Love’s Betrayal

by DiAnn Mills

  Politics never concerned her in the past, yet recently she found the subject intriguing, no doubt due to Mr. LaTournay’s influence. He seemed to hold himself aloof, as a dispassionate observer above the fray of political affairs.

  Georgette felt confidence in his leadership. Although, now that she thought of it, she had no clear idea in which direction he intended to lead. Of course, Mr. LaTournay would never participate in treasonous acts. Of that much she felt certain. Perhaps his intent today was to become aware of the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses through observation.

  Noticing something, she peered closer. On the shaved skin at one side of his neck, what appeared to be a scar ran diagonally toward his chin, disappearing into the thick beard. The skin around it was slightly puckered. How had he acquired such a wound? Georgette would have liked to part his beard and see how far the scar extended. The thought of him sustaining painful injury caused her to frown.

  Had they not been within easy sight of dozens of people, she might have been tempted to kiss him. How would he react? Her imaginings brought a wave of heat to her face.

  Folding her arms over her middle, Georgette lay back against the tree and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, a warm hand cupped her cheek. “Wake up, Georgette. The parade is about to begin.”

  She stirred and sat up abruptly. “What time is it?”

  “An hour has passed while we dozed. Several additional militia companies have arrived.” Mr. LaTournay was already wearing his coat and cravat, looking almost as neat and composed as ever. Caramel rambled about amid nearby shrubs, sniffing fascinating scents.

  Georgette was still blinking sleepily when Mr. LaTournay took her hands and pulled her to her feet. She helped him fold the quilt and stash it into the basket. “Ready?” he asked as soon as she had settled her parasol over one shoulder. He plopped Caramel into the basket atop the quilt, and this time, instead of offering his arm, he reached out a hand. Despite her sweaty palms, Georgette clasped his hand and followed him back to the Lispenard mansion.

  When they arrived, the parade was forming ranks. Mr. LaTournay gave Georgette a running commentary as it passed them. After the militia companies came the New York dignitaries, followed by the three Continental generals and their staffs. An honorary escort of Philadelphia’s light horse came next, and the noisy crowd of New Yorkers fell in behind. Georgette found herself cheering for General Washington and the proud men in uniform, although she could not have told why. Perhaps the quiet dignity of Washington influenced her emotions—he was an awe-inspiring figure upon his prancing horse. And Mr. LaTournay seemed to respect him.

  They followed the parade south along the riverbank into town, back to the common, and down Broadway. More people gathered to cheer as the parade passed. Georgette gripped Mr. LaTournay’s hand, waving her folded parasol in the air. “I shall be quite hoarse and sunburned by the end of the day,” she confessed laughingly. “The governor, whenever he arrives, will receive no cheering from me, I sadly fear.”

  The day was still warm, although evening approached. Long shadows of trees and buildings striped the road. Disheveled, sweaty, and happy, Georgette shouted to make herself heard. “This is like a holiday!”

  Mr. LaTournay squeezed her hand and smiled. Pressed by people on all sides, Georgette nevertheless felt an emotional connection with him as though they were alone. The crowds provided opportunity to jostle against him without appearing obviously brazen.

  “LaTournay!” A man elbowed his way through the throngs, waving and hollering. “What are you doing in this mélange?”

  Chapter 7

  The LORD lifteth up the meek: he casteth the wicked down to the ground.

  PSALM 147:6

  Les Pringle gripped Mr. LaTournay and Georgette each by the shoulder and halted them in the middle of the boulevard. “Miss Grenville is waiting just over there. She spotted Miss Talbot’s parasol, though I didn’t believe her at first. Come out of this farcical parade and join us! The governor delayed his arrival out of pure politeness; he lands at eight o’clock. We’ve plenty of time to get over to the slip and greet him.”

  People bumped Georgette in passing, and one man shouted for them to stop blocking the way. Still, she was surprised when Mr. LaTournay followed Mr. Pringle’s orders and shepherded her to the east side of the road.

  Marianne greeted her with a hug. “Gigi! We looked for you two all over town and began to think you decided not to come. You’re wearing your green sprig—I adore that gown!” She greeted Mr. LaTournay, saw the dog in his basket and wrinkled her nose in distaste, but made no comment. “What happened to you two? However did you get caught up in that pandemonium? We saw those uniformed men posing as officers. Is it not disgraceful? Mr. Pringle and I decided they are all decidedly gauche—especially the gaunt fellow with the pack of dogs following his horse.”

  “That would be General Charles Lee, late of His Majesty’s army,” Mr. LaTournay said.

  Mr. Pringle spat on the ground. “His Majesty is well rid of the scoundrel.”

  “I think General Washington is a magnificent man,” Georgette said. “I do not say that I think he is behaving wisely, but—”

  “General? He is naught but Mr. Washington, and never forget it,” Mr. Pringle interrupted. “Come to Fraunces’ Tavern with us for supper and a drink.” He gripped each of the young women by the arm. “Miss Grenville’s parents have given their permission. I cannot imagine Miss Talbot’s parents objecting.”

  Although Mr. Pringle maintained eye contact with Marianne, Georgette felt his thumb caressing her wrist. She pulled out of his grasp and linked hands with Mr. LaTournay again, gripping his arm for extra protection. Had her fiancé noticed? His bland expression told her nothing.

  Mr. LaTournay bent to speak into her ear. “Washington’s parade is nearly over anyway. Are you hungry?”

  “Not hungry, but very thirsty,” she admitted. “We must take Caramel home.” Georgette felt somewhat guilty about her disinterest in Marianne’s company, but she would have preferred to spend the remainder of the day alone with Mr. LaTournay.

  He turned to the others. “We shall join you. Thank you for the invitation. First, if you will pardon the delay, I need to leave this basket at my boardinghouse. We shall take the dog home after our meal.”

  Mr. LaTournay’s boardinghouse was located on Broadway near Trinity Church. Georgette followed Mr. Pringle and Marianne into the parlor and seated herself on a worn chair. Caramel curled up on her lap. Georgette wondered why a man of LaTournay’s wealth and reputation would choose this particular boardinghouse. It seemed clean and genteel but far from luxurious. The parlor rug showed evidence of wear.

  Mr. Pringle and Marianne conversed in low tones across the room, ignoring her. Marianne seemed to lose her good sense and manners in that man’s presence.

  The landlady popped in and straightened a vase of flowers, all the while studying Mr. LaTournay’s guests. “He’s never brought people here before,” she said to Georgette as if excusing her curiosity. “I always wondered if he had any friends besides his servant. He seems such a good man. ’Tis a pleasure to know he’s found a fine lady to wife.”

  When Mr. LaTournay reappeared, Georgette felt certain he—in record time—had washed up and changed clothing. He smelled fresh; she smelled like a dustrag.

  He took Caramel from her and tucked the dog under one arm. She looked up at him. “You have carried him and that basket much of the day; your arms must ache.”

  A smile curled the corners of his mustache. “He weighs no more than fifteen pounds.” He started to say more but appeared to reconsider. “Shall we go?”

  During their light supper at the tavern, Georgette caught herself yawning. Her dog slept under the table, too tired even for begging. Feeling Mr. LaTournay’s gaze, she looked up and smiled. “An excess of sun and exercise has fatigued both Caramel and me, I fear.”

  “You will have need of a wrap before the evening ends,” he said. His warm regard gave her the d
esire to rest her head on his shoulder.

  “Should have covered up better earlier today,” Mr. Pringle remarked. He reached across the table and pressed three fingers into her skin. “Look at that—she is sunburned. What a pity.”

  Georgette jerked her arm away. Mr. Pringle’s blue eyes mocked her.

  “Georgette has flawless skin. A touch of pink won’t hurt this once,” Marianne said. “I hope it doesn’t hurt, Gigi, but at least you don’t freckle.”

  Georgette attempted to smile, inwardly seething. If that man touched her once more, she would kick him in the shin.

  When they reached the Talbots’ town house, Mr. Pringle joined Mr. LaTournay in the parlor while Marianne followed Georgette upstairs. Caramel hopped upon the bed and curled into a ball.

  Georgette dropped her bonnet beside him. “Ugh, my gown is full of road dust.” She gave her skirts a shake. “And neither Biddy nor Agnes is here today.”

  “I shall be pleased to brush it for you.” Marianne unbuttoned Georgette’s gown and helped her climb out of its folds. “You must have walked far today to get this dusty.” She waved one hand before her face as if to dispel a cloud.

  “We walked up the shore to meet the generals. You are a dear to do this for me. We shall probably meet my parents at the landing. They admire Governor Tryon.” Georgette pulled out her hairpins and tried to brush dust from her hair.

  “So do mine.” Marianne paused with the clothes brush poised over Georgette’s gown. “Gigi, are you certain Mr. LaTournay is a loyal subject of the king? At times he says things that make me uncomfortable.”

  Coming from Marianne, the implication annoyed Georgette. “Mr. LaTournay studies all sides of an issue before making a decision. He says we should listen and learn from men wiser than ourselves. He is admired throughout the province, Marianne.” She almost told her friend that he had been introduced to General Washington but reconsidered. Marianne would not understand the tacit honor.

  “I am pleased to see how fond you have become of Mr. LaTournay, dear Gigi, but I do wish you would be more discreet. You cannot know how it affects a man to have a woman touch him. Holding his hand may mean nothing to you, but that contact can mean unimaginable temptation to a gentleman, my mother says.”

  “If this is true, try keeping an eye on that man of yours,” Georgette growled around the hairpin she held between her teeth.

  A crease formed between Marianne’s brows while she vigorously brushed at the gown. “Be patient with Mr. Pringle, and give the Lord time to work.”

  “You do not plan to marry him, I trust.” Georgette stopped brushing her hair long enough to study her friend’s face. “He is not good enough for you.”

  Marianne smiled. “You need not worry, Gigi, although you are sweet to care. I could never marry a man who did not love my Lord Jesus. Mr. Pringle knows this.”

  “He is insincere.”

  “He is a flirt,” Marianne said. To Georgette’s surprise, her friend’s expression revealed indulgent amusement. “He tells me he originally sought me out because he heard that my father was wealthy. You see, his family business in Boston has come into hard times. But now Mr. Pringle has worked everything out with my father, who bought into the Pringle shipping business as a partner. Papa says he would rather be business partners with his future son-in-law than with anyone else.”

  Georgette felt stunned. “Your father has taken partnership in a failing business? Was that wise?”

  “They have signed a contract with the army using Pringle ships and warehouses, you see. Papa knows a good business transaction when he sees one. Besides, he recognizes Mr. Pringle’s skill with numbers and money. Mr. Pringle is smart and hardworking. He is dedicated to England and has nothing good to say about these traitors who are trying to destroy the empire. His current goal is to catch an informant they call the Frog, an infamous traitor they have reason to believe makes this city his center of operation.”

  “The Frog? What a ludicrous title!” Georgette’s hair crackled with each stroke of the brush.

  “Mr. Pringle says he is slippery and always one jump ahead,” Marianne said with a smile. “I do not know who first thought up the epithet, but it seems to suit this slimy traitor. He wears a dark cloak and never shows his face. Some say he is an insane French soldier who believes he is still fighting the last war. Whatever and whoever he is, Mr. Pringle says he must be stopped.”

  Georgette’s arm paused in midair. “Oh?”

  “Mr. Pringle and two other men have set a trap to catch the Frog. Something to do with ammunition stores up in White Plains. For Mr. Pringle’s sake, I pray they are successful. How he hates the rebels! Did you see his eyes flash at the mere mention of Washington? And, oh Gigi, the truth is I love him. He makes me feel special and beautiful. When I look into his wondrous blue eyes, nothing else in the world matters at all.”

  “I would not have thought he could appreciate you, dear Marianne.” Georgette’s arm felt limp. She let it drop to her side.

  “It is amazing, the changes God can make in a man’s heart— or a woman’s,” Marianne said. “I shall be happy with my reformed scoundrel, Gigi. I know his faults and love him dearly in spite of them.”

  Marianne chattered about Lester Pringle’s virtues while Georgette gave herself a quick sponge bath behind a screen. Out of Marianne’s sight, Georgette allowed her thoughts to wander. Surely this Frog could not be her mysterious admirer. Many men wore hooded cloaks; the coincidence was too unlikely.

  Marianne helped her climb back into her gown, then fluffed its skirts. Georgette pinned up her own hair. “I hope you are right about Mr. Pringle, dear Marianne,” she said softly. “I would hate to see you trapped in an unhappy marriage—you, the sweetest and most unselfish of all people!”

  The men rose when their two young women entered the parlor. “Thank you for waiting.” Georgette handed a silk shawl to Mr. LaTournay and turned for him to drape it over her shoulders. “I hope we are not too late for the governor’s parade.”

  Mr. LaTournay glanced at the mantel clock. “We should arrive in time. It is just down the street.”

  Governor Tryon, a fine-looking man of military bearing, climbed the slip’s steps to the foot of Broad Street and glanced around at the respectable crowd waiting to greet him. With the rest of the Loyalist crowd, Marianne and Mr. Pringle put gusto into their hurrahs. Georgette cheered hoarsely once, then fell silent, studying the people around her. Catching sight of her parents, she waved. Her mother waved back, looking more like a young girl than a matron of forty-two. Her father, on the other hand, had aged during recent months.

  A salty evening breeze tugged at Georgette’s bonnet. She gripped her shawl at her throat and shivered. Recalling Marianne’s observation about Mr. LaTournay, she studied his face while the governor briefly addressed the crowd. He had not cheered for Tryon, but she could not recall hearing him cheer for the generals either. Though he appeared to listen to the governor’s speech, his gaze roved constantly. He seemed troubled.

  Had Mr. Pringle told him about the Frog?

  What would she do if Mr. Pringle captured her hero? Worse yet, what if Mr. LaTournay became involved in the pursuit? How unthinkable that her dashing admirer should be hanged or shot as a spy!

  Governor Tryon and his party headed up Broad Street. Georgette turned to Mr. LaTournay. “The governor looks unhappy.”

  Before Mr. LaTournay could reply, Mr. Pringle rounded upon her. “And how would you feel, knowing that your city had just finished giving your opposition a welcoming parade? Did you expect him to look gratified that New York is under the control of a pack of scoundrels? He will soon set things right and punish that rabble the way he put down the Regulators when he was governor of North Carolina. You two took a risk, being seen with that mob today.”

  “I think not.” Mr. LaTournay’s voice sounded flat. “I saw Loyalist leaders in the throng.”

  Mr. Pringle’s blue eyes glittered. “Did you hear the news about the battle in Bosto
n? His Majesty’s troops gave that rabble militia a good thrashing and chased them off Charlestown Neck. Boston is ours again. Now Pringle Shipping can resume business and life will return to normal.”

  “I hope your business improves,” Mr. LaTournay said.

  “I am certain Mr. Grenville will also be pleased to hear the news,” Georgette remarked, “since he is now a partner in your family firm. Is it true that—?”

  But Mr. Pringle had already turned aside to address Marianne. Embarrassed, Georgette fell silent.

  “Is what true?” Mr. LaTournay asked quietly.

  “Marianne said something about Pringle Shipping signing a contract with the army. If that is true, I imagine Mr. Pringle’s financial worries must now be at an end.”

  Mr. LaTournay looked thoughtful.

  “Has he told you about the Frog?” she asked.

  He focused on her face, his brow furrowed. “I believe I misunderstood. Please repeat your question.”

  “Has Mr. Pringle told you about the spy he intends to catch? I thought you might know about this man they call the Frog. Marianne told me of plans to trap him.”

  Mr. Pringle and Marianne started to join the crowd trailing the governor’s retinue, then stopped and looked back. “Are you two coming?” Marianne asked.

  “To be honest, since we are so near my house, I thought perhaps I would forgo this parade,” Georgette said. “Please enjoy it without me.” Her feet ached now even when she stood still.

  “But I told my mother you and Mr. LaTournay would be with us this evening,” Marianne said. “It is unseemly for me to be out alone at night with a gentleman. Did any of you happen to see my parents pass us?”

  Georgette thought she saw Mr. Pringle roll his eyes, but a moment later, he spoke reassuringly. “You will be safe with me, dearest. I am well able to protect you, if need be.”