by Shirl Henke
"This Doctor Torres has a splendid reputation treating eye problems. Joss. It won't hurt to have him examine you."
"It won't help either. I shall never go without glasses again. Poc might have killed poor Alex and it would all have been my fault!" She bit her lip, remembering the ghastly debacle.
"My son's skull is sufficiently thick to withstand a good deal more than bumping into a flimsy table," Barbara replied dryly.
"Don't forget the vase that broke over that same skull," Joss said, wincing as she climbed from the hackney. Every muscle and bone in her body was still bruised.
Barbara chuckled. " 'Twas no bigger than the one that coshed you. Of course," she added consideringly, "you do have much more hair to cushion the blow."
"I made an utter cake of myself, trying to be the belle."
"Do consider the humor in it, Joss. Alex did ... once he revived."
"Your brother and Drum found it exceedingly amusing."
"Their laughter was at Alex's expense, Joss, not yours," Barbara reminded her gently.
Joss sighed in resignation as they entered the small, well- appointed office, whispering, "I still think this is a foolish waste of time."
An earnest young man greeted them, ushering them into a book-lined room with a large window at one end. Brilliant sunlight streamed in, revealing the excellent quality of the Bidjar carpet and Windsor furniture. Dr. Torres appeared to possess a most lucrative practice indeed.
"If I had not already agreed to the appointment, I should not have wasted your time coming, Barbara," she said as they waited for the physician. "It was vain and feckless to trick myself out and pretend to be something I'm not."
Barbara looked at Joss's hair, the lovely highlights obscured by the way it was pulled straight back into a tight bun of braids at her nape. She again wore a shapeless navy blue gown and clumpy, square-toed shoes. Barbara forbore mentioning Joss's reversion to her old ways this morning. After raising five children, she knew when to hold her peace. Joss had been humiliated last week and Barbara blamed herself in large measure. She had not realized how utterly helpless her daughter-in-law was without those eyeglasses. If only Dr. Torres could help, it would do wonders for the girl's self-confidence.
As if on cue, the physician entered the room, smiling his greeting. Of Sephardic Jewish ancestry, Doctor Benjamin Torres was tall and blond haired, astonishingly handsome with a quiet, winsome smile. After brief pleasantries he went directly to business, examining first Joss's spectacles, then her eyes.
* * * *
While his wife and mother were with the doctor, Alex spent the moming working on the docks where a large tobacco shipment had just arrived from America. It should have been a perfectly ordinary day, spent inventorying and unloading cargo until the captain mentioned escaping from a British man-o'-war off the cay at Bermuda.
"What's unusual about a British warship near Bermuda?" Captain Heath asked when Alex questioned him about it. " 'Tis a crown colony, after all. Perhaps I shouldn't have cut so close, but the winds were favorable." He shrugged. "We outran them. None of my men were impressed."
"You're certain it was HMS WalsinghamT Alex reiterated.
"Aye. When the fog cleared I could see the name clear as day."
Dismissing Heath, Alex returned to his office to consider what he should do. Notify Jonathan Russell, without doubt. Within the hour he was seated in the charge d'affaires's office.
"I had all but given up on you as an agent, Mr. Blackthorne. I feared your wife must have put a damper on any further liaisons with Mrs. Chamberlain." Russell paused briefly, but when Alex volunteered nothing, he cleared his throat and said, "Your message indicated the matter was of utmost urgency."
"One of my captains encountered Chamberlain's ship off the coast of Bermuda. A bit off course for a man assigned to Mobile."
Russell grunted. "Not surprising. It confirms several reports I've received from my agents in Whitehall."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "What is Sir Rupert up to?"
"Deuced if I know." He studied Alex with keen gray eyes. "None of the people working for me have access to the upper echelons, only what they can snitch from waste bins and eavesdropping at keyholes. You can wager it was something of considerable import since it is bringing him all the way home on the eve of war."
"Is it that close then?" Alex asked. What would he do about Joss? The idea of leaving her behind disturbed him even more than did the end of his libertine existence in London.
"The admiralty will not stand down from its impressment policy and the government is becoming increasingly distressed by American expansion along the southern frontier. Given the corresponding anti-British sentiments in Congress, I do believe a declaration of war will pass before summer."
"I'd wager Chamberlain's return has something to do with the Anglo-Indian alliance he was sent to create," Alex mused aloud.
"You would be in a unique position to learn more, Mr. Blackthorne," Russell said suggestively, then paused a beat. " If your English wife does not object."
Alex flashed him an angry look, then stared out the window. The shadows of evening grew long. What should he do? "Leave my wife out of this, sir."
"I only wondered if she had...er influenced your loyalties."
"I gave you my word I would never discuss what was said in this room with anyone except my father. I have not done so. As to my loyalty, I want only to protect the Muskogee. If those hotheaded fools in Congress are land hungry enough to war against the British Empire, may God rot both sides."
"In the meanwhile, will you see what Lady Cybill can tell you?"
"I shall consider it," Alex said brusquely, rising. The idea of renewing the amorous game with Cybill Chamberlain left him feeling dirty.
"I must be becoming a bloody eunuch," he muttered savagely to himself after he took his leave and strode to the front gate of the embassy. Even the thought of finding his missing virgin had lost its allure. What was wrong with him?
All he seemed to think about was Joss. Would she be upset if a war separated them? Not seeing her smiling face, matching wits with her, even sharing in her penchant for misadventures left him feeling decidedly upset. Then, of course, there was the matter of his mother and her mysterious agenda. Whatever she was up to, closeted away with Joss for hours on end, it boded ill for him, he'd wager on that. And if word reached her that he was having a fling with Mrs. Chamberlain, well, it did not bear thinking about.
* * * *
Over the next week, Alex warred with his conscience, utterly at sea concerning what he should do about Cybill. To further add to his uncertainties, both his wife and his mother continued to act most peculiarly. Ever since the debacle at their dinner party, Joss had been even more skittish around him in spite of his attempts to elicit her formerly excellent sense of humor. The whole evening had the makeup of a comedy by Sheridan, but for some reason Joss did not see it that way. She had lost the ability to laugh at herself. Alex had no idea why, other than the certainty that his mother was responsible.
If only she would return home next week as she had originally indicated. Alas, yesterday she'd announced her intention to remain for "a few more weeks or so," however long that meant. All he knew for sure was that her presence was having an exceedingly insalubrious effect on Joss.
* * * *
"What am I holding in my hand?" Barbara repeated, then admonished, "Now don't squint. It quite ruins your lovely eyes."
"Blast my eyes," Joss said. Instantly horrified at her out
burst, she put her fingers to her mouth. "Oh, dear! I never used to curse. I'm cross all the time and so on edge. Please forgive me. I don't know what is happening to me."
Barbara had a pretty fair idea but did not venture an opinion on the matter. Instead she repeated her earlier question, holding up a piece of ceramic fruit from the bowl in her hand.
" 'Tis an apple," Joss replied in a subdued voice.
"The belladonna extract is working even better than Dr. Torres expe
cted. Now, let's try from a greater distance," she said, moving all the way to the end of the hall before extracting a pear from the bowl. When Joss identified it correctly, Barbara set the bowl on the table and clapped her hands excitedly. "You can see distances perfectly normally as long as you use the drops. Now, on the next matter. We have an appointment with Monsieur Baudelier on the half hour."
Joss sighed. "Barbara, all I have succeeded in doing is tramping the poor man's feet to blisters."
"What is a hop merchant for? He's taught far less adept pupils. You love music."
"I love to listen to music, Barbara, not dance to it," Joss replied, knowing her protest would not be heeded, any more than Barbara had listened about the outlandishly expensive ball gown. Barbara's great aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Chitchester, had invited them to a gala and Barbara was determined that Joss, with her newly corrected vision, would be the belle of the ball.
"La, you shall be swept off your feet by every male between the ages of sixteen and seventy."
"Off my feet and onto my derriere, without a doubt."
"Joss, do have a bit more confidence in yourself. You will be beautiful enough to attract any man at the ball. Alex will be green with jealousy by the end of the evening."
"As I recall, he was quite green enough a fortnight ago, covered with all that foliage, peonies and porcelain, not to mention the color of his skin as Monty and Drum were trying to revive him," Joss replied, trying for a witty tone, but ending on a forlorn one.
"That unfortunate incident occurred because you could not see where you were going. This time you shall do just splendidly. How many things could possibly go wrong?" Barbara asked breezily.
"How many stars are there in the night sky?" Joss returned glumly.
* * * *
"Alex sent a note by messenger. He will be detained for an hour or so. We are to meet him at the Chitchester's city house. Monty and Octavia shall call for us with their carriage." At Joss's look of dismay, Barbara hastened to add, "It will be better this way. He'll see you dancing from a distance, possibly not even recognize you. I shall offer to make introductions. He shall be positively flummoxed when he sees how you've blossomed."
"If I can contrive not to trip and fall headlong into the punch bowl before he arrives," Joss replied, inspecting herself in the mirror. "At least this time I can see myself without my spectacles."
"And you're not even squinting." Barbara surveyed her handiwork over Joss's shoulder. The gown was a masterpiece of sheer French silk, the color a deep vivid crimson shot with gold thread. The rounded neckline plunged to reveal the soft swell of Joss's breasts and shimmered over the curve of her slim hips. A single bloodred ruby hung from a gold filigreed chain around her throat.
Joss eyed her red satin slippers with considerable trepidation. In spite of the hours Barbara had drilled her walking in them and holding her skirt above the high heels, she was still nervous. She tilted her head and the ruby teardrops in her ears danced through the tawny tendrils of hair that fell around her cheeks.
"I especially like the way your dress emphasizes the gold and bronze tones in your hair."
"I'm not certain you should have lightened it so much more," Joss said dubiously. "You must have used a whole shipload of lemons."
Barbara laughed. " 'Tis quite perfect. Hair that long and thick is a dream to work with," she said, adjusting one of the heavy gold combs that held the curling mass high on Joss's head.
"Come, my dear, I hear Monty's carriage pulling up. I simply cannot wait to see the expression on Alex's face when I introduce him to his own wife!"
* * * *
"You indicated something urgent, sir?" Alex said as he was ushered into Jonathan Russell's office.
Eyeing Alex's black superfine coat and trousers and richly brocaded charcoal waistcoat, he said dryly, "I hate to tear you away from your busy social life, Mr. Blackthorne. Do you know a man named Wilbur Kent, a fellow American, I believe?"
Alex's eyes narrowed. "I met him briefly a number of years ago. He's distantly related by marriage to my family through my grandfather's first wife. Why do you ask?"
"I have reports from Virginia"—he shuffled several papers on his crowded desk—"which indicate that he is in the pay of the British."
"A spy? Hmm. The Kents always were an unsavory lot from what I gather. But why does he concern you?"
"Because he, too, has come to surface here in London."
"And you suspect a connection between that and Sir Rupert's return?"
"It is more than coincidence, wouldn't you imagine?"
Alex nodded. "And I would also imagine you wish me to find out precisely what the colonel and the spy are planning."
"If it would not inconvenience you, your country would be greatly appreciative," Russell said dryly.
Alex merely grunted in reply.
On the brief carriage ride to the ball, he turned over the pieces of the puzzle in his mind. He had written to his father about Chamberlain's mission in the gulf with Weatherford and McQueen. Devon had indicated considerable concern about the situation. The whole frontier was sitting on a powder keg and John Bull was holding flint and tinder over it.
His driver pulled to a halt and climbed down to open the door, but Alex had already anticipated him and quickly jumped to the pavement. As he ascended the wide marble stairs to the massive front door, the soft strains of a waltz came lilting out. He was in bad loaf now. The dancing had already begun. Rather than being announced at the front entry, he decided to slip quietly in the side and seek out his womenfolk so his tardiness would not be remarked upon.
His mother would be in a taking and Joss ... for the life of him he found it difficult to imagine how Barbara had even gotten her to attend the soiree. Probably by saying her Great Aunt Lucretia would be terribly hurt if Joss refused. He snorted. Her grace, Lucretia, Dowager Duchess of Chitchester, wouldn't be hurt if a six in hand ran over her at a full gallop!
Joss would be ill at ease, though. He needed to be with her so she would not sit alone, a self-conscious wallflower who did not know how to dance even if any of the young gallants had the courtesy to ask a plain, overly tall female such as she. Why on earth had his mother dragged poor Joss here in the first place?
He stood at the edge of the crowd, surveying the glittering assembly in the ballroom. His carousing companion the young duke hovered near the punch bowl, raising his glass in salute to Alex. Chitchester's expression was rather peculiar, almost gloating. Alex dismissed it as an excess of port and returned his attention to the silk- and satin-swathed females clustered around the perimeter of the dance floor.
That was when he saw her.
Alex stood transfixed by the tall, regal woman in crimson who whirled by in the arms of a vacuous young viscount. She was slim but curvaceous with a striking profile. Great heavy masses of tawny hair were piled high on her head with a few delicate curls falling down her slender back. She was a diamond of the first water—no, a ruby.
Ruby! He squinted incredulously at the antique ruby pendant and earrings she wore. The Caruthers rubies. His mother's rubies! As if on cue, the fascinating female turned as the music ceased, looking directly at him over her partner's shoulder. Their eyes met from across the room and held. Joss looked startled and shy. Alex was simply pole-axed.
Before he could gather his scattered wits, a bevy of men surrounded her, some actually tall enough to obscure his view of her. Then a familiar voice, low and throaty, purred in his ear.
"Whoever would have imagined your wilted wallflower would bloom?" He turned to Cybill, eager to rid himself of her cloying coyness and go to his wife, but her fingers dug into his arm, demanding attention. "I've missed you, darling."
"My lady, when last we parted, it was not, as I recall, on fond terms." He was about to turn away when a man materialized from the shadows. Although he had not seen the bounder in ten years, it was Wilbur Kent, he was almost certain of it.
Cybill pouted prettily. "I was cross with you, da
rling. You did run off and leave ... unfinished business...." Her beringed fingers climbed up his arm to rest possessively on his shoulder.
Damn! The music had started up again. He prayed Joss was occupied, not watching this.
"Are you ready to leave, m'dear? We've paid our respects to the duchess. I find the company's become quite tedious," Kent said in a lisping Virginia drawl, while his cold, pale eyes swept up and down Alex insolently.
Cybill set her jaw mulishly. refusing to relinquish Alex's shoulder in spite of Kent's arm sliding around her waist. "Don't be tiresome, Willie. Can't you see I am already engaged?"
"We have an important meeting on the half hour, need I remind you?" he said, gritting out each word.
As Kent and Cybill clashed, Alex did some swift calculation. A meeting—with Sir Rupert? Someone from the war office? Whatever, it was a valuable source of information. Smiling, he took Cybill's hand and saluted it, then bowed. "I do not wish to poach on another gentleman's property, my lady. Besides, I fear my wife might object." He looked past her at Kent, whose impatient expression grew disdainful.
"Until later then," she said with a moue dimpling her cheek. Kent practically dragged her behind him after dismissing Alex as if he signified no more than an insect. Obviously the spy did not recognize him as the boy he'd met at Quintin Blackthorne's plantation a decade ago.
Alex was desperate to find his wife, who was flitting from man to man on the ballroom floor like a flame in the breeze; at the same time he was duty bound to follow Kent and Cybill, who might lead him to sir Rupert and who knew what sort of valuable information. There was no time to leave a message, no way to reach Joss as she vanished in the press of dancers.
With an oath of frustration, he turned and slipped behind the marble pillar, trailing after Cybill's lingering perfume.
Joss must have held her breath for hours—at least it seemed an eternity since she'd felt Alex's gaze on her. His expression had appeared startled, disbelieving, then perhaps pleased. She had waited with her heart in her throat, frightened, dizzy, quite desperate for him to come to her—she prayed, to claim her.