Love’s Betrayal

by DiAnn Mills

  “I appreciated the scripture reading,” LaTournay said.

  Miss Grenville’s frown vanished. “That is wonderful. A good day to you, Mr. LaTournay.” She was a pretty woman, slender and blond. He understood Pringle’s interest.

  “Good day to you, Miss Grenville. What is this name by which you address Miss Talbot?”

  “I call her Gigi, for the two letter G’s in her name,” she answered, beaming at Georgette. She tucked one hand into the crook of Pringle’s elbow. “I imagine we shall see you at the parade today.”

  After Pringle and Miss Grenville strolled away, Georgette made an obvious effort to be friendly and natural. “At what time shall we commence our walk?” She fingered her bonnet strings, pushed her gloves into place, and shifted her Bible from one arm to the other.

  “I shall come for you at two o’clock. My landlady has promised to pack us a luncheon basket. If you prefer, I can hire a chaise, since it will be a long walk.”

  “The day is warm but not unpleasant. I shall enjoy walking with you.” She lifted her sparkling brown eyes as high as his chin, then dropped her gaze to his boot toes. “My parents are pleased that we shall spend the day together.”

  “As am I, Miss Talbot.”

  She sucked in a quick breath and released it in a little burst. “Two o’clock then. I shall be ready.” Giving a wave, she hurried to follow her parents from the churchyard.

  Lucille and Frederick Talbot made a handsome couple—Frederick dark and dignified, Lucille blond and shapely. In LaTournay’s estimation, Georgette exhibited the finest qualities of both parents. He had not realized the Talbots walked to church. Frederick probably could no longer afford to hire a coach.

  He watched the family promenade along the street until Georgette’s bobbing skirts disappeared around the corner. He headed for his boardinghouse.

  “LaTournay, wait!” Running footsteps sounded from behind him.

  Panting and grinning, Pringle caught him by the shoulder. “I have scarcely spoken to you these three weeks. What have you been doing? I seldom see you anymore.”

  “Business often takes me out of town. Politics are the ruination of profit.”

  Pringle gave a sharp laugh. “That I know. I assumed you were also wooing. I heard of your betrothal to the Talbot wench.” He shook his head. “I still say you are crazy. The woman’s head is a vacuum. Granted, she has the form of a goddess, but so does Lady—”

  “Your pursuit of Miss Grenville’s fortune prospers?”

  Pringle winced. “It goes well enough, but I begin to have regrets. Though I am an unabashed scoundrel, I begin to think Miss Grenville is an earthly angel. She talks constantly about God. To appease her, I profess interest in such things, but my acting ability strains when it comes to praying and confessing sins and such.”

  “Because you have no sins to confess?”

  Pringle chuckled at the jibe. “Sometimes I wonder if she loves me only because I present a challenge. I have an ambitious goal: Before this day ends, I shall coax a kiss from that saintly maid, and she will enjoy it. I hope the governor is late and doesn’t come ashore until well after dark. He is scheduled to arrive at four o’clock, you know.”

  “Colonel Lasher has a militia company waiting at Coenties slip, where Governor Tryon is expected to land. Another company travels with four members of the Provincial Congress to Newark, where they hope to meet General Washington and detour him to the Hoboken Ferry,” LaTournay said.

  A burst of profanity indicated Pringle’s loathing of the militia. “As far from Coenties slip as possible, eh? Trust New York to butter both sides of the bread. And where will the rest of Lasher’s companies be?”

  “At a halfway point, ready to greet whichever personage arrives first. Absurd, but necessary.”

  Pringle scowled. “Nonsense. No reason in the world to make a fuss over this Virginian upstart who dares take arms against England. I cannot help wondering what Parliament is thinking to let this rebellion linger on. Why do the Asia and the Kingfisher not send a few firebombs into the town and make them think twice about entertaining the enemy?”

  “Either ship could burn New York to the ground, but what would such aggression accomplish? A ruined port is of no use to England, and violence against these rebels seems to harden their resolve.”

  “Have you been asked to take an oath of loyalty to this provincial travesty they call a congress? I shall resist to my dying day. I may not be an upstanding subject, but my loyalty belongs to the king.” Pringle’s eyes flashed indignation.

  “Beware how loudly you speak, my friend. I, too, have scant use for the Sons of Liberty, as they call themselves. Yet several members of the Provincial Congress are loyal British citizens who desire a peaceful resolution to this conflict. Their complaints against England are not without basis.” LaTournay paused at the door of his boardinghouse and faced Pringle. “Enjoy your day with Miss Grenville. She seems a worthy young woman, and I would not like to see my fiancée’s friend hurt.”

  “Point acknowledged. Perhaps we shall see you about town.” With a roguish grin, Pringle sauntered on, swinging his walking stick.

  At five minutes past two, Georgette sat waiting upon the front stairway, rolling her parasol between nervous fingers. The gauze tucked about her shoulders itched and tickled her neck. Sweat beaded on her forehead until she patted it away with a hankie.

  Caramel brought his leather ball, dropped it at her feet, and backed off with a hopeful woof. Georgette obliged him by throwing it down the hall.

  A knock came at the door. Caramel abandoned the ball chase and reversed course to thump his front paws on the front door and bark. When Georgette opened the door, the pug danced about Mr. LaTournay’s feet and yammered. She raised her voice above the din. “Please come in. We no longer have a butler, and the maids are off this afternoon.”

  He obediently entered the hall and set down a laden basket. Caramel pushed his flat nose beneath the cloth, his curly tail wagging. Mr. LaTournay went down on one knee and pulled the dog away. “No, that isn’t for you, unless you plan to come along on our walk. Then I might be convinced to share.” Caramel rolled to his back and let his tongue loll from one side of his grinning mouth. After pulling off his gloves, Mr. LaTournay rubbed the dog’s chest.

  Georgette lifted Caramel’s leash off its wall hook and paused to watch the man play with her dog. His gentleness surprised her.

  What would he think of the way Georgette had acquired the pug? Would he be resentful of her secret beau? More important, would he have just cause for jealousy?

  He glanced up. “Is anything amiss?”

  “Why, no, not a thing.” Except for her nerves. “Do you not think the day is too warm for him to join us? Caramel loves a walk, but his legs are short.”

  “I shall carry him if he grows tired.” He took the braided cord from her and looped it through Caramel’s collar.

  “Very well. I am ready for our outing. Is this gown suitable?” The green-sprigged white linen was among her most becoming frocks. Georgette settled her straw bonnet over her curls and tied its ribbons beneath her chin.

  “You are springtime itself,” he said. “I shall be the proudest man in town.” Lifting the basket with his left hand, he handed her the end of Caramel’s leash and offered her his right arm. “Shall we?”

  “Indeed, we shall,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. She could hold both dog leash and parasol with her other hand. “My parents are entertaining guests for luncheon. They plan to attend the parade for Governor Tryon.”

  “I had thought we might join the crowd greeting Washington. I am acquainted with the governor, but this Virginian general will be a new face. Two other generals will arrive with him—Philip Schuyler and Charles Lee.” He escorted her through the front door and closed it behind them. “Schuyler is an important man in the northern parts of this colony.”

  Georgette reclaimed Mr. LaTournay’s arm and fell into step beside him as they headed nort
h on Broad Street. When Caramel lunged toward a tree, her parasol whacked the top of her bonnet. Tugging the dog back to her side, she continued the discussion. “I cannot understand how these men who fought so bravely for our country during the war against the French and Indians could now turn traitor and fight against England.”

  “It is a different war and a different cause. Such men would not shift their loyalties lightly, you may be sure. Perhaps we should listen to speeches today and learn what we may about their reasoning.”

  “Would that not be treasonous?” She searched his stern profile for reassurance.

  He pressed his lips together and gazed over her head across the rooftops. His eyes, she noticed, were a muddy brown in hue. Yet they were arresting eyes, with their thick dark brows and lashes.

  “Do you wish to take a side in any controversy simply because of tradition and blind loyalty?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to understand the motives governing the actions taken by both factions, then choose the position most tenable in regard to your beliefs and convictions?”

  Startled by the question, Georgette scrambled for an honest answer. “I would wish always to do what is right in the sight of God,” she said.

  “Exactly as I believed you would answer.” He sounded pleased.

  “But how could God be pleased by treachery? Is it not true that God puts kings in power? Our king is head of the Church of England. Dr. Inglis preaches that rebellion against the king is rebellion against God.” Engrossed in the conversation, Georgette paid no attention to her surroundings. Her troubled gaze still searched LaTournay’s face, and she clutched his arm like a lifeline.

  “I understand the appeal of this argument to you.” He patted her hand and slowed his pace. “Tyrants have used it throughout history to retain power. Although it is true that God raises and topples kings and kingdoms, it is also true that not all those He allows to rule are good and upright. If I understand correctly, Christ, not any human king, is head of the Church. When a king abuses power and oppresses his subjects, it behooves those subjects to protest such injustice.”

  Georgette considered his words. “What if the king will not listen?”

  “There you have put into words the vital question that has been debated up and down the coast of this continent these many years past. A similar situation long ago brought about the Magna Carta and the beginnings of republican government.”

  “I have often heard you discuss politics with my father. Always you spoke of taxes and representation, but this is the first time I understand the reason why so many colonists have joined the rebellion. Not that it is important for me, a woman, to understand such things, but—”

  “Au contraire! You must realize what is at stake.” Right there in the street he stopped, looked down into her eyes, and spoke earnestly. “I want you to know, and I want you to think, pray, and consider. As my wife, you will be affected by every decision I make.”

  His defense of the Whigs sounded entirely too sympathetic to Georgette. Yet, transfixed by his stare, she could only nod, unable to voice her questions. Relaxing, Mr. LaTournay pulled her hand back into place upon his arm and continued their stroll. Caramel trotted beside Georgette’s whisking skirts, his head and tail high.

  “I do not intend to frighten you,” Mr. LaTournay continued, “but you must be aware of the uncertain times in which we live. Look at the militia companies gathered here upon the common. Raw boys, most of them. Do they look ready to fight His Majesty’s troops? And yet the Massachusetts militia, largely comprised of old men, farmers, and young boys, has fought admirably more than once these past months.”

  Georgette studied the uniformed troops drilling on the village green. Might her hero be among them? One of them, a handsome fellow, caught her eye and smiled, losing the beat of the march. The man behind him gave him a rough shove. Her heart thudding, Georgette turned away and attempted to portray scorn. “And these are the people this General Washington plans to lead against our British troops? How can he hope to win?”

  Mr. LaTournay merely shook his head. Together they walked past the unsavory section of town, turned west on Read’s Street to Greenwich Road, and headed north along the riverbank. Carriages passed them on the road, and other couples and family groups meandered along the highway north. The crowds increased as they approached the ferry landing. Caramel no longer tugged at his leash, and his tail had lost its jaunty curl.

  “Are you hungry yet?” Mr. LaTournay asked. “This might be our best opportunity to partake from this increasingly heavy basket.”

  Georgette laughed. “You ought to have spoken sooner.”

  “There are shady places here along the river. See? Others had the same idea.” He indicated a family of five seated on a blanket near the shore.

  “A lovely big tree stands at the top of that knoll, away from the road. May we dine there with a view of the river?” she suggested. At his nod, she hoisted her skirts and led the way.

  Mr. LaTournay spread the blanket and waited while Georgette fluffed her skirts in a circle. “I shall set out the luncheon, if you like,” she offered, reaching for the basket. Caramel flopped down on the grass to pant.

  As soon as Mr. LaTournay was seated, she handed him a lamb pasty wrapped in cloth. “Will you ask a blessing on our food?”

  He nodded and bowed his head. Belatedly, he removed his hat. Holding it to his chest, he spoke slowly. “Almighty God, You have provided this food for us. It amazes me that You would notice us humans, yet You say we are important to You. I ask that You will lead Georgette and me in Your ways. Teach us to fear You and to hope in Your mercy. Amen.”

  He slid his hat back upon his head and bit into the pasty. Georgette wondered at the contradictions of his character. How could a man of such ill repute pray so convincingly?

  They ate in silence for several minutes, watching the pedestrians and carriages, squinting in the sparkle of sunlight off the Hudson River. Georgette wanted to learn more about Mr. LaTournay, yet she did not know how to begin questioning him. He seemed a private person, as if a high wall protected his inner emotions. The brief glimpses she’d had into his heart left her wary.

  Why did she feel as if she knew her covert admirer more fully than she understood her overt fiancé? The question always remained: Why would such a man choose Georgette Talbot for a wife?

  Caramel recovered when the aroma of lamb reached his twitching nose. Sitting up and pawing the air, he begged for pasty. Mr. LaTournay rewarded his antics with bits of meat, then took him down to the river for a drink.

  When they returned, Georgette offered Mr. LaTournay the remaining strawberries. “I fear I have few skills that will be helpful on a farm. I cannot cook or milk a cow, and my sewing skills are merely adequate.”

  Settling back on the blanket, Mr. LaTournay lifted a brow, no doubt surprised by her abrupt comment. “My sister can teach you any household skills you wish to learn.” He popped a berry into his mouth.

  “Your sister lives on the farm?”

  “Francine helps run the farm and estate.” His long fingers fondled Caramel’s ears.

  “She is unmarried?”

  “Francine recently married Jan Voorhees, our foreman; they live nearby on the property. She is my elder by two years. Before leaving home in the spring, I told her of my intent to marry. She will be pleased to have a sister. The main house will be ours alone, shared only with the servants. I hope to travel less often after we are married.”

  Georgette determined to make their home so pleasant he would never wish to leave.

  When General Washington and his retinue arrived, an enthusiastic crowd greeted them. To Georgette’s surprise, a member of the New York Provincial Congress introduced Mr. LaTournay to the officers. Mr. LaTournay was one of few men present tall enough to look General Washington in the eye while gripping his hand. The two men seemed to take each other’s measure, and Georgette recognized reserved approval on both sides. Mr. LaTournay was invited to join the group of dignitaries for
a short reception at the nearby home of Lester Lispenard, a local brewer, but he graciously declined.

  While the New York crowd waited for the parade to begin, Georgette and Mr. LaTournay wandered off a short distance and found a shady tree. Mr. LaTournay again shook out the picnic quilt and laid it upon the grass. Georgette flopped down too quickly to be graceful, dropped her parasol, and leaned her back against the tree trunk. Caramel watched the proceedings from his makeshift bed inside the empty picnic basket. He was a solid little dog, but Mr. LaTournay did not seem to mind carrying him.

  “My father often speaks of your connections and influence, yet I remained ignorant of your true importance to this colony,” Georgette said. Mr. LaTournay’s apparent support for these traitors puzzled her.

  “The importance of any farmer or merchant lies mainly in the commerce he undertakes. Do you mind if I remove my coat?”

  Observing the sweat trickling down his face into his beard, she took pity. “No sir.” She would have liked to remove her shoes. Mr. LaTournay laid his coat on the quilt and ran a finger beneath his cravat. “You may remove that also if you wish,” Georgette said.

  He whipped off the tie and opened his shirt at the neck. “Much better.” He lay back on the quilt, folding his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles.

  Georgette tried not to notice the wet patches on his waistcoat and shirt—or the flat expanse of his stomach. “I do not understand whether New York remains faithful to England or intends to join the rebellion.”

  He squinted at the sky through his lashes. “I wish I could tell you what New York will do, but I cannot read the future. God alone knows what will come.”

  More questions swirled through Georgette’s mind, but she could not find words or courage to phrase them. Caramel snored in the basket. A louder snore informed her that Mr. LaTournay slept. Georgette leaned over to examine him. A pulse beat in his throat, revealed by his open collar. Her hands ached to touch him.

  The flood of passion his proximity stirred had become familiar to Georgette, but this new camaraderie she felt for him took her by surprise. Could a husband be a friend? She enjoyed talking with him, being with him—and not always with romance in view.