her upright. Overpowering sensations whirled through her mind and body, and something pounded against her palms.
A man’s embarrassed voice apologized. Georgette vaguely heard LaTournay give a sharp reply. Then his voice near her ear prompted another shiver. “Are you well, Miss Talbot?”
She felt his breath upon her face. Opening her eyes, she nodded. The hint of a smile curled his mustache. He released her shoulders to grip the hands pressed flat upon his chest—hands Georgette suddenly recognized as her own.
“Oh!” She snatched her hands from his grasp and pressed them to her cheeks. With a whirl of skirts, she hurried blindly away. At last, in the recesses of a drawing room, she paused to wipe tears from her cheeks. “What has come over me? Dear God, hide me from this evil!”
“No sir, the master is out, and I am ordered to tell you that Miss Talbot is ill with the headache and cannot receive callers,” the butler, Montrose, said in a monotone.
“Give these to Miss Talbot along with my best wishes for her return to health.”
Georgette listened from just inside the parlor door, clenching her teeth in guilt. That somber voice held unmistakable disappointment. When would the man give up? For five days in a row, he had attempted to see her.
As soon as the front door closed and Georgette heard Montrose pass the parlor on his way to the kitchen, she peeked around the door. After a late night out, her parents had not yet risen for the day, although it was nearly noon. Padding toward the stairs in her bare feet, she stopped short.
A bouquet of asters lay upon the entry table beside a plain calling card. “‘J. M. A. LaTournay,’ ” she read softly. Her fingers brushed the delicate blue petals. Such lovely flowers were difficult to abandon, but one of the maids would surely put them in water soon and carry them up to her “sickroom.” For now, she had better return to bed before anyone suspected the truth.
Late that night, Georgette snuggled into her featherbed, reading a novel by candlelight. Eyes wide, heart thumping, she sat up with a start when a knock came at her chamber door. “Who is there?” Then, recalling her role, she shoved the book under her blankets and lay back with one forearm across her eyes. “Enter.”
The door opened and hesitant footsteps crossed the room to pause near her bed. “Miss?” It was Biddy, the elderly chambermaid.
“Yes?” She put a pathetic quaver in her voice.
Biddy whimpered like a puppy. How odd. Georgette lifted her arm slightly.
A puppy goggled down at her, kicked its dangling legs, and whined again.
Georgette’s eyes opened wide, and she sat upright. Biddy held the fawn-colored pug pup at arm’s length. “The man told me to give it to you, missy. I am sorry to disturb you, but your parents are out, and Agnes hates dogs.”
“Oh, he is adorable!” Georgette reached for the pup and clutched him close. The puppy’s pink tongue washed her cheek. Laughing, she held him away from her face. “Where did you say he came from?”
“A man, missy. Just now, at the front door. A cloak concealed his face, but he left this card.”
The puppy tugged at Georgette’s braid while she read the inscription. “To Miss Georgette Talbot from a devoted admirer.”
She flung the braid back over her shoulder. “Is he still here?”
“I doubt it, miss.”
But even as Biddy spoke, Georgette scrambled out of bed, rushed to the window, and opened it wide. The street lamps below revealed a mounted horse standing in the middle of Broad Street.
“Hello!” She waved. The cloaked rider lifted his head.
“Missy! You’ll catch your death standing at the window in your chemise. Your mother will be angry.”
Biddy’s outrage discouraged her not a whit. “Thank you,” Georgette called down, cupping her hand around her mouth.
The rider lifted his hand. The horse wheeled and broke into a canter. Hoofbeats echoed down the empty city streets.
Georgette turned to meet Biddy’s irate gaze, her hands clasped at her breast. “This is the most thrilling day of my life. Are you certain the man was a stranger, Biddy?”
The maid propped both hands on her scrawny hips. “You get back into that bed, missy, or I shall tell your mother about your showing yourself at the window in your chemise!”
“Oh Biddy, do not be foolish. I am certain he saw only a billowing white object. What did his voice sound like? Did he seem young or old?” A dreadful suspicion struck. Might her admirer be Mr. LaTournay?
“He sounded foreignlike. Not English like you, but maybe French or Spanish.”
An accent could be feigned. Georgette pulled on her bedgown, watching the pup waddle toward her across the tumbled counterpane, his curly tail wagging. No matter his origin, she loved her gift. When he reached her, she scooped him up and kissed his velvety head. “I must take my puppy to the garden, then find him something to eat. What is your name, pup? You are entirely sweet.”
Chapter 2
For what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?
2 CORINTHIANS 6:14
April 1775
For two hours Georgette sat and listened to a stand-in for the regular minister drone about the evils of disobedience to Mother England. Occasionally he referred to a Bible passage. Georgette tried to focus on the sermon, but her eyes kept straying toward a visitors’ box across the church. The man seated there seemed familiar, though she could not see him clearly.
She was certain he had been watching the Talbot box. Perhaps he knew her father. She hoped he was not one of her father’s gambling friends come to ask for payment. Papa never spoke of financial matters, but Georgette knew the situation at home was rapidly worsening. Montrose and two footmen had been let go over the winter, leaving only Biddy, Agnes, and Cook to keep the household running. For a family of high standing, two maids and one flighty Italian cook were insufficient household staff.
A disturbance outside sent a stir through the congregation. People glanced around, giving hushed exclamations of dismay. Crack! Pop! Bang! Cheering filled the streets, and the hoofbeats of running horses clattered along Broadway, yet the good reverend made no sign that he heard. Georgette decided the man must be deaf.
Several men slipped out of their boxes and headed for the door, among them the tall visitor. Georgette felt as though the minister would never stop, but eventually he wrapped up his oratory with a prolonged benediction.
Members of the congregation questioned each other in hushed tones, hurrying for the exits. Georgette followed her father into the churchyard as her mother stopped to chat with a friend. Firecrackers popped in the middle of the street. Boys in ragged clothes shouted. Although she was curious about the cause of this clamor, Georgette knew she could not barge into her father’s conversation with a group of men. She glanced about in search of Marianne.
“Good day
, Miss Talbot.”
Lifting one hand to shade her eyes from the spring sun’s glare, she looked up. Her eyes widened, and heat rushed to her cheeks.
The visiting gentleman was Mr. LaTournay. “It is good to see you looking well,” he said quietly. “I trust you passed a healthy and profitable winter?”
She avoided meeting his gaze. “I—I am well, Mr. LaTournay. You are back in town?” Too late she realized the absurdity of her question.
“For a time. Have you heard the news?”
“No. What has happened?” Eager for information, she looked into his eyes.
“Four days ago, American and British troops fought a battle at Concord and Lexington, two villages not far from Boston. A courier brought the news just minutes ago. It was a defeat for the British, by his account.”
“Oh!” She covered her mouth with one hand and extended the other as if to ward off disaster. “How dreadful! What will become of us? Papa must agree to return to England now.”
LaTournay grasped her outflung hand. “I hope not too quickly.”
She yanked it away and glared at him. “It cannot be soon enough for me.”
The flicker in his eyes told her that her shaft had struck home; still he persisted. “May I call upon you sometime this week?”
Her fingers seemed to burn where his had touched them. “I—I shall be busy.”
“Mr. LaTournay! How delightful to see you!” Her mother arrived amid a rustle of petticoats and ribbons. Georgette wanted to groan.
“I hope you plan to call on us again soon,” she said, dimpling and nodding. “As you can see, Georgette is now quite well and able to receive callers.”
LaTournay’s shrewd glance brushed Georgette. “Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Talbot. Ladies.” Touching his tricornered hat, he bowed and walked away.
Georgette exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. Dear Lord, please let him never return!
“When next he calls, you will receive him.” Her father’s voice held the ring of steel. He paced the sitting room, hands clasped behind his back. “Biddy tells me LaTournay attempted to call upon you last fall and you turned him away.” He jabbed a finger at Georgette. “Never again will you feign illness to avoid him. Attempt it, and I shall drag you downstairs in your shift to entertain the man!”
Georgette felt her facial muscles twitch as she fought back panic. “Papa, surely you would not force me to marry. I dislike Mr. LaTournay. He is evil.”
Her father swore, grasped her arm, and jerked her forward. Eyes narrowing, he hissed through clenched teeth. “LaTournay is a leading citizen in this province. His past is none of your concern. You will encourage his suit in every way possible. Do you understand?”
Georgette tightened her lips. Her father tightened his grip.
“Oww! Yes. I shall receive him.”
He let go. Georgette rubbed her arm as tears spilled down her cheeks. “But I shall never marry that man!”
Smack! The back of his hand against her cheek jerked her head to one side. He pointed a finger in her face. “Never speak so to me again! You will do as I say, and that is final.”
Georgette fingered the welt left by his signet ring and felt her heart break.
That evening several men arrived to visit with her father. Her mother retired to her chambers, leaving Georgette to her own devices. Shouts and occasional bursts of laughter from the parlor drifted up the staircase.
More gambling. Georgette flopped upon the bed. If her heart sank any lower, it would punch a hole through the bottom of Manhattan. With a wry smile, she visualized the entire island upending and sinking into the river.
Her little dog, Caramel, strolled across the bedclothes. “You sleep too much,” she informed him, sliding his floppy ears between her finger and thumb. “But I adore you anyway. You mend my wounded spirits better than any physic.” For weeks after Caramel’s mysterious arrival, she had questioned her acquaintances about pug dogs. Did anyone have a dog with puppies? Had anyone recently sold a pup? Her investigation turned up no clues.
“I wish you could tell me about the man who brought you, Caramel. Did you like him? Is he kind to fat puppies? Or was the cloaked rider a courier for my real benefactor?”
Caramel snorted and leaped off the bed in search of a toy.
Hearing the crackle of fireworks, Georgette hurried to the window to watch them flame across the sky. A woman’s hearty laugh rose from the street below, along with the clop of hooves on cobblestones. The tavern at the corner did brisk business. Lively band music drifted on the chill night air, and the glow of bonfires dotted the city. A sudden breeze held the promise of spring, the sting of sea salt, and a whiff of gunpowder and smoke.
Georgette inhaled deeply. Excitement flooded her veins. She craved adventure, thrills—and romance. Anything to escape the future her father planned for her.
“Lord Jesus? Are You listening to me?” Her recent decision to devote her life to God’s service had provided little respite from boredom, and instead of miraculously disappearing, her problems had multiplied.
Caramel brought her a leather ball. Georgette tossed it. She heard his paws scrabble on the floor, and a thump indicated when the pug slid into the wall. Small wonder his face was flat.
“I do not understand Your refusal to answer my prayers, God. Papa plans to marry me to a reprobate, and Mummy smiles and tells me not to worry.”
She accepted the slimy ball and threw it again. “Why would You put this desire for romance into my heart, then threaten me with a husband like Mr. LaTournay? I know I am to love You first, and I do. But I also wish for a loving husband and children. If You care at all, please send the right man to me soon. If only the admirer who sent my dog would make himself known.” A long sigh closed her petition.
Rising, she rang for a maid to help her prepare for bed.
No response came to her summons or her prayers. Annoyed, she shut Caramel into her bedchamber and padded down the back stairs to the kitchen. Biddy and Agnes bustled to prepare refreshments for her father’s guests. “Where is Cook?” Georgette asked as Biddy passed her, carrying a loaded tray.
Agnes gave her a glance. “Gone to join the celebrations, miss. Biddy and me, we hold little store by such goings-on, and the missus promised us extra pay to stay the evening. Too bad you have no young man to show you a good time tonight. ’Twould be unsafe for a lady alone. Every man in town will be out and about.” Her gap-toothed smile was meant to be kind.
Until that moment Georgette had not considered sneaking out, but Agnes’s comment stirred her imagination. Who would know? She considered asking Agnes to sneak out with her but decided against it. The practical servant would go straight to Georgette’s parents with her plans.
Other women managed to traverse the streets of New York unescorted. She was a strong, healthy girl. Why not? Surely the Lord would protect her from harm.
In her father’s wardrobe, she found a woolen cloak. The guests’ coachmen would see her if she used the front door, so she slipped into the garden and through the gate.
Eager and breathless, Georgette hurried her steps along Broad Street. Hearing footsteps behind, she turned but saw only a carriage passing on a crossroad. A shiver trickled down her spine, and she increased her pace.
There would be safety in numbers. Noise and glowing light from the direction of the common drew her on.
Sure enough, bonfires and fireworks illuminated a boisterous gathering on the green. A man stood on a podium delivering an address about the bright future of New York, frequently interrupted by cheers and whistles. The crowd surrounding Georgette consisted mainly of the lower classes, judging by attire and vocabulary. Yet she saw some well-dressed men and a few women in gowns finer than hers. Liquor flowed freely, and more than one interruption of the speech came from an overly enthusiastic drunk. The crowd laughed at such interludes and continued carousing. Some of the women exhibited themselves in ways no lady would approve, yet their gentlemen associates appeared to relish the di
splay.
Are there no men left in the world who appreciate a woman of virtue? Or must a woman be vulgar to excite a man’s genuine interest? Among the other young women, she had heard talk of men who lived double lives. Such men would wed none but ladies of quality, yet they took pleasure in the company of actresses and dancers, even fathering illegitimate children. Men like Mr. LaTournay, who preferred other men’s wives.
If I marry, I want my husband to be satisfied with me alone. Most of these women are no more beautiful than I am. I could be as exciting to a man as they if I tried. She imagined embracing any of the rough men standing near the fire and grimaced. Many of them had not bathed in months, judging by the grime around their necks. Some appeared young and strong; a few wore fringed buckskin breeches and jackets; some were bearded and hulking. Perhaps she was too choosy.
One brawny fellow noticed Georgette. “What have we here? Are you alone, sugarcakes? This is my lucky day.” He lurched forward and gripped her arm.
Georgette’s yearning for romance took a plunge. She turned to escape, but the man twisted her arm and pulled her back. “Why so modest?” His filthy hand gripped her chin, and rancid breath filled her nostrils. “Give us a kiss.”
Suddenly the fellow gave a yelp and fell away from her, his hands grasping at a black cord around his throat. As his back struck the ground, a hand gripped Georgette’s shoulder, turned her about, and propelled her forward. “The lady, she is with me, monsieur,” a heavily accented voice said in clear warning. Turning back, Georgette saw in profile a black-cloaked figure standing with feet braced, brandishing a driving whip.
The big man staggered to his feet, bellowed once, and charged like a bull. His challenger stepped aside and rapped him on the skull with the butt of the whip. He sprawled on the grass and lay there, moaning. His drunken companions laughed.
The victor replaced the whip in a waiting carriage. A voluminous hood concealed his entire head, giving him the appearance of the Grim Reaper.