Love’s Betrayal

by DiAnn Mills

  “It does seem an ineffective measure—coerced fealty. You say you did swear it once?”

  “Only to remove suspicion from myself. An informant is useless when he is suspected.”

  The men turned east on Crown Street. A blast of winter wind struck, slicing through layers of clothing. LaTournay drew his cloak together at the neck and hunched his shoulders. “So you still spy for the army?” he asked as they approached the docks.

  “I work for Governor Tryon now. Since he moved his office aboard the Duchess of Gordon, he needs eyes and ears in town. I move with the stealth and quickness of a panther. That is my code name—the Panther.”

  “Selecting one’s own alias offers distinct advantages.” LaTournay dragged one hand down over his mouth and beard in an effort to keep a straight face.

  Diverse structures lined the street, from rickety shops surrounded by heaps of refuse to brick town houses with manicured gardens. The scent of rotting fish blended with wood smoke and sea salt. Deep grunts and strident squeals divulged the presence of nocturnal garbage looters. LaTournay hoped the beasts were of a peaceable nature. Swine were his least favorite of God’s creation.

  “Why did Governor Tryon move to a ship?” he asked.

  “He caught wind of a plot to kidnap him,” Pringle replied. “Although the Provincial Congress swears it intended no such scheme, who can place credence in the assurances of traitors?”

  “Who, indeed?”

  Pringle stopped him suddenly. “We are followed. Come.” He ducked behind the short hedge lining a town house’s garden.

  LaTournay crouched beside his friend. “Who could it be, do you think? An associator?” He and Pringle were being shadowed, LaTournay knew, but the real trackers would not so carelessly betray their presence.

  Pringle made a hacking motion to halt the questions. Hooves clacked on the cobblestones, and two hogs trotted past, ears flopping.

  Pringle let out his breath as the two men stood upright. “False alarm this time. LaTournay, you disappoint me. You must learn to practice caution if you’re to survive in this city more than a day. I depend upon you to help organize our Tories into troops that should impress even Howe. You may know little about military matters, but your voice and demeanor will inspire confidence, which is a trait sadly lacking at present.”

  LaTournay followed Pringle back to the walkway. “I, organize troops? Pringle, you flatter me.”

  “I have something to show you. Come.”

  “I cannot become involved.”

  Pringle shook his head. “You think so now, but not when you have seen and heard all.”

  Gripping his friend’s arm, LaTournay tugged him to a halt. “Listen. My wife awaits my return. I cannot stay out long. What is so urgent that you drag me from my bed into the frigid night?”

  “Your sad fate motivates me. I have a long and tragic tale to relate. Will you not come with me to Queens? A boat awaits us at the landing.”

  LaTournay paused before answering. “Not tonight. My plans take me there tomorrow. To Grenville’s estate in Queens County, where my wife’s relations bide until our coming.”

  Pringle laughed aloud. “But of course! Better still to reveal all with the wench present. Your plan could scarcely be improved upon. Very well. I shall meet you there.” Exuberant as ever, he prepared to bound away.

  LaTournay caught his arm again. “Do not refer to my wife in disrespectful terms. Are you married?”

  “Married?”

  “To Miss Grenville. I had understood that nuptials were forthcoming.”

  Pringle laughed. “Never if I can help it.”

  “Have you yet apprehended the Toad?”

  A pause. “I assume you speak of the spy I call the Frog.”

  “Frog, toad, it matters little.” LaTournay waved it off.

  “We have not apprehended him as yet, but I expect to shortly. We shall soon have the proper gig with which to snare frogs. I anticipate skewering this particular animal and frying its legs in butter.”

  “I pity the unwary creature you capture, Pringle. Are you not taking this matter too personally? With what ‘gig’ do you expect to entrap this frog?”

  “That you shall discover on the morrow, my friend—to your sorrow, I fear.” Pringle’s laugh held little mirth. “I am a poet, you see, as well as a prophet. We shall lure this cuckolding frog from out of his concealing fog.”

  Georgette stiffened when the chamber door creaked open. She gripped her bedclothes beneath her chin.

  “It is I; never fear.”

  At the sound of her husband’s voice, she felt as limp as overcooked cabbage. “Where have you been?”

  “Let me join you before I answer that question.” Sounds of rustling fabric followed. His silhouette passed the window moments before he climbed into bed beside her.

  “Ooh!” she gasped as his icy arms and legs pressed against hers. His entire body shivered. She let him pull her close and soak in her warmth. “Now tell me.”

  “Pringle wished to take me to Long Island.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I explained our plan to travel there tomorrow.”

  “I assume he found that plan satisfactory.” Georgette rubbed her husband’s frozen forearms. “So he dragged you out into the cold night for no good reason. I do not comprehend your continuing friendship with that man, Jean-Maurice. He cannot be a good influence. Do you wish to return to your old lifestyle?” The question that had plagued her for days popped out, taking her by surprise.

  “My old lifestyle?”

  “The immoral lifestyle of an unmarried man. I am well aware of your reputation. My mother says a woman should never speak of such things or even acknowledge awareness of her husband’s foibles, but I cannot imagine practicing deceit on that scale.”

  “On what scale can you imagine practicing deceit?”

  “None whatever! A husband and wife should be honest with one another.” She sat up and turned to confront him, although darkness negated the effect of her stare. “Do you wish to be unfaithful to me?”

  He gave an incredulous huff. “You can even ask this? Georgette, I desire no woman but you, ever.” Anger tinged his voice.

  She dared not yet relax in relief. “I find it necessary to ask for two reasons. One, because of your past indiscretions. Two, because I know that you hide much of your heart and mind from me.”

  “I hide none of my heart from you. I love you. I have never loved another woman. For reasons I cannot reveal, I allowed people to believe that Lady Forester and I were romantically linked. The fabrication was hers; I simply neglected to repudiate it, and people chose to believe the lie. Tales of my liaisons with additional women are entirely fictitious. Others of God’s commandments I confess I have broken, but the seventh remains sacrosanct.”

  “Is this true?”

  “Ask me again in daylight if you doubt. I can no longer maintain the charade before my wife, come what may.”

  He sounded defiant. Something about the confession seemed odd, but Georgette was too tired to ponder the matter. “I believe you. Oh Jean-Maurice, I love you so much! It hurt terribly to think that you would ever tire of me and seek another woman. My mother told me to expect it.”

  “Your mother does not know me.” He tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her down. Georgette’s tears dampened his nightshirt as she clung to him. “Are you crying?” he asked.

  “Because I am happy,” she confessed. He stroked her head, dislodging her nightcap. She felt a deep sigh expand his chest.

  Snow dusted the gloves holding the reins—Georgette could not think of those numb hands as hers. The roached mane of her roan horse held an extra frost, though the snow melted on contact with the beast’s sweating shoulders. To her befuddled brain, the animal appeared to breathe like a dragon—twin jets of smoke emerged from its nostrils.

  Georgette ached in every bone and muscle. A sleepless night followed by a day of riding, all coming at the end of a most uncomfortable journey
—she could hardly remain upright in the sidesaddle.

  “Not long now,” Jean-Maurice encouraged her.

  “How many times have you visited Grenville Grange?” she asked, nudging her horse alongside her husband’s.

  “Once or twice. Beautiful countryside here.” He scanned the rolling farmland. “Pleasant villages, scenic vistas.”

  Georgette squinted at her surroundings. Even with its frosted, winter-bare trees and fields, the island held a lush beauty. “I like our home better. I hope my father is well enough to travel, for I wish to remain not a day longer than necessary. How I long for our cozy fireside and snug featherbeds!” The scarf she had wrapped around her nose and mouth felt stiff with the frozen condensation of her breath.

  Jean-Maurice reached across to squeeze her hand. The pressure hurt, but at least she knew her extremities were still alive. “I, too.” He winked at her, and his eyes crinkled above his knitted muffler.

  Grenville Grange sat back from the main road, surrounded by a sweep of snowy turf. Towering trees framed its black, gabled roofline. Multiple outbuildings indicated Grenville’s prosperity.

  The powdery snow had not yet accumulated on the circular drive. Mr. LaTournay tied his horse to a ring before lifting Georgette from the sidesaddle. Her right leg gave way as soon as it touched the ground. “I cannot bear weight on it,” she groaned, clutching her husband’s forearm.

  “The feeling will soon return.” He walked her slowly in a circle. The skirts of her riding habit swept frost from the lawn.

  Two young black men approached to take the horses. When Mr. LaTournay thanked them, they gave him wary looks of surprise and said nothing.

  “Slaves,” he said flatly. “And Grenville claims to be a Christian.”

  While Georgette’s thoughts flurried, a door clicked open behind them. “Gigi! Is it really you?”

  Turning, Georgette laughed. “I wish I could say yes, but at the moment I am uncertain even of my own identity.”

  “Mr. Pringle told us you were coming—he returned this morning—but Papa thought this weather would delay your arrival. I imagine the ferry ride was miserable.” Marianne picked up her skirts and stepped over muddy ruts to greet her friend. After bestowing a kiss upon Georgette’s cheek, she stood back to look her up and down. “Come in and warm yourselves. It is also good to see you again, Mr. LaTournay.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Grenville.” He bowed.

  “Your parents will be delighted to see you, Gigi. Your father is still ailing, but his color is better and his hair begins to grow back.” Marianne gripped Georgette’s hand and led her inside. Mr. LaTournay followed.

  “A servant is bringing our things, although we do not expect to remain long,” Georgette said. “We must hurry home, for the Hudson will soon be impossible to navigate.”

  Marianne said nothing, but her expression gave Georgette an uneasy twinge. She escorted them into a large sitting room with a roaring fire upon the hearth. Three shawl-wrapped figures huddled in chairs around the hearth. “Mother? Mr. and Mrs. Talbot? Gigi and Mr. LaTournay are here.”

  Georgette’s mother dropped her knitting and leaped up to greet her. Georgette clung to her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mummy, I thought never to see you again!”

  “Darling girl, you look wonderful! So rosy and elegant. You are happy?”

  “I could not be more so,” Georgette said. “Mr. LaTournay is good to me, and our home is lovely. We plan to take you there. Papa should recover quickly in the fresh country air.” She cast an apprehensive glance at her father, who had not yet lifted his gaze from the fire.

  “And dear Mr. LaTournay.” Her mother extended a hand to her son-in-law and accepted his dutiful kiss.

  “Welcome to our home, Georgette.” Marianne’s mother spoke stiffly. “Welcome, Mr. LaTournay,” she added with more warmth. “I shall retire at present to give you privacy, but we shall meet at dinner. Would you like chocolate brought to your chambers?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Grenville. We are eternally indebted for your provision of a haven for my parents during their time of need.” Georgette took the woman’s offered hand and curtsied. Her legs cramped, but she managed to rise without grimacing. Mrs. Grenville swept from the room, chin held high.

  “Let me show you to your chambers so you can freshen up.” Marianne sounded too bright and cheery.

  “Hello, Father,” Georgette said. “I hope you are feeling better.”

  Her father gave her a cursory glance and focused on her husband. “You heard what they did to me?” He described his tormentors in profane terms. The three ladies exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  “We were deeply disturbed to hear of it,” Mr. LaTournay said. “Only the lowest individuals would perpetrate such abuse upon their fellow man. No excuse can be tendered for this dishonorable offense. If you please, I shall join you here by the fire so that you may relate details of the experience without further distressing the ladies.”

  “Come then.” Her father indicated an empty chair.

  Mr. LaTournay first took Georgette’s elbow and bent to speak quietly. “Go ahead; enjoy your time with Marianne. Your father needs to vent his outrage to someone other than ladies.”

  Although her father’s rebuff hurt, Georgette tried to feel sympathy. “He has endured great pain and indignity,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  A faint smile softened his expression, and he gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

  Marianne chattered as she led the way up two flights of stairs. “I am sorry we have only third-floor chambers left for you and Mr. LaTournay, but your parents occupy our best guest rooms. You have windows overlooking our little valley, and the rooms should be warm, since I ordered Trixie to light fires in them this morning.”

  “I am certain we shall be comfortable. I cannot begin to express my gratitude to your family, Marianne. What would my parents have done without your care?” Georgette’s legs wobbled as she neared the third-floor landing. “Exactly how long have they been here?”

  “Papa found them in late October. Their ship put them off and sailed to Jamaica.”

  “Without refunding their passage. Is that not criminal? Can we not report this to the shipping company and receive their refund?”

  Marianne pushed open a door near the end of the upper hallway. “Here is your chamber. Mr. LaTournay’s is adjoining.” She stepped inside before responding to Georgette’s question. “Gigi, your father says they did not refund the passage, but your mother says otherwise. They lived on the money until my father found them. They might have purchased passage on another ship. …”

  “Except that my father gambled much of it away first, I imagine.” Georgette completed the sentence with a sigh. “This is a fine room.” She smoothed the counterpane on a large four-poster bed.

  “Gigi, are you happily married? Please tell me the truth.” Marianne looked grave. “Mr. Pringle has told me terrible things. …”

  “I am content, Marianne. My husband is good to me, and we love each other. We have our disagreements, naturally, and there is much I still must learn about him, but on the whole I would say we are well matched. What can Mr. Pringle have said that is so terrible?” Georgette untied her bonnet and dropped it upon the bed. Until her trunk arrived, she would have to remain in her riding habit.

  “I am thankful to hear of your contentment,” Marianne said. She strolled about the small room, tugging at the curtain, poking the fire, straightening a candlestick. “Ah, here is Trixie with your chocolate.” Marianne relieved the slave woman of the tray. “You may go.”

  Trixie bowed her turbaned head and slipped into the hall. Georgette could not help comparing her with effervescent Yvonne.

  Marianne poured a cup of the steaming beverage. “Do you take sugar?”

  “Two spoonfuls, please. When is your wedding date?” Georgette asked as she accepted the cup, cradling its warmth in her hands.

  “We have set no date. I am uncertain the wedding will ever take place, Gig
i. Mr. Pringle is busy with prepar—” She broke off, gave Georgette a nervous glance, and continued. “He is so busy these days with business that we never speak of love.” Her blue eyes held deep sadness.

  “I am sorry.” Georgette did not know what to say.

  Marianne hurried to the door. “Dinner is served at six; we dine early in the country.” She paused. “Oh Gigi, had I not promised secrecy, I would warn you of what is to come. Your father is so angry—yet I am certain it cannot be true. No, do not importune me to tell you, for I cannot. Pray for wisdom and courage, my dearest Gigi. I shall be praying for you.”

  She slipped into the hallway, leaving Georgette to wrack her brain for an explanation.

  Les Pringle bounded in during the meat course, apologizing profusely as he seated himself at the table. He had not even bothered to change out of his riding clothes. “An eventful, auspicious day. Good evening to you all. Ah, Mrs. LaTournay.”

  He rose from his seat again and approached Georgette to bow. “Welcome to Grenville Grange. As you see, we have given your worthy parents the best of care. I had not the pleasure of congratulating you upon your marriage before Mr. LaTournay swept you off north. Allow me now to express my sincere wish that your future brings the amount of happiness you deserve.” He kissed her hand with moist lips. The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice disturbed Georgette.

  When Pringle returned to his seat, Georgette glanced across the table at her husband. Mr. LaTournay looked as baffled as she felt. Forks and knives rattled against porcelain dishes. Mr. Grenville sent the veal back to the kitchen, complaining that it was overcooked. The pungent aromas of heavily spiced mutton and broiled oysters competed for precedence. Georgette picked at her vegetables, longing for the moment she and her husband could retire for the night. A wave of homesickness struck her.