The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2)

by Amalie Vantana

  “Precisely.”

  Chapter 9

  Bess

  19 March 1817

  Charleston

  Seated in the parlor, I was composing a letter to Edith Harvey, my dearest friend in Philadelphia, when a knock fell upon the front door. When it was opened, Levi came in.

  “You are late!” Charlotte cast him an angry look.

  “I am early, your clock is late.” Levi grinned, looking both young and mischievous. “I do believe this belongs to you, Bess.”

  An elegant woman stepped around Levi and into the parlor. Her blue traveling gown was rumpled, and her hat sat at a jaunty angle over black hair. Blue eyes shimmered with falling tears.

  Tears sprang to my own eyes as surprise hammered me in the chest. “Mother!”

  Dropping my quill on the desk, I rose and rushed toward her. She met me in the middle of the room; the brim of her hat bumping against my forehead before her arms encircled me in an embrace that threatened my ability to breathe.

  “How do you come to be here?”

  She gripped my arms, pushing me back so she could look me over.

  “Is Jack with you?” I asked, wiping away my tears.

  “No, but I expect him to join us here before too many weeks.” My mother touched my cheek. I could see the relief in her expression. She and I had not parted on the best terms, with my having refused to allow her to accompany me to Charleston. She may have been our mother, but both Jack and I knew how to get her to relent to our stronger wills.

  She did not say why she was in Charleston, nor did I ask. After I had made introductions to Rose, Charlotte, and Betsy, my mother and Rose conversed, and Charlotte came up beside me.

  “Your mother may use my chamber, Bess, as I will be moving home to Sam’s for the duration of the race parties.”

  “Is Sam home then?”

  “Of course,” Mother said, “for he brought me to Charleston.”

  A strong desire to see him, to know that he was well, that Guinevere had not harmed him in some way, filled me. I wanted to run the distance that separated his house from me to thank him for bringing my mother to me, for surely he knew how much I missed her. Remembering him waving at me from the ship caused my heart to fill with warm fluttering that impressed upon me the significance of what he had done. He had brought my mother to Charleston for me, but my head tempered the feelings. Disappointment set in, as the realization struck me that he was back, but had not come to see me—us. Then, why would he? From the moment we had met here in Charleston, my words to him have been less than complimentary, and my actions worse. That he allowed my mother to sail on his ship did not mean some romantic declaration, he would surely have done the same for any person willing to pay their fare.

  Charlotte announced that she was setting out, and Levi was leaving with her. She said she would see us on Saturday. Soon I was leading my mother up the stairs and into Charlotte’s bedchamber.

  Mrs. Beaumont joined us, and as she started to unpack my mother’s trunk that Levi had brought up, Mother halted her. “I will be here four days only before sailing for Savannah.”

  Mrs. Beaumont unpacked only the gowns my mother wanted, and carried them from the room to be pressed.

  “Why are you here truly, Mama? And why are you only staying four days?”

  She sat beside me on the bed, taking my hand and holding it between hers. “The house in Philadelphia is being sold, Bess. When your mission is through, we will make Savannah our home.”

  I felt like crying again, but the tears would not come. There was only one reason my mother would have sold our family home, and that was all my own fault. The scandal over my broken betrothal must have been done insurmountable damage to our family. There was a look of resignation on my mother’s face.

  Changing the direction of our conversation, I asked my mother for her help in training the women, for there was none better than she to instruct them on society manners and duplicity.

  I had been a part of Philadelphia society for a short time, but my mother had been a hostess in society for years. No other person better knew how to squeeze information from the people of society.

  She had come up with a brilliant idea to host a salon day every week at our house, so that the women would have a place to go for a comfortable gossip with their friends. That was where Mother did her spying. When she provided a sympathetic ear without judging, women would unburden themselves and their secrets to her, and she would then relay the more useful ones to George Crawford.

  She agreed, leaning back against the headboard and folded her hands. “Now, tell me what you think of Samuel.”

  Thankfully, years of being the master of my emotions came into play and I was able to reply without blushing like a young girl. “He is very kind for having brought you to Charleston,” I replied vaguely. My mother was giving me the look, telling me without words that she expected a better response. “If I am being candid...”

  She nodded eagerly.

  “He is the most infuriating man alive. He loves to taunt me; not a day has gone by in his company that we have not argued. He is haughty, disagreeable, a shocking rake, and annoyingly handsome.”

  My mother pursed her lips. She moved off the bed and walked to the window for a moment. When she turned toward me, she was smiling as if she had a secret. She told me to follow her as she went out of the bedchamber and across the hall to the door that led onto the portico.

  “Look down there and tell me that you do not like him,” Mother said, pointing toward the road.

  After glancing at her quizzically, my gaze shifted to the street, and I blinked, then a squeak fell from my lips as I moved forward to the balustrade.

  Abe was standing in the street, holding the reins to my horse Pegasus. Turning toward my mother, she was smiling grandly. She nodded her permission, and I walked to the door, but once inside I ran down the stairs, across the foyer, and threw open the front door.

  Pegasus was a white stallion whose bloodlines belonged to America’s finest horse racing family. He had been a gift from my father and had been with me through many missions. As I moved down the steps to Pegasus, he was neighing and stamping. When I touched his head, he leaned into my touch, and we connected again. It had been much too long, but it appeared that he had forgiven me for the absence.

  “How is this possible?”

  Abe held the reins still as he said, “Sam had him transported on his friend’s ship. Said no one who rides as well as you should be without her own horse.”

  Biting my lip, I nodded, unable to speak. My mother, Rose, and Betsy joined me outside, exclaiming over my horse. When I went into the house to change into my riding habit, my mother accompanied me.

  “Sam said to tell you that he apologizes that he could not be here, but he was detained on business. He instructed me to bring you to his party where you can thank him properly.”

  That pulled a laugh from me. Thank him I would, but on my own terms, for I had my own reasons for attending his party.

  “Now, my dear, what do you think of Samuel Mason?”

  Turning slowly to face her, my face was full of heat. “He is still infuriating, haughty, and disagreeable,” I said, and she frowned, “and now I may add a shocking beguiler to the list, but he missed his goal. My good opinion cannot be bought.”

  ***

  The afternoon of the race party, my mother had gathered the girls in the parlor and was giving them some last minute instructions. For the past two days, she had been training them in society manners, tears, manipulation, and how to be the perfect hostess.

  “Tears can be your friend or your enemy; it is all in the timing. Many was the time that I won Mr. Martin, God rest his soul, over to my way of thinking by a bout of well-timed tears.”

  Rose and I exchanged smiles, as my mother paced before the sofa like one would expect to see a military general planning his next foray.

  “You each know what to do. I expect success.” With that said she nodded, and we wer
e dismissed.

  As I was dressing, my mother came in to oversee my attire. She had brought the remainder of my belongings from Philadelphia, and trunks had littered the hall until Mrs. Beaumont could sort through them. My bedchamber was full to overflowing, but it felt more like home.

  My mother and I had spoken of Guinevere and what she was doing aboard Sam’s ship. Mother said that Guinevere had come back with them on the ship and that she had spoken with her at length. Guinevere had apologized for her deception in Philadelphia, and my mother had forgiven her. It was not that I faulted my mother; it was that I knew Guinevere to be a cunning manipulator. When I asked if Guinevere had spoken of Jack, my mother frowned.

  “She never once mentioned him, which I must admit did surprise me, as close as they were.”

  My mother did not know that they were betrothed. To hear that Guinevere had not even asked about Jack proved that Martha’s words had been a lie, and filled me with disgust. There Jack was searching the country for Guinevere, and she was parading around Charleston without a thought spared for him. She would soon find that she had chosen the worst family to trifle with.

  That evening when I entered Sam’s house with Rose and my mother, it was teeming with elegant people. It was not a ball, but an evening of conversation, to meet the racers, and to wish them well before the race three days away. Since it was not a formal gathering Sam, was not standing in the foyer greeting guests.

  He had not been to see us once since he returned. When I had asked my mother about his relationship with Guinevere, she assured me that they had been on terms of intimacy, but she did not believe for a moment that she was his mistress. Mother begged me to refrain from judging him until he had offered an explanation.

  Not seeing Sam, we found Levi standing in the foyer. He was resplendent in his evening attire, and I took his arm, my chest filling with pride. He was transforming from the wild boy I had always known into a man of sophistication, though still somewhat wild.

  Levi led Mother and me, not into the drawing room, but into the dining parlor. His smile slipped as he watched me closely.

  “Bess,” he whispered, “there is hot water afoot.” Someone called my name from the foyer and Levi added, “Be warned.”

  Lucas Marx came toward us with a smile upon his lips.

  “Miss Martin, Mr. Martin, this is the most splendid occasion. Never before have I attended a boat race such as this promises to be.” He turned his attention to my mother who was looking him over curiously.

  “Please allow me to present our mother to you. Mama, this is Mr. Lucas Marx.”

  Lucas bowed over her hand, and they engaged in conversation, but I was no longer attending what was being said. I had caught sight of Sam. He was standing in the foyer, laughing at something one of the boat captain’s had said to him. His curls were tossed back in what was his fashion. When his eyes met mine, his smile became genuine. It transformed his whole appearance, replacing the sharp angles of his face with defined perfection. He moved toward us, never looking away from me.

  “Miss Martin, if possible you are more beautiful than the last time we met.”

  Considering that the last time we met I was dressed as a man and we were arguing, I did not take that as high praise. Unless he meant when I watched him sail away with Guinevere. Neither were happy memories for me.

  He was dressed in a black coat and knee breeches with an elegant white cravat that Jack would have greatly appreciated.

  “Mr. Marx, I am pleased that you accepted my invitation.”

  Lucas gushed with gratitude while I glanced around at all the people whom I did not know, trying to appear as if Sam’s nearness did not affect me at all.

  “If you will excuse us, there is someone I would like Miss Martin to meet.”

  Sam held out his arm. Levi pressed my hand in warning then released me.

  As we moved from the dining parlor, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Mason.” He looked quizzically at me. “For bringing both my mother and my horse to me. You will never know how much your generosity has meant to me.”

  Instead of smiling, he frowned. He did not offer an amusing rejoinder, or brush off my thanks. He only frowned, and continued leading me toward the drawing room.

  No thoughts of what to expect, what he was leading me toward assailed me until we stepped into the room, and Sam said, “Miss White, allow me to present Miss Martin.”

  A small blonde turned to us, beaming a radiant smile first at Sam, and then at me. I was certain the house had shaken. A force of powerful heat shot through me from my head to my toes. If anyone had touched me, I would have burned them. Guinevere Clark was Sam’s inamorata Miss White.

  It suddenly made sense why she had been on Sam’s ship. A cloud of black edged my vision. I did not know what she was playing at with Sam. She was still betrothed to my brother—who was on his way to Charleston, who had been searching for the woman before me for months and would be crushed when he learned the truth.

  Guinevere’s smile never wavered. “Unnecessary, for Miss Martin and I are well acquainted.”

  “One might say we are almost family,” I replied in the same false tone of happiness Guinevere had used.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile held. Though we were smiling, the tension was palpable. Our gazes remained locked on each other until someone called her attention away. Marching toward the foyer without looking at Sam again, I reached the front door when he caught my arm.

  “Bess,” Sam said as he touched my elbow.

  Pulling it away, I turned on him furiously. “I do not know what you are playing at, Samuel Mason, but I will not be a part.”

  Pink tinged his tanned cheeks. “There is nothing between Miss White and me, Bess.”

  “I do not care what you do, Mr. Mason. I care only about my brother—and stop calling me Bess!”

  When I reached the dining parlor where Charlotte and Rose were standing with Levi and Lucas, Levi was holding a glass of champagne, but, upon seeing my face, he offered it to me without comment. I drank it all, though it did nothing to lessen my temper.

  “So you met Miss White, have you, Bess?” Charlotte meant to whisper, but her voice carried. “Now you understand why I want—”

  “Miss Mason, now is not the time to have this discussion,” Levi warned her irritably.

  Charlotte looked like she would kick Levi, but Lucas came to our rescue by asking Charlotte to introduce him to Miss White. Char scowled at Levi for a moment more before she turned a dazzling smile upon Lucas and went with him out of the room.

  “What is amiss, Bess, to cause you such vexation?” Rose asked me in a hushed voice.

  Guinevere came into view in the foyer, casting me a meaningful glance, before walking toward Sam’s book room.

  “Nothing that a little conversation cannot cure.” I followed Guinevere into Sam’s book room, shutting the door behind me.

  The room was lit by a few branches of candles that highlighted Guinevere’s blonde hair. Seeing her as a blonde was still startling, since I was used to seeing her with auburn hair. Her eyebrows were a darker shade of brown, but the blonde hair suited her. She was so pale that she could appear stunning in either blonde or auburn. Her blue eyes that appeared purple in most lights were filled with mischief as she leaned against Sam’s desk staring at me.

  “What are you playing at, Guinevere?” I demanded, as I moved toward her.

  Her eyes widened as if she thought I meant to strike her, but her smile remained. “Did not that little Mason fool tell you that I am Sam’s newest acquisition?”

  “She did. Is it true?”

  “Do you care, Bess? You have never liked me.”

  “No, I have not, but I love Jack.”

  She blanched at his name, her face losing most of its color. “How is Jack?”

  “Do you care, Guinevere? You have Sam now,” I retorted.

  She looked down at her gloved hands. There was the outline of a ring on her finger inside her glove. Jack’s ring
, I was sure of it. “I never had Sam, and you are a fool if you do not believe me.”

  I did believe her, but I would not tell her. “Tell me where the Holy Order is, and I may not kill you.”

  Guinevere laughed, the musical sound echoing through the room. “You are not a murderer, Bess, but I will tell you what you want to know. Attend the service tomorrow morning at St. Philips.”

  “You lie. You do not mean to tell me a thing.”

  She did not laugh; she did not smile. “I have never lied to you, Bess. Your assumptions are what have led you astray in the past.”

  She nodded, and left after that, not only the room, but the house. I decided not to follow her, having no doubts that she would be at the church in the morning. It would be Sunday, so the church would be full, but if it were a trap, I would be prepared for her.

  Hearing the laughter through the walls did not make me want to join the others. My head ached, and I needed some time without noise.

  Opening the same window I had used to break into Sam’s house, I walked out onto a stone terrace and down into a walled garden. The moon was bright without clouds, and a little stone bench at the back of the garden against the brick wall beckoned to me.

  The candlelit rooms spilled light onto half of the garden, making Sam visible as he stepped through the open book room window. He did not stop to look around, but knew that someone was seated on the bench. He walked toward me with the easy confidence that always surrounded him.

  “May I join you, Bess—forgive me—Miss Martin?”

  Moving over to give him room to sit was my reply. As much as I wanted to be angry with him, I remembered what he had done in bringing my mother and my horse to Charleston. I had enjoyed showing my mother Charleston over the last three days from atop my own mount.

  “When I need time to think, this is where I come,” he told me conversationally. “This bench belonged to my mother, so it feels as if she is here helping me with my problems as she did when I was a child.”