by DiAnn Mills
Talbot jumped in. “Which again brings up the question of Georgette. Mrs. Talbot and I plan to board ship as soon as possible. The Lily Fair leaves for England August thirtieth.”
“I told him already,” Lucille inserted.
“It means a precipitate wedding, if you still plan to marry our daughter.”
“Mr. Talbot!” Lucille gasped. “Of course he still wishes to—” Her husband cut her off with a sharp gesture.
LaTournay studied their apprehensive faces. Their inability to return to England on any ship unless he purchased their passage remained unspoken. He disliked rewarding Talbot’s manipulations, and yet … “If Miss Talbot is receptive to the plan, I shall not refuse.”
Talbot’s brow smoothed, and he beamed. “Come, my boy. Sit down and take some coffee. Lucille, pour for him.”
LaTournay took a seat opposite Talbot and sipped sweetened coffee. Talbot was a well-informed man, affable and clever. However, his selfish disregard for others, particularly his wife and daughter, precluded any attachment on LaTournay’s part.
The man fidgeted in his chair. “I favor summoning the parson here and finalizing the issue today. The banks and shipping offices are open many hours yet.”
“Why the haste? Has anyone threatened you?” LaTournay asked. Greatly though he desired to marry Georgette, the suggestion of coercion galled him.
“Nay, but a mob of seamen has thrown stones in the windows of several nearby houses. They attack only those people known to be loyal to the Crown, and nearly everyone knows us.”
“Someone used charcoal to draw a strange black figure above our doorway. It looks like a frog to me, though Frederick claims it is an X,” Lucille added.
“I saw it,” LaTournay said. “Although these mobs intimidate good citizens, I have heard of them harming no one.”
“But—but—the ships!” Lucille sputtered. “At any time the warships could fire upon the city and kill us all. There has been provocation for such an attack many times over. I cannot imagine why Governor Tryon waits!”
“The warships’ captains are well aware that many loyal British subjects still reside in the city, and the New York citizenry still supplies water and food to their crews. Despite the tough talk and posturing, it is highly unlikely that shots will be fired in the foreseeable future, Mrs. Talbot. A burned and gutted New York would be of no use to the British. Anyone can see that Manhattan Island could be taken at any time by a sizable landing force, for how could it be defended? The rebels have no way to prevent such an invasion. England can afford to be patient and wait for events in Boston to run their course.”
“I care not what you say; it is a matter of time.” Talbot leaped to his feet. “I’m off to fetch that parson. Lucille, you prepare the girl, and LaTournay, you know your part of the bargain.”
Lucille put voice to LaTournay’s thoughts. “Mr. Talbot, you truly intend to marry off Georgette this very day?” The mother sounded bereft.
“I do. No sense in delay.”
LaTournay rose to his feet. “I must first speak with Miss Talbot.”
“Fetch the girl, Lucille. Let us aim for four o’clock. That gives us time to finish packing afterward.” Talbot donned his coat as he spoke.
When the front door closed behind him, Lucille and LaTournay exchanged looks. The woman’s cheeks and lips were colorless. “What shall we do?” she whispered.
“Georgette must be informed. Where is she?”
“In the garden, reading, I believe. I should have called her when you first arrived, but Mr. Talbot would not—”
“I shall go to her.” He gave Lucille a pat on the shoulder. She burst into tears as he left the room.
He opened the garden door and stepped outside. The tableau he viewed brought a smile to his face and ease to his heart. Yes, without doubt, he wished to take Georgette Talbot as his wife.
She lay on her belly in the grass, engrossed in a book, her chin propped on one hand. A golden braid trailed along her shoulder and looped over a sleeping Caramel. Once again she had evidently dispensed with hoops, stays, bonnet, and shoes.
“Miss Talbot.” He spoke softly, but she gave a little shriek and rolled to her back, staring up at him over the edge of the book clutched between her hands. Too late she tucked her feet beneath her skirts. Caramel sat up, blinking. The dog yawned, spotted LaTournay, and trotted over to greet him.
“Mr. LaTournay!” She closed the book, laid it on the grass, and sat up. “We—we were not expecting you today.”
“Nevertheless, you have me today.” He approached to offer assistance. She regarded his hands before placing hers within them. He hauled her up and gripped her elbows when she would have stepped away. “I must speak with you upon an urgent matter.”
Her brown eyes studied his face, and she nodded.
“Your father wishes us to marry today instead of waiting until September second. I am willing, but I would not rush you. You do understand that your parents intend to return to England immediately?”
Her attempt to draw breath resulted in several quick sobbing gasps. “Marry to–today?” He watched her eyelids flicker as she stared at the wall behind him. Abruptly, she covered her mouth with one hand and turned away. Her braid hung down her back like a thick rope, its sway reminding him of a horse’s tail.
“Miss Talbot, you doubtless know that your father’s conditions for our marriage included the purchase of their passage home.” He attempted to clear his throat, but the lump remained, splintering his voice. “I want you to know that, if you prefer not to marry me now or ever, I am willing to purchase passage for you as well as for your parents. I desire your safety and happiness above all else.”
Her reply, spoken between her fingers, scarcely reached his ears. “I am ready to make my new life with you, Mr. LaTournay.”
The volatile mixture of joy and guilt felt like an explosion in his heart. “You do not understand what this new life might entail.”
She folded her arms tightly, and he saw the outline of her shoulder blades through the fabric of her gown. Her voice sounded almost sharp. “Yet I do know that I want to share your future, whatever trials it may hold. God will be with us, blessing our love and commitment.”
His chest heaved like a bellows, and his knees turned to jelly. “Love. Do you love me, Miss Talbot? You cannot even call me by my given name.”
She spun around, followed by her swinging braid. Her eyes sparked. “When I commit my love and life to you, it will be for always, Jean-Maurice LaTournay.”
His voice rasped. “So be it. I shall marry you, Georgette, and leave God accountable for the outcome.”
Chapter 9
For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.
EPHESIANS 5:31
I do.” Georgette spoke her vows and felt Mr. LaTournay’s grip on her hand tighten. She cast a glance at his face. He swallowed hard, and his dark eyes glistened. Not once did his attention stray from the Reverend Mowbray’s sermon. His tanned face made his beard and hair seem lighter—or perhaps they were sun-bleached. Whatever he had been doing these past many weeks, he had spent much time out-of-doors.
Georgette wanted to be angry with him for his secrecy. She wanted to be cold and unattainable and make him pay for his desertion. She wanted to dream of her mysterious lover and hope he would rescue her at the last moment. During the last days of Mr. LaTournay’s absence, she had imagined spurning him upon his return. In her mind he groveled at her feet and begged her forgiveness, promising never to look upon another woman if Georgette would take him back.
How could a man be wicked yet appear honorable? Georgette had only to catch sight of him and her vengeful plans faded into oblivion.
At Georgette’s left side, her mother sobbed into a handkerchief. Biddy stood nearby, gaunt and dignified in gray bombazine. Georgette could not see her father on the far side of Mr. LaTournay, though she heard him clear his throat. The Revere
nd Mowbray’s gentle voice belied his long, wrinkled face.
Georgette’s head ached. Sweat dampened her wedding gown. Did Mr. LaTournay even notice her gown? She had hoped his eyes would brighten when she entered the drawing room. To her profound disappointment, he hardly glanced her way.
If only Marianne stood by her side. Marianne understood the heartbreak of loving an undeserving man.
At the minister’s cue, Mr. LaTournay slipped a ruby ring upon her finger. His hands shook. The froth of neck cloth above his waistcoat also trembled. Georgette dared not look higher. He was shaking! The imperturbable Mr. LaTournay quaked like a nervous lapdog.
The minister pronounced them husband and wife. For better or for worse, Georgette was officially Mistress Jean-Maurice Antoine LaTournay. Her husband faced her while the Reverend Mowbray prayed. Mr. LaTournay’s thumbs caressed the backs of her hands, and she heard him draw a shuddering breath.
Wishing to reassure him, she laid her cheek on his knuckles, then pressed their entwined hands to her heart. With all her being, she wanted to care for him and bring him happiness. As soon as the prayer ended, he would read her devotion in her eyes.
But when the minister closed his benediction, Georgette’s father gripped Mr. LaTournay’s arm and pulled him aside. Both men signed and sealed documents. Georgette watched as her new husband placed a wrapped parcel in her father’s outstretched palm. Her father’s eyes held an avaricious gleam.
Her mother tugged at her arm. “Do not embarrass your father, Georgette. His pride is injured enough without you watching this transaction. He would have preferred offering a dowry for you to accepting a bride price.”
Although Georgette suspected the reverse, she obediently looked away. The warmth began to drain from her heart.
“Now that that is over, we’ll have Georgette’s trunk loaded into the carriage.” Her father clapped his son-in-law on the shoulder and winked at Georgette. “Unless you plan to stay here tonight. You two might assist with our travel preparations since you’ll have nothing better to do.”
The more jocular her father became, the colder Mr. LaTournay’s response. “We shall lodge at my boardinghouse.”
The realization that she was leaving her parents’ home, never to return, struck Georgette to the heart. She looked at her mother’s tearstained face, studied her father’s smug expression, and felt like choking. Was this their final parting? And Juliette—would she ever see her sister again? “What about Caramel?” Her question ended on a sob.
Her father stared as if she had lost her senses. “Her dog,” Mr. LaTournay explained. He took Georgette’s clammy hand and squeezed it gently. “You and I shall travel north in a few days by horseback and river. I plan to send my man Noel ahead with our baggage. It will be easier for Caramel to travel with him. Noel is kind; Caramel will like him.”
Georgette felt her jaw quiver. “He will be afraid. He will think I have deserted him.”
“Not for long. Think how pleased he will be when you join him at Haven Farm. It would be best to leave him here overnight. Noel will collect him along with your remaining trunks in the morning.”
“Yes, dear,” her mother added, taking Georgette’s other hand. “Biddy will be packing up your remaining belongings tonight. She will pack everything your pet will need, I am certain. You go ahead and leave everything to me.”
“All this bother about a dog. Dump the beast in the river and have done,” her father huffed. “I must drive the parson home now. Oh.” He paused and pulled a folded note from his waistcoat. “Nearly forgot to give you this. It arrived this morning. From the Grenville girl. Good night, daughter. Be a good wife if you know how and make your husband happy. We shall speak our farewells on the morrow, I’ve no doubt.”
Watching him escort the minister outside, Georgette wondered if her father had ever loved her.
The carriage driver stood in the hall just outside the parlor. “You got a trunk I should carry out?” He ducked his head in a bow and twisted his hat between his hands. His widening eyes took in Georgette’s gown.
“The one in the hallway at the head of the stairs,” her mother said.
Mr. LaTournay headed upstairs, and the driver stumped after him. “God’s blessings on you and your new missus,” Georgette overheard the burly man say. “’Pears to me like you done married an angel.”
Her mother closed the parlor door and embraced her. “Darling, I shall miss you so! I never wanted it to be this way. Juliette had a lovely wedding with many guests, but this!” Fresh sobs wracked her frame.
“It was not your doing, Mummy. I know you wanted a fancy wedding for me, but the husband matters far more than the ceremony. I do love my husband, and I believe we shall be happy together.”
She broke the seal, unfolded her note, and read quickly.
Dearest Gigi,
My conscience will give me no rest since I visited you the other day. You must be told. Both my mother and I have seen Mr. LaTournay aboard this ship in the company of Lady Forester, once late at night, and never when her husband was near. Please do not hate me. My heart breaks for you as yours does for me.
Marianne
Georgette folded the note.
“What is wrong, dearest? Is Marianne unwell?”
Georgette handed her the letter. She scanned the page and sighed. “Alas, I had hoped you would not hear of this so soon.”
Georgette gaped. “You knew? You knew and did not tell me?”
Her mother would not meet her gaze. “I feared you would refuse to marry him. You know how essential it is for your father and me to return to England, Georgette. Any further delay would ruin us. You must learn to tolerate men and their weaknesses, my dear. Such things are part of life. But you will find compensation if you seek it.” She dabbed her tears away with a soggy handkerchief. “I always have.”
Regaining control, she wagged a finger in Georgette’s face. “Marriage is for babies and security. Love is another thing altogether.”
Georgette wandered to the front window and stared out at the street. Her chest heaved in the effort to maintain control. Waves of heat rose from the cobblestones. Muggy air blanketed the city—it seemed worlds away from a crisp spring night, sparkling stars, and romance. Right there, beneath that streetlamp, the Frog had waited, looking up at her window. His avowal of undying love rang in her memory. She had sent him away forever. Even if by chance her mysterious hero were now to appear, he would be too late to rescue her.
LaTournay stared blankly at passing buildings and trees as the hired carriage rolled along the street. Not until he spoke them aloud had the full meaning of his wedding vows struck home. Until death do us part. Would he have the chance to grow old with Georgette? Would ever the day come when she knew him fully and loved him without measure? Or would his entire life be a lie, a charade, lived in craven fear of her ultimate rejection?
Georgette deserved better.
He turned to regard his wife’s profile and noted her pallor. “Georgette, are you well?”
She gave him a weak smile, and regret twisted in his gut. Her wedding day, yet she looked frightened and ill. “My head aches, likely due to the heat,” she said. “When did you say we shall travel north?”
“If you are well enough, I had thought to leave Saturday morning. My business in town is complete.” He forced his voice to remain calm and sympathetic. “If you wish, you might rest your head upon my shoulder.”
Eyes closed, she relaxed against his shoulder. Despite his concern for her health, LaTournay felt excitement stir within him. For weeks and months, he had denied himself the pleasure of her embrace—had denied even the thought of her kisses. Duties had kept his mind and body occupied, and determination kept his imagination from straying into forbidden grounds.
Would she welcome his attentions?
His valet, Noel Dimieux, greeted them at the door to LaTournay’s apartments. A smile nearly split the man’s wrinkled brown face. Georgette acknowledged the introduction and thanked N
oel for his congratulations. LaTournay ushered his wife into the sweltering sitting room. The windows stood wide but caught no ocean breezes. Moisture beaded on Georgette’s pallid face and dampened the ringlets at her temples. Her hands trembled as she attempted to untie her bonnet strings.
“If you want to remove that gown, the bedchamber is beyond that door,” LaTournay said before realizing how she might misunderstand. He tugged at his tightening collar. “Your trunk is there. If you like, I shall request to have a bath brought up.”
Georgette nodded. “A bath would be nice.”
While Georgette bathed, LaTournay paced the sitting room, flopped into a chair, and rose to pace again.
Noel laid a light supper, then prepared to withdraw. He spoke in French. “A message left for you not yet an hour past, monsieur.” He handed over a twisted paper.
With muttered thanks in the same language, LaTournay frowned as he untwisted the note. Its contents darkened his frown. “Folie.” Crushing it in one hand, he tossed it upon the hearth.
He sensed Noel’s regard but refused to acknowledge the silent inquiry. “That will be all, Noel.”
“Oui, monsieur. God bless you and Madame LaTournay.”
“What do you think of my wife?”
“Who could not approve such a fine woman, monsieur? Très belle. I now understand your determination to wed the lady.” Noel failed to conceal a fatherly smile. “Be patient with her, monsieur. I believe she suffers from emotional exhaustion—a common malady of new brides.”
“Ah.” The unsolicited advice startled him, coming from reticent Noel. “Merci.”
“I shall prepare your people at home for madam’s arrival,” Noel promised with a toothy grin. “And you may assure madam that I will attend her dog as if it were my own. I shall enjoy meeting the animal again. God’s richest blessings on your marriage, monsieur.”
For nearly an hour after Noel’s departure, LaTournay read the newspaper, stared out the window, or paced. More than once he started to knock upon Georgette’s chamber door, then reconsidered. At last he could wait no longer. “Georgette?”