Love’s Betrayal

by DiAnn Mills

  Scowling, she attempted to concentrate on the news. Utterly ridiculous, how her thoughts could wander from war to love. As if the topics connected. No reasonable woman expected love in her marriage anyway. To become an interesting companion to Mr. LaTournay, able to support her end of a conversation—now that was a sensible goal. Hence the newspaper.

  But Georgette’s thoughts and gaze soon wandered off the page again. “When I wed, my heart will belong to my wife alone for as long as I live.” The memory of that beautifully accented voice echoed in her dreams night and day.

  Since the night she sent her mysterious visitor away, she had heard nothing from him. Although he spoke no overt words of love—at least, not in English—Georgette nevertheless knew that he cared for her. Would she ever see him again? Pressing her wrist to her lips, she recalled the warmth of his touch.

  She flopped back on the rug, wrapped both arms over her head, propped her bare feet on the seat of a chair, and studied the ceiling’s plaster moldings.

  Her wedding day. One hand resting on Mr. LaTournay’s arm, she emerged from a huge gothic cathedral. Her face like marble, cool and lovely, she bore her fate with dignified forbearance. Suddenly a giant black stallion pounded into the churchyard and reared. Its rider’s cape flowed from magnificent shoulders as he leaped to the ground, drew a sword, and challenged Mr. LaTournay to a duel.

  Mr. LaTournay, tall and deadly, posed with saber in hand, his shirtsleeves billowing. Swords clashed. Women screamed and fainted.

  With blood staining his white shirtfront, Mr. LaTournay slowly fell to his knees, reaching one hand to her. There in the churchyard, for the first and last time, she held her husband in her arms and kissed him. After weeping for the love that could never be, she rode away with her romantic hero. …

  But Mr. LaTournay could not die. Even in her imagination Georgette could not bear the thought of him suffering injury. Yet unless her husband died, it would be evil to leave him for another man.

  She decided the cloaked hero should be wounded instead, and the confrontation must take place before, not after, the wedding ceremony.

  Reeling from a gash in his side, her hero tossed her behind him on the saddle and galloped away. Clutching his broad shoulders, she begged him to stop and let her bind his wound. He slid to the ground, and she cradled him in her arms. Tenderly, eagerly, she reached for the concealing hood—

  The library door creaked. “I am so pleased you came by. We were beginning to wonder what had become of you. I have many questions. Georgette, are you in here? She was here a moment ago. I cannot imagine where she has disap—Georgette?” Her mother gasped at the sight of Georgette scrambling to her feet.

  Mr. LaTournay stood at her mother’s side.

  Georgette brushed her skirts, feeling guilty heat pour into her face. She had not bothered to don a hoop and stays that morning, and the pink-flowered gown was one of her oldest. Her hair must be a sight after her gyrations on the rug. “I was … I was reading this week’s Gazetteer. Good day, sir.”

  He bowed. “Good day, Miss Talbot. Do not apologize, madam; your daughter had no warning of my arrival. It is not to be expected that she would sit in readiness at all hours. Today’s news must make interesting reading. Did you learn of our governor’s return?”

  Although his manner remained stilted, his tone was kind. Georgette felt short of breath, knowing how ridiculous had been her imaginings. “I had not heard of it.”

  “I asked Biddy to bring us tea in the parlor,” her mother said. “Please join us, Georgette.” In a whispered aside, she added, “And fix your hair!”

  When Georgette entered the parlor a few minutes later, the conversation broke off and Mr. LaTournay rose to seat her at the tiny table. Smoothing her skirts, she smiled in his direction as he settled into the chair across from her mother. Caramel plopped between Georgette’s skirts and Mr. LaTournay’s boots. Her father remained in his favorite chair across the room.

  Georgette’s mother lifted the teapot. “It is growing difficult to find tea. I fear our cook purchased this on the black market. Do you take cream and sugar, sir?”

  “Both, thank you.” Mr. LaTournay handled the fragile teacup with practiced ease. His tanned hands were clean, even to the fingernails. He seemed cool and neat, as always. Georgette never needed to pardon an unpleasant odor while in his presence. Even his teeth were nearly perfect. She studied his mouth as he conversed with her father.

  Her parents faded away.

  Mr. LaTournay and she, a married couple, drank tea together in a shadowy room. Noticing that her husband needed more cream, she rose to serve him and dropped a tender kiss upon his cheek before returning to her seat.

  Or would she kiss the top of his head? Or his lips? Could any woman ever feel comfortable enough with this man to display affection freely? How would he react? Bearing in mind his reputation, she knew he could not be as cold and impervious as he seemed.

  He dabbed his mustache with a napkin.

  Georgette’s mother cleared her throat.

  Realizing she had been staring, Georgette took a sip of tea and burned her lip. Her mother glowered. Mr. LaTournay’s expression remained neutral, although he appeared somewhat flushed.

  Could he read her thoughts? Oh, the curse of an unbridled imagination!

  “So Governor Tryon is returning? I have always wished to meet him,” Georgette blurted. “I have seen the warship Asia lying at anchor off Governor’s Island. Now I shall watch for the governor’s ship.”

  “He is to return, and therein lies the city’s dilemma,” Mr. LaTournay said. “The new commander in chief of the American armies, George Washington, is scheduled to arrive in the city on the very day of Tryon’s return. Both men will expect a parade and official welcome, yet it would be unfeasible to hold two parades at once. Only Broadway is large and straight enough to accommodate a parade.”

  “Hmph. Who cares about the illicit general of an illegal army?” her mother said.

  “From all I hear, Washington is a man to command both respect and admiration,” Mr. LaTournay said quietly. “I have a wish to see the most talked-of man in America.”

  “Yet he is not to stay in town more than a day,” Georgette’s father added from his armchair. “Governor Tryon, the king’s official, is vastly more important. Surely the city will show him the welcome he deserves after more than a year’s absence. Some thought he would never return at all.”

  “All will be well now that Governor Tryon is back,” her mother said. “I hope he demands the return of the British soldiers to Fort George and disarms the dangerous rabble who have ruled the streets these many weeks.”

  “I should like to see a parade,” Georgette said.

  “Then I shall take you,” Mr. LaTournay offered. “Both men are scheduled to arrive in midafternoon, but perhaps that will change. We shall walk, so wear sturdy shoes.” He placed his empty teacup in its saucer and again blotted his mustache. “Thank you for the tea. Miss Talbot, I wish to speak with you of plans for the future. Will you walk with me in the garden?”

  “I need to confer with you afterward, LaTournay,” her father said in a languid yet pointed manner. “There are details yet to be settled.”

  Georgette’s mother gave her a warning look. Nodding to assure her good behavior, Georgette rose, brushed crumbs from her skirts, and led the way outside into a gray and gloomy afternoon. The garden, dotted with rain puddles, seemed smaller than ever before. Caramel sniffed and snorted his way along the wall, pausing to dig beneath a flowering shrub.

  Mr. LaTournay paced a short track between two planters. His stride reminded her of … She shook her head to dislodge the traitorous memory.

  “The minister of the Methodist church has agreed to marry us,” Georgette said quickly to conceal her overwrought nerves. “My mother prefers early September. I hope that will suit you. It must be a small ceremony, but we shall have a reception here afterwards.”

  He paused before speaking. “I am aware of your parent
s’ plans, but I do not wish you to feel rushed into marriage. Take the time you need to fully prepare, both emotionally and physically. I must warn you that we live simply at Haven Farm. Your everyday attire will consist of woolens and strong boots. It would be best to travel north before winter sets in, but if you cannot prepare in time, I shall return for you at whatever date you choose.”

  “I am willing to comply with the current arrangements.” She attained a tone of self-sacrificing humility. “The banns have been published, and the wedding date was announced in the Gazetteer. Besides, I already own a quantity of serviceable clothing.”

  Another pause. “If you are certain.”

  She turned away. “I would not wish to inconvenience you.”

  “You misunderstand my meaning.” He grasped her shoulder. She shivered, barely restraining herself from ducking away. He turned her to him and lifted her chin, but she refused to look up. “Miss Talbot, you need never fear me. Your welfare is my foremost consideration.”

  Georgette nodded.

  A long moment passed, and she heard him exhale. “If you please,” he said in a whisper, “may I kiss you?”

  Conflicting thoughts whirled in Georgette’s head, disappearing into a void. Again she nodded, then closed her eyes. Warmth touched her lips, living, tender. Her lips parted, and he kissed her again. His strong arms slipped around her waist, pulling her close to his chest. She heard and felt his rapid breathing, tasted tea in his kiss. She craved more of these wondrous sensations, but the embrace ended abruptly. Georgette opened her eyes to meet his gaze. He removed her arms from around his neck and took a step back.

  “Perhaps waiting would be foolish after all.”

  Georgette felt his thumbs stroke her wrists. “What?” Helpless to comprehend her own desires, she jerked her hands free and covered her burning lips, shaking her head.

  Shame propelled her away and sent her stumbling into the house. She heard him call, but the numbness of her heart prevented any response.

  Georgette scarcely noticed Caramel’s snoring. Eyes wide, she lay upon her bed. Dried tears made her face itch. Evening sunlight painted golden windowpane reflections upon the slanted ceiling of her bedchamber. A rain-freshened breeze stirred the window curtains. She could hear gulls mewing as they wheeled over the rooftops, and light traffic rattled along Broad Street. The Bible lying open upon her chest rose and fell with her uneven breathing.

  Someone rapped at her door. “Missy?”

  “Come in, Biddy.”

  The wooden door creaked open. “I have a note for you, missy, from Mr. LaTournay.”

  “Is he still here?” Georgette closed her Bible and sat up. She reached for the folded pyramid of paper. Beside her, Caramel stretched and yawned with a squeaky sound.

  “He’s been talking with Mr. Talbot in the study. Mr. LaTournay looks sad, missy,” the maid dared to comment.

  Georgette unfolded the paper. Caramel shoved his nose in the way as if to read it first. She pushed him aside and studied the elegant script.

  I humbly beg your pardon and await your convenience in the garden.

  L

  “Thank you, Biddy.”

  “You wish to send him a note?”

  “No, I shall come down.”

  Georgette watched until the door closed behind Biddy. If she were to refuse Mr. LaTournay’s summons, her father would demand an explanation.

  Rising, she splashed her face with water from the basin on her dressing table. Her eyes felt gritty and probably looked swollen. She trembled at the thought of speaking to Mr. LaTournay, and the knot in her chest forced out yet another sob. Georgette cupped her mouth with one hand, then touched her lips, recalling his kisses.

  Did Mr. LaTournay’s kisses affect Mrs. Forester the way they affected her? The thought of that woman in his arms twisted like a knife into Georgette’s heart. Once again, she prayed for release—either from her fears or from this betrothal.

  She had recognized passion in his eyes—those unfathomable eyes that could scorch and chill in the same glance. Although being desired by a man thrilled her, Georgette knew it was not enough. Mr. LaTournay had desired many women, by all accounts, yet his passion never endured beyond a month or two.

  “Dear God, spare me the pain of becoming the latest in his string of discarded lovers. Help me to love him no matter what.” Her face crumpled, but she swallowed the sob. “Oh, how blessed I would feel if You were to cause him to love me as I love him!” Caramel led the way downstairs and waited for Georgette to open the garden door. He dashed over to greet Mr. LaTournay and grinned while having his sides thumped. Georgette heard Mr. LaTournay speak to the dog, though his voice was too low for her to discern his words.

  He straightened to his full height as she stepped outside. His gaze seemed to pierce her.

  She hoped her eyes were no longer red.

  “Miss Talbot, can you find it in your heart to forgive my behavior?”

  Had his behavior been worse than hers?

  She nodded shortly. “Even as God for Christ’s sake has forgiven me.”

  “Ah.” The response held elements of both admiration and amusement.

  A wave of courage and resolve lifted Georgette. “Are you a Christian?”

  “I was raised in the church.”

  “Do you believe that salvation comes through faith in Christ?”

  He blinked. “I do.”

  “Will you study the scriptures with me? I have a need to understand more about God, yet much that I read is beyond my comprehension. If we were to study together, perhaps I could profit through your superior understanding.”

  She read surprise and interest in his expression. “I am honored by your request,” he said.

  A certain hitch in his pronunciation caught her ear. Georgette found the apparent speech impediment endearing, though it seemed unfair that even the man’s flaws attracted her.

  “’Twill seem strange to greet you on the morrow without revealing all that has passed between us,” she said, taking a step closer to him.

  Shadows darkened much of the garden, though the sky overhead still shone bright blue. Mr. LaTournay’s bare head caught sunlight reflected from a window. His hair and beard reminded Georgette of a beaver pelt she saw once, thick and glossy brown.

  He stepped forward. “I must be away but shall see you Sunday at church.”

  “And for the parade; do not forget your promise.” She reached out one hand.

  Georgette saw one of his brows twitch in response to her unskilled flirtation. Taking her hand, he bowed slightly. “I shall not forget.”

  His touch recalled vivid sensations. “Good evening, sir.” Once again, Georgette pulled away and fled.

  Chapter 6

  A sound of battle is in the land, and of great destruction.

  JEREMIAH 50:22

  LaTournay’s gaze wandered across the sanctuary of Trinity Church until it rested upon Georgette in the Talbot family box. Although she appeared to listen to the sermon, he saw vacancy in her stare. Her mind must be far away. As if sensing his regard, she glanced his way. Her face grew rosy as her gaze fell from his. What did she read in his eyes to make her blush and look away? Blinking, he settled into his seat and pondered the matter.

  Dr. Inglis read Psalm 147. LaTournay could not recall hearing this passage before, but then he was not as familiar with the Bible as he should be. Today the words caught at his heart. Opening the Bible he had purchased the day before for the purpose of serious study, he located the scripture and followed along.

  “‘He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names. Great is our Lord, and of great power: his understanding is infinite. The Lord lifteth up the meek: he casteth the wicked down to the ground. … He delighteth not in the strength of the horse: he taketh not pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear him, in those that hope in his mercy. …’ ”

  LaTournay tried to picture God, infinite and almighty, caring for the needs
of His creation. A being so powerful would remain unimpressed by the fastest of horses, the strongest of men, the greatest of battles. The one thing that brought Him pleasure, according to the psalm, was a man who feared Him and hoped in His mercy.

  Although he acknowledged God’s existence and supremacy, LaTournay had always assumed the Creator remained detached from His creation. Yet this psalm suggested that God desired a more personal relationship with people. With him.

  Les Pringle, beside him in the visitors’ box, snored. LaTournay elbowed him. Pringle turned another snort into a cough. “Thanks,” he whispered from the side of his mouth.

  When the service ended and the congregation filed outside, Pringle hurried to intercept Georgette and Miss Marianne Grenville. He slipped between the two young women, tucking an arm around each. “Lovely ladies, I am the luckiest man alive. To think that today I shall accompany the two of you to the welcoming parade for our governor!”

  The spurt of anger caused by the sight of another man’s hand on Georgette’s trim waist startled LaTournay. He hesitated to approach the group, uncertain of his welcome.

  “I believe Mr. LaTournay has other plans for today.” Georgette stepped out of Pringle’s reach. Her lips curled in annoyance. Sunlight filtered through her straw bonnet, dotting her face.

  She glanced up, met LaTournay’s gaze, and blushed. Her fair skin frequently betrayed the strength of her emotions, though he found it difficult to determine their course. Did this blush reveal pleasure or pain?

  He watched as she stiffened her backbone and faced him. “I am pleased to see you here today, sir, although the sermon left much to be desired.” She extended one gloved hand. He bowed over it.

  “Gigi, you must not say such things!” Miss Grenville said. “People will hear.”

  Beside her, Pringle grinned and lifted a brow at LaTournay.

  “Church is for sermons about God, not about politics,” Georgette said, reclaiming her hand.