by Jody Hedlund
Miriam sat back in her chair and folded her hands. Angelique recognized it as the sign she was praying.
Pierre leaned against the mantel and bowed his head. From the way he was talking, it almost sounded as if he hoped the Americans would win. Whose side was he on? He hadn’t wanted to talk about it with her, and she’d wanted to trust him, like she always had, that he was doing what was best even if she didn’t completely understand.
“We’ll be fine, Pierre,” she said, wanting to offer him a measure of comfort.
He didn’t say anything, and the tension radiating from his back was almost as thick as the humidity filling the small cabin.
He spun around and faced her. “Marry me, Angelique.”
Chapter
15
Angelique froze.
Miriam’s silent prayer turned into an urgent whisper.
“Oui,” Pierre said as he stepped away from the hearth, the tension easing from his face. “Angelique can marry me.”
Angelique stared at Pierre, her mind swirling with disbelief.
Pierre crossed the room toward her, his boots clomping with a confidence that chased away her shock. He dropped to one knee before her. The determination etched in his expression sent a shiver of anticipation through her.
When he reached for her hand and folded it between both of his callused hands, her heart lurched. He wasn’t serious, was he?
A grin tugged his lips. “Let’s get married.”
She studied his face. His smile faded, replaced with a longing so ardent it almost took her breath away. With uncharacteristic seriousness, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed the gentlest of kisses there. “Angelique MacKenzie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Everything within her cried out yes, yes, yes. She would marry him this very day and be his forever. But the words stuck in her throat.
“Please say yes.” His eyes were filled with such certainty she could almost believe for an instant he really believed everything would work out fine between them.
Would everything work out? Pierre was always so confident about anything he set his mind to doing. And she’d always been willing to follow him wherever he led her. But could she blindly follow his plan this time? Miriam’s whispered prayers drifted over Angelique and somehow seemed to urge her to use caution.
If Pierre was willing to marry her, how could she say no? Her whole being yearned for him. In fact, she longed for Pierre with a passion she’d never experienced with Jean. It was a passion that had only grown stronger over the past month of their being together, a passion almost frighteningly like what she’d seen in her mother.
He lifted her hand to his lips again, and this time the heat of his breath, the pressure of his lips, and the spark in his eyes spoke of a longing within him that matched hers.
“Pierre,” she said breathlessly, slipping her fingers from his. How could she say no to him? She’d never told him no. She’d never needed to. Yet what he was asking was impossible, wasn’t it? “How can we get married?” She finally managed a coherent question through the avalanche of confusion. “I can’t—I won’t—ever leave the island, and you can’t stay.”
He sat back on his heels, his eyes pleading with her. “Let’s not think about the details right now. Let’s marry and figure out everything else later.”
She averted her eyes to block out his eagerness. If she looked at him any longer, she wouldn’t be able to resist him. The truth was she had to resist him this time, even though everything within her shouted not to.
“We can’t get married, Pierre.” The agony of saying the words wrenched her insides and twisted painfully.
“Oui, we can.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “You know as well as I do that our differences are too great. You belong to the wilderness and I belong here on the island.” He started to protest again, but she cut him off with a touch of her fingers to his lips. “I’d never be happy living out of a canoe. I know you don’t want that kind of life for a wife. And you’d never be happy living year-round on the island.”
He didn’t contradict her, though a part of her wished he would. The slow droop of his shoulders and the fading light in his eyes told her the reality of the situation was sinking in.
“If one of us sacrificed for the other,” she continued, “we’d eventually grow resentful. I could never bear the thought that you’d hate me for taking away something so important to you.”
“I’d never hate you, ma cherie.”
Maybe he’d never hate her, but he hadn’t said he loved her. Yes, he’d spoken those sacred words that long-ago day when she’d been just a girl. But couldn’t he say them now too? If he wanted to marry her because he loved her and couldn’t live without her, then let him say it.
She willed him to say it. Waited to hear the words.
Jean loved her. In fact, he’d always made it clear he adored her. How could she give that up for such uncertainty with Pierre?
“Oh, Pierre . . .” she whispered through her aching throat.
He was only reacting out of the danger of the situation today with Ebenezer. Once he had the chance to clear his head and see the situation with more objectivity, he’d realize he didn’t need to take such a drastic measure to keep her safe. Marriage was a serious affair, and he couldn’t offer it to her so that he could be her hero. He had to think about the long-term consequences. Besides, she’d already promised herself to Jean.
“What about my commitment to Jean?” she asked.
At the mention of Jean’s name, Pierre scowled. “Jean isn’t the type of man who can make you happy. And even if he was, you can’t tell me that you’ve ever felt with him what you’ve felt with me.”
Angelique couldn’t deny it. Jean had never stirred her blood the same way Pierre always had. But that didn’t matter. At least that was what she’d been trying to tell herself. Somehow at that moment her inner admonition didn’t ring true.
“Pierre, let’s be honest with each other,” she said, wishing he’d cross the room and put a safe distance between them, because even with Miriam in the room, the scruff on his cheeks seemed to beg her to reach out and caress it.
“Fine. Let’s be honest.”
“It won’t work for me to marry you.” She was surprised at how much it hurt to say the words. The pain cut deep inside, down into her soul, and she regretted saying them the instant they were uttered.
He didn’t speak. Instead a spectrum of emotions played across his face, until finally resignation settled there. He stood and took a deep breath.
Miriam had grown quiet. Had she been praying for her to marry Pierre or Jean? Had God answered her the way she’d wanted?
“If you must go back to live with Ebenezer,” Pierre said quietly, “the least I can do is make sure he won’t hurt you again this summer.”
She couldn’t ask what he had in mind or warn him not to do anything rash that might make things worse. She couldn’t speak past the disappointment clogging her throat. It rose swiftly and made her want to bury her face in her hands and sob.
She’d gotten exactly what she wanted. She’d convinced Pierre they weren’t meant to be together.
Why then did she feel as though she’d just made the worst mistake of her life?
Pierre stood stiffly in front of Colonel McDouall’s desk in the man’s office. Across the hallway he could hear the dance instructor chanting the steps for a waltz, the rhythmical one, two, three and the tapping of a cane.
Even though he’d popped his head into the sitting room and smiled at Lavinia and Angelique and pretended to watch the dancing lessons with mirth, his heart was heavy—heavier than it had been in a long time.
He was trying to focus on the discussion between the colonel and his advisors, but his mind kept wandering to Angelique in the other room, to the rosy flush of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, to the beautiful red of her curls and the graceful way her body moved.
His proposal last week had been on
a whim. It had slipped out without any thought or planning. He told himself he’d only asked her to marry him for her sake, to find a way to protect her when he had to go.
And for a day or two afterward he’d beaten himself up for even suggesting marriage. He felt embarrassed for how rashly he’d behaved. Yet whenever he saw Angelique, he couldn’t keep himself from thinking about marrying her, though he knew he shouldn’t.
She’d said no. And her reasoning had made sense, hadn’t it?
He’d been foolish to bring it up, and he’d been doing his best to put the silly proposal out of his mind. He’d tried to erase all his desire for her and replace it with the friendship they’d always had.
But every time he saw her, his longing for her only increased. He wanted her—wanted to kiss her, wanted to hold her, to run his hands through her hair and over her cheeks. He was surprised at the intensity of his physical reaction to her. But the emotional connection was just as strong too. He loved being with her, loved their laughing together and how they could talk endlessly, how they could do anything and still have fun.
The longer he stayed on the island, the harder it was getting for him to think about leaving her. The only way he’d survived the past week was to make sure he didn’t spend time with her. That hadn’t been too much trouble since she’d been busy with her lessons with Lavinia, had helped Lavinia distribute invitations for the dance, and was overseeing the cleaning of the government house. The house had a large room, often used for meetings, but now it was being transformed for the dance.
“Perhaps we should set out down Lake Huron and meet the Americans on their way up here,” suggested a sergeant sitting in one of the chairs surrounding the imposing desk. The cigar smoke cast a haze over the room. The smoke, the stone walls, the dimness of the room all pressed in on Pierre, suffocating him, making him wish he hadn’t come to this meeting.
“We can’t keep putting off this confrontation,” continued the officer. “Our soldiers are growing weary of waiting.”
It was past the midpoint of July and the Americans still hadn’t attacked. Pierre couldn’t let his frustration show, but it nagged him night and day. He could only assume the American commander hadn’t received his messages about the need to attack with all haste.
Now Fort George was done. With the help of the civilians, Colonel McDouall had completed the structure, which was really nothing more than an observation post since the place lacked its own water supply. But it would certainly discourage the Americans from attempting to retake the main fort from the rear.
“Maybe the Americans are trying to wear us down with worry,” suggested another officer. “They’ll wait long enough until we think we’re safe, and then they’ll attack.”
A number of officers murmured their agreement.
“Durant,” the colonel said in his Scottish brogue, narrowing his eyes on Pierre, “how far away is the American fleet? What have your sources told you?”
Pierre leaned against the cold wall, hoping to appear more nonchalant than he felt. “My sources say the Americans aren’t anywhere near here yet.”
That much was true. His connections had finally told him the American fleet had been delayed because of a disagreement over who was to be in command. At first, Major Holmes had been chosen, but eventually the command had gone to Colonel Croghan, a twenty-two-year-old Kentuckian. Pierre wanted to shake his head every time he thought about such a young man leading seven hundred American soldiers.
The last he’d heard, the fleet was planning to leave Detroit in early July. But he couldn’t be sure when or even if they’d set sail. Whatever the case, it could only help the American cause if the British sailed down into Lake Huron for a naval battle. If so, the British would leave the island mostly undefended.
“The Indians are getting restless,” he said carefully. He knew he couldn’t sound overanxious for the British to leave. “I’ve heard rumors they’re planning to depart for their hunting grounds if they don’t have the bloodshed they’ve been waiting for.”
The colonel nodded as he steepled his hands beneath his chin. “They are more than ready for a fight,” he concurred.
Another officer blew out a great cloud of cigar smoke. “Then I agree. We should set out down the lake and meet the Americans on the way up. It would put an end to all the waiting.”
“And it would be an offensive move rather than defensive,” said another.
Pierre knew such a move would be completely foolish. If the majority of the British Army left to go off and start a fight, they’d lose the island.
For a long moment the colonel’s face was drawn. He was less formal than other British officers Pierre had met, more down-to-earth and likable. He doted on Lavinia, and while he was strict with his regulars, he was also kind, and the men respected him.
The longer Pierre spent with the colonel and Lavinia, the harder the whole spying business was getting. At the start of the war two years ago, when he’d agreed to spy on the Americans for the colonel, he hadn’t been walking with the Lord but was living a wild life. He hadn’t given a second thought to sharing secret information in exchange for money. He hadn’t really cared about the war, had only seen the chance to enrich himself.
After he’d turned his life back around, he’d decided he needed to stop spying. But by that point, the Americans had heard of his friendship with the British and had persuaded him to agent for them instead, to continue the relationship with the colonel but to use it to the Americans’ advantage.
After some debate, Pierre had figured spying for the Americans was more noble and acceptable. He’d thought it would be a way to make up for his past, a way to help his family and country. He still was an American citizen, after all.
But now, after being home, after spying on Colonel McDouall, the guilt had piled up like a stone wall. The colonel and Lavinia trusted him, and here he was betraying them.
Pierre took a deep breath, attempting to push the weight off his chest, but it didn’t budge. Was God trying to tell him something?
The faint lyrical sound of laughter wafted across the hallway from the sitting room, where Lavinia and Angelique were dancing. His thoughts flashed again to the moment in the tree with Angelique when he’d kissed her. Was that the moment he’d known he couldn’t leave the island?
The hard truth was that he couldn’t stop spying even if he wanted to. If he stopped, the colonel and other officers would know the truth about who he really was. Immediately they’d put a price on his head, and he’d be forced to flee for his life.
He’d have no choice but to leave Angelique and Maman behind. And how could he do that? What if the British suspected them too and prosecuted them as a result of his spying?
Non, he was stuck in the tangle of lies he’d spun for himself, with no easy way out.
“Would you like my honest opinion, Colonel?” Pierre finally asked.
The colonel nodded. “Of course, Durant.”
“I don’t think we should leave the island.” His conscience prodded him to tell the truth, even if it wouldn’t help the American cause. “As strong as we are on the water, we won’t be able to win a naval battle against the Americans, primarily because the Indians won’t be able to help us in the water from their canoes. They’ll just get blown to pieces.”
The office grew silent. Lavinia’s chatter grew louder from the sitting room.
“Non,” Pierre continued. “Since we have the Indians as allies, we’d be smarter to stay on land and use them to our advantage when the Americans attack us here.”
The colonel nodded. “I was beginning to wonder about you, Durant. But you’ve given solid advice this time.”
Pierre smiled with what he hoped was a charming grin, yet he had a sinking feeling that it was only a matter of time before the colonel discovered his true loyalties. He prayed the end of the war would come before that happened, or he’d be a dead man.
Chapter
16
Angelique flattened herself
against the wall of Lavinia’s room, not daring to look in the mirror to see the finished product—the effect of the hours of labor Lavinia had spent that afternoon preparing her for the dance. Instead she placed a hand over her mouth and kneaded her rolling stomach.
She was going to be sick.
How could she possibly step outside the door and face the world looking like this? Her gown cascaded about her in wave after wave of filmy silk. She slid her fingers upward over the finest, smoothest material she’d ever touched, until her fingers came to the high embroidered waistline that hugged her bosom.
She drew in a scandalized breath as she had every time she’d noted the starkly rounded curves that the drawstring of the bodice and the stays beneath had thrust upward until her bosom was fairly bursting from the broad, square neckline. She didn’t want to think about how much her gown resembled those her mother had once worn, but the thought came unbidden anyway.
With shaking fingers she tugged the bodice higher. Even though it wasn’t as revealing as the neckline of Lavinia’s beautiful golden gown, it was much too immodest for her.
After the years of wearing the shapeless high-collared clothes Ebenezer had required her to don, she felt almost naked.
“I can’t go out there like this,” she whispered to the empty room, to the discarded clothes strewn about among the ribbons, pins, and assortment of toiletries Lavinia had used to prepare them both.
If only she’d had the courage to tell Lavinia no. But over the past several weeks, as Lavinia had planned the dance and had the gown tailored just for her, Angelique had let the woman have her way. She’d gone along with the dance lessons, the instructions on how to hold herself like a lady, how to walk gracefully, how to eat properly, how to greet others, and even how to hold a fan.
Angelique hadn’t believed the day of the dance would actually arrive. She’d hoped the Americans would come first and put an end to the British presence on the island once and for all—in spite of Pierre’s reservations.