by Grace Walton
There was more than a particle of truth to this because the settlement was in the throes of a devastating epidemic without a doctor when the Hebrews’ boat landed. A learned Jewish physician on that ship instituted a rule of cleanliness and hygiene. Savannah was saved.
As she stood on the deck watching the busy scene, Rory realized she loved this bustling town as much as she loved her island. The island offered solitude. But there was a wonderful sense of life rising up from these dusty dirty streets. Everyone was assembled to leave, and Gray warned the sailors about their behavior in town.
“You will not go O'Steen's Tavern. I've had two men impressed there. Once those blasted British tars get you to their ship through O'Steen's tunnels, they claim you're in the Royal Navy. If you're going to make a drunken fool of yourself, do it in a tavern you can trust. We'll be in port for a while so settle in.” He turned to his sister. “Rory are you riding in the carriage with Bu Allah?”
The black town carriage pulled up by the quay. Gray had sent directions for it with the first baggage wagon.
“No, she'll ride through town with me,” interposed St. John before she could speak. He moved up through the crowd of sailors to take Rory's elbow. It was a possessive move and was well-noted.
“Dylan, I can't ride in this.” She indicated her stylish Grecian day dress and satin slippers.
“Go change.” The low plain words were at odds with the loving looks he gave her. He leaned down and seemed to whisper something intimate in her ear. “The charade begins Rory. We have quite an audience already gathered on the street.”
She looked up. He was right. The quay was crowded with people of all classes who invariably rushed down to the docks when a ship pulled in.
“Now laugh and smile at me before you go.” Caressing her cheek, he straightened to his full height.
Rory gave him a stunning smile. And what she hoped was a flirtatious little laugh. She turned to leave and had gotten but two steps away when she felt a strong arm encircle her waist.
He pulled her into a passionate embrace. He intentionally positioned her back to the street fearing her expression would give them away. He knew she would be unsettled by what he must do.
She was in a total state of shock. “What are you doing?”
“I'm going to kiss you. We’re playing at being betrothed, remember?” he said, trying to prepare her.
“You are most certainly will not kiss me out here in full view of the street,” she hissed. “People do not behave in such ways in Savannah.”
He bent his dark head towards her and answered, “They do if they want to create a scandal.” His lips nibbled at hers gently.
Rory was in shock. She didn't know what to do. Her first instinct was to nibble back. But that would never do. This was solely for an audience. She would not let herself get caught up in a theatrical kiss. She wouldn’t. Her breath caught in the back of her throat when he deepened the kiss. Rory's senses began reeling. Her traitorous arms crept up to twine around his neck. A wayward hand buried itself in his abundant black hair. She marveled at the silky feeling of it as it slid between her searching fingers. After several long, breathless minutes, she felt the pressure of his lips diminish.
“Open your eyes.” She heard him murmur softly. When she did, she realized his lips were still just inches from her own. “That should be enough to start the gossips going.”
He set her carefully away from him and asked quietly before releasing her, “Can you stand?”
She knew why he asked. In truth she was more than a little lightheaded. But she nodded, unable to speak yet.
“Then go get into your riding habit and meet me on the street.” He watched her leave and cursed himself. The woman burned through his veins like the sweetest kind of acid. How in Hades was he going to keep away from her, he asked himself? He turned toward the street. No female ever had this effect on him. He was Heartless, sodding, St. John. No woman led him around like a bull with a gilt ring through its nose. Bloody right, he told himself.
Trembling Rory went below deck to change. She was back up in a matter of minutes. Strolling up the cobblestone ramp to Bull Street, outwardly she was a picture of serene femininity. Inwardly, she was still shaken by his kiss. Her ivory habit and hat, tilted at a coquettish angle, stood out like a beacon amid the colorful bustle along the thoroughfare.
Dylan smiled encouragement as he lifted her onto the mare’s saddle. They set off through town at a slow plod toward Liberty Square, where the town house sat. All the way down Bull Street groups of citizens stopped their conversations to stare at the beautiful girl in white.
“See, I said you would make a marvelous diversion.” He stopped to tip his beaver hat to an elderly woman in an elaborate court coach. “And I was right.”
Rory replied, “I don't think they're all interested in me.”
She nodded and smiled to three young women who were leaving a millinery shop. At the sight of Dylan, they stopped dead in their tracks. Now they were furiously whispering among themselves.
“I know them,” she said. A bold looking blonde in the group energetically waved to her. “And I get the feeling they want me to introduce you.”
“Then introduce me.” His smile was practiced.
Remembering their long session on proper introductions, she smiled and got ready. As the horses stopped in front of the tittering trio, Dylan swung gracefully down from his mount. He waited to be presented. There was a tiny audible gasp from one of the girls as she took in his tall good looks.
“Hello Aurora,” she said, her gaze fastened on Dylan. The blonde lied, “It's so nice to see you back in town again. Are you here for the holiday season?”
“Yes,” Rory said. She smiled down at the three of them. “I'm here for the season.”
These same three had snubbed her at every event she'd attended last spring. They had criticized her gowns and her hair to anyone who would listen. Now they were cozying up to her like they had always been bosom bows. A delay in meeting Dylan would do them no harm. She decided to carry on the conversation before she satisfied their curiosity. “Mary you're looking well.” She singled out the plump giggling little brunette who was trying desperately to catch Dylan's eye. “And Ann how is your father?”
The tall, gangly one with a face full of freckles tore her eyes away from the silent man before answering, “Oh he's fine, just fine.”
“Irene, do you still plan to have a season in London next year?”
That had been the blonde girl's boast for many years now. Irene's father was a cotton factor and a British citizen. In fact, his older brother was an Earl or some such. Rory never really paid too much attention to Irene’s pretentious bragging, so she wasn't very clear on the title.
The pretty blonde preened before St. John and simpered, “Yes, I can't wait to be presented to poor Mad King George. And attending an assembly at Almack's will be too, too exciting. Uncle Richard has promised to get me vouchers. I shall have the most elegant come-out.” She stopped here to catch her breath before rattling on. “I'm so fortunate to catch you when you've just arrived back in town. I simply demand that you come to my little gathering tomorrow evening. The invitations were sent last week. But your house was empty, so the slave brought yours back. I'll have it delivered to you this afternoon.”
Rory opened her mouth to accept, but Irene didn't stop talking. “Now don't tell me you can't make it. Because it won't be even a teensy bit of fun without you. In a provincial backwater like Savannah, we can't do without everyone, just everyone. And please do bring your friend. The more the merrier, I say.” Irene dug through the reticule dangling from her wrist. She fished out a gaudy fan, slapped it open, and fanned herself as she eyed St. John speculatively.
Rory knew she had no choice but to introduce him. Irene did everything but ask who he was. “Where are my manners?” she scolded herself. “Ladies, let me present my fiancé, Dylan St. John.”
His bow was one of sophistication and long practice. �
��Your servant Ladies.”
At the word fiancé, Irene gave a prodigious start. Her fan dropped from her fingers to her limp wrist. She pinned both of the other girls at her side with a killing glare.
“Darling, I was almost afraid I'd never get to meet these charming ladies.” His deep voice was intimate and affectionate toward the girl on the white mare.
Rory smiled down at him. “I'm so sorry Dylan. I completely forgot you were there. I got so caught up with my old dear friends.”
He was the only one who caught her sarcasm. Of course, he never showed it. He raised one questioning eyebrow to her. Then a seductive lopsided grin settled upon his lips.
“Dylan let me make you known to Mary Fowler.”
The chubby brunette giggled yet again.
“Ann Usher.”
Freckles bobbed a clumsy curtsy.
“And Irene Avansley.”
The audacious blonde extended her hand, hoping he would kiss it. She was doomed to be disappointed. He merely took her hand and bowed over it. Irene was clearly miffed at the slight. But she didn't let that stop her from trying to find out everything she possibly could. “Aurora, I had no idea you were betrothed. In truth, I thought you’d end up with that Jewish bore Gottlieb. But that’s as may be.” She wafted a lily white and languid hand between them. “Where are you from Mr. St. John? And Aurora my dear, when is the wedding?”
Dylan pulled a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat to check the time before he interrupted her relentless questioning. “Ladies I'm sorry we needs must leave such charming company, but Aurora and I have a rather pressing appointment with a jeweler.”
They all stepped back to let him mount. As the horses turned to go down the street, Irene shouted out, “Don't forget tomorrow night Aurora dear.”
“We have a pressing appointment?” Rory wasn't sure if they did or did not. She had no idea what he might have planned for them. And she was almost afraid to give it any speculation.
“No, but I didn't think you would enjoy being interrogated in the middle of the street. Although if there is a jeweler close by, I'd like to pay him a visit.”
“There's Steenburn's. It's two streets over.” She reined her mare in at the corner and started toward the jeweler’s. At the entrance of the tidy little establishment, a nattily dressed slave boy stood ready to hold the horses of Mr. Steenburn's customers.
Rory and Dylan dismounted, gave him the reins, and went into the cool dark interior of the shop. Mr. Steenburn met them at the door. He ushered them inside to sit in two fancy tufted chairs. Steenburn had an eye for a large sale. And he always seated that type of clientele in the expensive upholstered seats.
Everyone else had to be waited on at the counter. Judging by their clothes the jeweler was anticipating a very large sale, very large indeed. After they were settled in comfortably, he asked them if they would take a cup of tea. When they politely refused, he knew it was time to start doing business.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he inquired of Dylan.
“My betrothed requires a ring.”
“Very good sir,” Steenburn said in low subservient tones as he deeply bowed. “If you'll just excuse me, I'll bring a selection for you.” He left the room hurriedly.
Rory looked at Dylan with questioning eyes. But she kept quiet. She was learning to follow his lead. And to her eye, he looked the perfect bored aristocrat. She knew she couldn’t match his skill at acting. But she could keep her mouth closed.
In a few moments, the shopkeeper returned with a small box and a length of black velvet. He spread the material out across the low table in front of the chairs. He began to display a selection of glittering rings upon it. He laid out rings set with pearls, some with jade, and some with tiny diamond chips. They were all very tasteful and restrained. Rory thought they all were beautiful.
Dylan gave them a glance. He dismissed them all as paltry trinkets. He then asked the jeweler, “Do you not have anything with a larger stone?”
Steenburn mentally rubbed his hands with avaricious glee and bobbed his head. “I've one ring you might like sir.”
He scurried back into the storeroom and came out moments later with a tiny cunning wooden box. Pressing a hidden latch, he opened it. Inside on a bed of white satin lay an emerald ring. The stone was clear and large. The heavy band was gold with a chasing of flowers.
Dylan took the ring out of the box. He slid it onto Rory's finger. He impassively studied it before telling the jeweler, “This will do. Will you take a draft from my bank in Virginia?”
“Certainly sir.” Steenburn was secretly overjoyed. He’d never expected to sell that particular ring. It was much too expensive for anyone in Savannah.
Dylan left Rory to join the greedy jeweler across the room at his business desk. Rory tried to hear what they were saying but she couldn't.
Having supplied Dylan with parchment paper and a pen, the shopkeeper named the price of the ring in low professional tones, “Two thousand pounds sir.”
Dylan nodded as if that was a mere pittance instead of a nabob’s fortune. He wrote out the bank draft, sprinkled it with sand, shook it clean, and handed it to the grateful businessman.
Looking at the signature, Steenburn began to thank him profusely. Dylan held up a bored hand to stop the man’s bowing and scraping.
He ushered Rory out of the shop. With ease, he threw her up into her saddle. Then he mounted his own animal. He reached into his vest pocket and flipped a coin to the boy.
Rory didn't say anything for a long time as they rode on through town. When she did, he had no idea what she was talking about.
“I don’t want this.” There was a waspish sound to her words.
“Pardon?”
“Sander said right before you left Savannah you would, most likely, give me a lavish present.” She lifted her chin in challenge. “He explained it as something you always did for your… your paramours.”
“My paramours? I’m surprised and I confess, alarmed that you even know what a paramour is. And you count yourself among them?”
Rory realizing where her reckless tongue had taken her, choked and blushed a dull red. “Don't you dare laugh at me Dylan St. John.”
She started to jerk the ring off and throw at his face. His restraining hand reached over and stopped her.
“It's a betrothal ring Rory. No one would believe we were seriously planning on marriage, if I didn't give you a ring. They’ll still talk, since it’s not a family piece.”
“Oh.” She wished the ground would swallow her up right there.
He was still chuckling so she snipped back at him, “Well, it's the most vulgar thing I've ever seen.”
“I agree,” he said. “But it will be impossible to ignore.”
“Was it very expensive Dylan?” She knew she shouldn't ask, but she just had to.
“Very” He nodded sagely.
“Good.”
The cheekiness of her answer made him laugh again. But this time she laughed too. They were about a block away from Liberty Square, and she was full of questions for him.
“You must be from Virginia if you have a bank account there.”
“Is that a question, or an observation?” he asked wryly.
“It's a question.”
“Yes, I am from Virginia. Is that all you want to know?”
“No, I want to know about your family as well,” she insisted. She hoped she might be able to bring the conversation around to the mysterious Mariah.
“I have two brothers and a sister. One brother lives in Virginia. We have a few plantations there. He takes care of those.”
“A few?” Rory was taken aback. One plantation made most people wealthy. She’d never met anyone who casually said they owned more than one.
“Are you going to constantly interrupt, or can I finish?” he asked.
“No, please finish.”
“My younger brother is a privateer.”
“He's a pirate?” She was shocked.
/> “He's licensed, that makes him a privateer,” Dylan explained.
“If he steals things, that makes him a pirate,” she argued.
“Do you want to hear about my sister? Or shall we stop the family album with Griffin?”
“Griffin?”
“My pirate brother.”
“I'm not sure I want to hear about your sister.” Rory was overwhelmed by his revelations.
“You'd like her. I think,” he mused almost to himself.
“I would?”
“Yes, you would. She lives in a convent.”
“She's a nun?”
“Not yet, she's still a novice, and I doubt she'll ever be a nun. There are too many obstacles. Jessamine isn't exactly the shy and retiring type.”
“You're Catholic,” she said it like she'd made a wonderful discovery.
“No, and neither is my sister. Hence the obstacles,” he corrected her.
“So you're a spy. Your non Catholic sister is studying to be a nun. One of your brothers is a pirate. And the other one just runs a few plantations. Poor plantation brother, his life sounds dull compared to the rest of you.”
“He doesn't merely run the plantations,” Dylan countered. “Connor lives with some local Indians most of the time.”
“Of course he does,” she agreed meekly. Her brain was muddled. She was glad to see the Windsor house up ahead. They rode around to the small barn in the back that served as a stable. Rory's mare whinnied to the carriage horses in their stalls as they dismounted.
Dylan tucked her hand possessively around his elbow and led her toward the sturdy rose-brick house. It towered three stories above the street and was perfectly symmetrical. Every fan-lighted window on one side had a matching twin on the other side. The entrances front and back were raised to escape the grime of the street.
It was not as large or as elaborate as some of their neighbors’ homes. The Windsors could never consider hosting a ball. But the house had a solid friendly air. As they mounted the back steps, Rory thought of something else she wanted to ask him.