Captured by Love

by Jody Hedlund

  Lavinia didn’t seem disturbed by the fact that Pierre had wrapped his fingers around hers. In fact, her features softened as if with pity. Did she think Pierre was being kind to her out of sympathy?

  Angelique glanced up at Pierre, to the chiseled angle of his jaw, to the layer of scruff that gave him a rugged look. Was Pierre being sweet to her because he felt sorry for her? Maybe he’d felt pity for her when she was a scrawny little girl, but he didn’t feel that way anymore, did he?

  “I’m very sorry my illness postponed your lessons,” Lavinia said as she eyed her tattered and dirty skirt. “Perhaps now that I’m on my way to recovery, I can convince my daddy to let me begin my charitable work again.”

  Angelique hadn’t minded missing the lessons. Yet maybe she should try to improve herself, especially before Pierre left the island. Then he would leave with a different picture of her in his mind. Maybe he wouldn’t forget about her so easily this time.

  “I’ll send Lieutenant Steele to retrieve you just as soon as Daddy allows me to have visitors again.” Lavinia smiled at the lieutenant, who leaned against the open doorway of the storehouse. His entire focus was on Lavinia, as if he’d been watching her for quite some time, waiting for her to turn and acknowledge him.

  He straightened and returned her smile. Over the past couple of weeks, the leanness in his cheeks had disappeared and he’d begun to fill out. In his crisp, clean uniform he was actually quite striking.

  Lavinia tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at the quartermaster.

  Pierre narrowed his eyes at Lieutenant Steele. Was Pierre jealous that Lavinia was flirting with Lieutenant Steele?

  “I’ll bring Angelique up to the fort,” Pierre said without breaking his attention from the lieutenant. “Just tell me when you want her here.”

  “Why, Mr. Durant, how kind of you.” Lavinia clasped her hands together but continued to make eyes with the quartermaster. “Lieutenant Steele has been so gracious and willing to help me in any way he can, but with his increased responsibilities, I’m sure he will be all too glad to relinquish this duty to you.”

  “And I’ll be happy to relieve him.” Pierre’s grip on Angelique’s fingers tightened.

  Angelique couldn’t keep from sagging against Pierre. Whatever the case, whether Pierre was jealous of Lieutenant Steele or not, she wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to avoid the quartermaster. Even if the bruises on her neck had gone away, she couldn’t forget what he was capable of doing.

  Besides, she’d take any time she could get with Pierre before he left, even if it was only for a short walk to and from the fort.

  He’d be gone all too soon from her life. While everything inside her cautioned against allowing herself to get too close to him, she knew she’d already shoved away the warnings about how he’d broken her heart when he’d left the last time. And now she’d opened herself up to him again.

  Maybe if she pretended he wouldn’t have to leave . . . maybe if she prayed that he’d change his mind and stay . . . maybe if he decided to give up fur trading . . .

  She whispered a desperate prayer—a prayer for a miracle.

  Chapter

  11

  Lavinia’s lavender perfume was like a thick fog in the air weighing on Angelique. She sat as straight and still as she could on the cushioned bench in front of Lavinia’s dressing table. The books Lavinia had placed on her head had already slipped off more times than Angelique could count, and now she hardly dared to breathe for fear of suffocating from the perfume or being battered again by falling books.

  The thick ointment on her hands underneath the gloves had begun to itch, and the salve Lavinia had rubbed across the freckles on her nose only added to the torture.

  “The ointment will make your skin as smooth as a baby’s,” Lavinia said, digging through one of the trunks she’d had delivered to her cramped room in the officers’ quarters. “You’ll need to make more of it at home with lard, honey, rose water, and an egg. Then apply it to your hands every evening before bed, cover with the gloves, and wear it all night.”

  “Ebenezer won’t let me use any eggs—”

  “Nonsense. I shall send the instructions along with you. I’m sure your stepfather will be more than agreeable when he realizes the egg is going for a good cause.”

  Angelique knew it wouldn’t do a bit of good to argue with Lavinia, any more than it did to contradict Ebenezer. When they were determined to do something, she’d learned that protesting would only strengthen their resolve.

  Of course, Ebenezer had been thrilled when Lavinia’s invitation to visit again had finally arrived. He’d admonished Angelique to cooperate with the commander’s daughter and to win her favor.

  For the past three days, Angelique had subjected herself to what Lavinia called “beauty treatments,” but she didn’t know how much more she could endure without shriveling up like a worm. Yes, she wanted Pierre to remember her when he left the island. She didn’t want him to forget their friendship this time. But was all the discomfort really worth it?

  After all, his three weeks were drawing to a close. He would be leaving the island by the week’s end, and she wouldn’t see him again until next spring—if he remembered his promise that he wouldn’t stay away for so long.

  “Oh, this is perfect,” Lavinia said, rising from the trunk and clapping her hands.

  Angelique remained still. Lavinia’s enthusiasm didn’t bode well.

  “Yes, I do believe this is the perfect color to go with your hair.” The rustling of satin swooshed in the air, sending more of Lavinia’s perfume over Angelique.

  Through the reflection in the mirror, Angelique stared in growing dismay at the folds upon folds of satin and lace and ruffles that Lavinia was pulling from the trunk.

  “You shall wear it home this very day.” Lavinia draped the beautiful gown across her bed.

  “I can’t.” It was beautiful. The glossy material was a bright bluish-green, the color of the lake water on a calm and sunny day.

  “But it’s perfect for you. The turquoise will be stunning with your coloring.” Lavinia tilted her head and studied Angelique. “Underneath all your frumpy layers, I do believe we are about the same size.”

  “It’s not the size I doubt.” Angelique stared at the bodice, the low square neckline with its ruffled border and the very high waist that formed a tight line at the bosom. She glanced to the bodice on Lavinia’s gown, noticing for the first time that it too hugged her chest, outlining her in the most revealing way, leaving far too much skin exposed.

  Angelique blushed at the thought of anyone seeing her in such a gown. Even if it was the latest fashion for women, she would feel entirely uncomfortable in it. Not to mention the fact that Ebenezer would never allow it.

  She could almost hear the words of sharp rebuke he’d uttered to her mother after they moved into the tavern, the slashing of satin, and the roar of the flames as he burned her gowns, one after another. Her mother had been devastated and had cried for days. And Ebenezer punished her severely until she’d agreed to don the modest, plain apparel of his late wife.

  “My stepfather would never allow me to wear such a gown,” Angelique insisted. Ebenezer would lock her in her room forever if she dressed in anything but the most austere garments.

  “Everyone says he’s Quaker.” Lavinia’s statement was really more of a question, and she paused in her smoothing of the gown, cocking her head at Angelique and waiting for a reply.

  “I don’t know. He’s never said.” Ebenezer’s past was a mystery to her. He’d been on the island for as long as she could remember, even back during the days when her father had still been alive. But beyond the island, she didn’t know where Ebenezer had come from or what had influenced him.

  What she did know was that he was a lustful man. At times she wondered if his strict standards, piety, and zeal were his attempts at overcoming his sins. Maybe by making her and Betty wear the modest clothes, he was trying to resist the temptation to sin.r />
  But the truth was he couldn’t stop. He’d given in to his desires too many times so that now he was as thirsty for women as voyageurs were for rum. To have an immodestly clad woman in his house, right under his nose, would only remind him of his lust and his sins.

  Angelique shook her head at the gown, and the books on her head came tumbling down, hitting her shoulders and arms before landing with a hard thump against the floor. “Thank you for the offer of the dress, Miss McDouall. But I can’t wear the gown. I just can’t.”

  It would be too dangerous. Ebenezer would think she was turning into Therese—or worse, her mother.

  “I shall talk with your stepfather and convince him of the need.”

  “How would I work in such a beautiful gown?” Angelique scrambled for any excuse. “I would ruin it within a day.”

  Lavinia smoothed a hand over the rich satin. “True. You would ruin it with your work. Unless we can convince your stepfather to allow you to partake in the kind of work that befits a true gentlewoman, like embroidery, art, education, and other such skills necessary for managing a home. Perhaps you could participate in charity work, helping me with my newly formed Soldiers Relief Committee.”

  “It’s the busiest time of the year, and he needs my help with the inn and the garden.” Angelique knew she had to find a way out of having to wear the gown. It was one thing to learn correct posture and reduce her freckles; it was quite another thing to show up at the inn wearing something that would anger Ebenezer beyond his limits of tolerance.

  Lavinia gently spread out the gown until it covered the bed in all its shimmering beauty.

  “Perhaps if you have an older, more serviceable gown?” Angelique offered.

  “This is an old one.” Lavinia sighed and pushed her golden curls off her forehead. “It’s outdated and plain, yet I had hoped to be able to give you the opportunity to wear it.” She stood back, her lips curved down in a pout.

  In the hallway outside the room’s closed door, the quick but firm steps of officers passed by as they came and went from the building. Was one of them Pierre? He’d brought her to and from the fort for her visits with Lavinia, and she was always glad for the short time they could be together. But every time they entered the gate past the red-coated soldiers, she expected one of them to swing his bayonet around and point the tip at Pierre’s heart and ask him what he, an American, was doing inside the fort.

  But no one ever questioned Pierre. They assumed he was as loyal to the British cause as any regular. She wanted to ask him whose side he was really on. The old Pierre wouldn’t have cared about betraying his country or his family by fighting with the British. But this Pierre? He couldn’t really be working for the British, could he?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. And Pierre hadn’t wanted her to know anything either.

  “I have a splendid idea!” Lavinia clapped her hands. “We shall have a dance. Here at the fort. And you shall have the chance to wear the gown then.”

  Angelique started to shake her head. But Lavinia was already too busy planning to notice her objection to the idea. “It will be wonderful. We shall have the fort musicians play and have plenty of delicious refreshments. We shall invite the officers along with some of the important townspeople. Daddy was just saying he needed to make sure he had the support of the islanders. Would this not be the perfect way to form good relations?”

  Angelique didn’t have time to think of an answer before Lavinia continued. “The dance will be a time to show everyone just how hard you and I have worked to bring about your improvement.”

  “What about the war, Miss McDouall?” Angelique rose and stretched her stiff back. “Do you think your father will allow a dance when we’re in the middle of a war?”

  “Of course he will. My daddy never tells me no.” Lavinia gave a soft laugh. “Since Mother died, he’s allowed me to do whatever I want. Besides, the dance will be the perfect function for the Soldiers Relief Committee. A dance would take the soldiers’ minds off the hardships of this savage place. It will cheer them and remind them of home. What could be more necessary than renewed spirits at a time like this?”

  Angelique didn’t argue with Lavinia, especially when she indicated they would need at least a month to prepare for the dance. Angelique could only pray that in a month’s time the Americans would arrive and retake the fort, and that she and Jean would be happily married. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about the shiny gown and what Ebenezer would do to her when he saw her in it.

  For now, she would be grateful Lavinia hadn’t insisted that she walk out of the officers’ quarters in the gown.

  “You smell like you took a bath in a perfume bottle.” Pierre winked at her as they exited the stone building and rounded the green, where a group of regulars was standing in battle formation, marching and drilling.

  Angelique could only shake her head in disgust at the scent that lingered in the homespun linen of her clothes. “She insists on coating me in her perfume every day,” Angelique replied. “I think she’s trying to rid me of the stench of the hen house.”

  “That’s too bad.” Pierre steered her past the low building that served as the commissary. Empty barrels were stacked against the outside walls, and a peek inside the dark interior revealed the stores were already diminished. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why Lavinia doesn’t like the stench of the hen house. It’s so . . .”

  “Homey?” She followed after him, enjoying the easy banter, especially after having to be so serious and polite with Lavinia.

  “Oui. Definitely homey, in a stinky kind of way.”

  “I can’t understand why she doesn’t enjoy it,” Angelique teased, ignoring the stares of several soldiers, who were apparently off duty and lounging on the long front porch of the soldiers’ barracks, writing letters or mending their socks.

  Pierre grinned at her over his shoulder. “Well, ma cherie, even if Lavina managed to drown out your lovely hen smell with her perfume, at least your hair looks pretty.”

  Angelique lifted her fingers to her hair, to the delicate curls that dangled near her ears. Lavinia had piled her hair high on top of her head in a fashionable style but had left several curls near her ears. “You don’t think I look ridiculous?”

  “You look ravishing.” Even though his words had a hint of playfulness, the look he tossed her was anything but playful. Instead his eyes were dark and sparked with something that heated her belly with pleasure.

  “And here I thought you were partial to my wearing my hair down.” She couldn’t resist the comment as they started up the hill toward the fort’s north gate.

  “True,” he said, nodding at the sentinel, who swung open the door for them. As they stepped outside the tall palisades of the fort, Pierre led her directly toward the woods that didn’t pass anywhere near town. “I’m partial to your long hair. But if you must wear it up, then this is perfect.”

  She didn’t know where he was taking her, but as usual she didn’t care. She trusted him, loved being with him, and when she was near him, nothing else mattered.

  At the edge of the woods he stopped and faced her. “You’re perfect, except for one thing.” He tugged at her collar, pulling it loose from the bodice, until it hung down, exposing her neck. “There.”

  Before she could say anything, he spun and started for the thick stand of spruce, weaving through the trees as naturally as if a trail had been blazed there.

  She traipsed after him, her heart humming a sweet tune. From behind, she admired his swagger, the proud tilt of his head, and the confidence he exuded. She grew breathless trying to keep up with him, but she was as familiar with the unmarked trails as he was and wanted to prove she was still as strong and agile as she’d always been.

  Finally, when they reached the clearing that led to the Dousman farm, Pierre stopped. He peered up into a tall cedar tree—one of the biggest trees on the island—their thinking tree, the tree they’d always run to when they needed to be alone.
/>   “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  “What?” She smiled at his eagerness.

  He pulled himself up on the first low branch, then held out a hand to her. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  He scaled the tree slowly, pausing to wait and help her up each of the stairlike branches. She allowed him to assist her, even though she was capable of climbing any tree on the island without his assistance, just as she had when they were children. The truth was she liked his gentlemanly attention, even if it was unnecessary.

  When they’d reached the middle of the tree, he sat on one of the sturdy branches and scooted down to make room for her to sit beside him. It wasn’t a wide spot, and she found herself scrunched next to him, her arm against his and his thigh bumping hers. For a moment his heavy breathing mingled with hers, the only sound in the shaded coolness of the towering evergreen.

  He glanced up and pointed to several branches above them, to a stick nest with long grass, leaves, and twigs poking out in disarray.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “An abandoned squirrel nest, with a family of great horned owls living in it.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I saw the male out hunting last night when I was on my way home from my work on Fort George. I trailed him here to our favorite tree.”

  They sat quietly, craning their necks and staring at the bottom of the nest.

  “Should I climb up and take a better look?”

  He shook his head. “If we’re quiet, one of the chicks might show itself.” The warmth of his breath fanned against her cheek.

  Her body tightened with eagerness. She wanted to pretend the feelings came from her anticipation of seeing the baby owl. But she couldn’t seem to focus on anything but Pierre’s nearness—his body next to hers, the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his arm.

  He tugged his leather pouch out from underneath his shirt, and his work-roughened fingers fumbled at the strap. “Open your apron,” he whispered.