Silver Sea

by Wright, Cynthia

  He blinked, waiting.

  "In any event, I can take care of myself. Haven't I proven that yet?" She jumped up and stood before the pier glass, smoothing her blue spencer and white muslin skirts. "Now I must go, Papa. I have an appointment with Lady Harms to deliver my decision to become her companion after all. She'll be delighted!"

  He put a large sum of money into her reticule. "Indulge me, won't you? Buy yourself some new gowns."

  "If it will make you feel better, Papa. Thank you!"

  Adrienne was tying the ribbons of her chipstraw bonnet when a knock sounded at the door. In the hallway, a footman delivered an envelope with her name on it, and Nicholai watched as his daughter broke the seal.

  "Rather odd, isn't it?" he said. "Who would know that you are here?"

  Her eyes moved rapidly over the paper, then she laughed with false gaiety and tore it into pieces. "Oh, Papa, it's nothing. People in London are very odd. They love to send mysterious messages to amuse themselves, but it's just a game." With that, Adrienne tossed the bits of paper into the bottom of her father's fireplace, then sought to distract him with an embrace. "Do stop worrying about me and begin packing for your journey home to Mother. She needs you far more than I do!"

  Nicholai stood at the window, watching until she had emerged from the hotel onto St. James and climbed gracefully into a hack. When it started off into the crush of vehicles, Nicholai crouched in front of the sitting room fireplace and picked up the pieces of his daughter's note. Several minutes later he had fit the tiny squares together and read:

  Lock your doors, strumpet!

  I mean to make you pay, and you know how!

  * * *

  Oxford Street was jammed with the vehicles of well-to-do patrons who, attended by servants, were fluttering among the shops.

  From her open hack, Adrienne found herself staring at window displays of linen-drapers, haberdashers, silversmiths, and silk mercers. She cared little about fashion but adored objects of real beauty, and at that moment, she was desperate for a distraction. Adrienne felt as if her problems—the vengeful Walter Frakes-Hogg, her father's displeasure, and the impending interview with Lady Thomasina Harms—were coiling about her like a python.

  She shivered at the thought, "A python!" she murmured. "How hideous!"

  Deliverance intervened. Her eye was drawn to a tasteful display in the window of E. Ralna, Fanmaker, where Adrienne beheld a true work of art. The fan was an exquisite concoction of ivory, embroidered silk, and lace. One glimpse in passing was not enough.

  "Coachman!" she called, leaning out the window in a most indelicate fashion. "I must go into the fanmaker's—there!—this instant!"

  The fellow assumed that a crisis was in the offing and yelled to the phaeton that was approaching on the left, between his hack and the raised flagstone walkway. When Adrienne's coachman attempted to cut off the phaeton, its raven-haired driver would not give way, and the confused horses reared back, whinnying in confusion.

  "Are you trying to cause an accident?" the dark-haired man shouted angrily. "Get out of my way!"

  "My mistress desires to reach that shop!"

  "And why should that piece of news interest me?"

  Adrienne, perceiving the problem, interceded. "You there, coachman!" she addressed the phaeton driver. For emphasis, she leaned farther out, so he would be sure to see her, and pointed her delicate parasol at him. "Do be a good fellow and let us over, won't you?"

  One of his eyebrows flew up, then he gave a harsh laugh. "You have a very high opinion of yourself, miss, which I do not happen to share. This road is not your possession!"

  Outraged by his rudeness, Adrienne shocked her own driver by jumping out of the hack and pushing her way through the crush to reach the side of the phaeton. Still pointing the parasol, she stared up at the scoundrel, her cheeks hot with color.

  "You, sir, are horrid! Has no one ever taught you to show respect for ladies?" She didn't like the sound of her own voice, or the things she was saying, but he'd pushed her past reason.

  "Is there a lady present?" He caught her parasol and pulled it from her hand. "Stop aiming that weapon at me."

  In spite of her mounting temper, Adrienne noticed the driver's compelling sea-blue eyes and the crisp, expertly tied cravat that set off a deeply tanned visage. It was even more maddening to perceive the laughter that lurked just behind his reprimand. Was he really a common coachman?

  "I do not wish to waste another moment of my time with the likes of you, sir." Adrienne tried to salvage the scraps of her dignity. Head high, she turned and walked coolly to the fanmaker's window.

  Eugene Ralna himself came scurrying out to greet her. Spectacles bobbed on his long, thin nose. "Ah, it's young Lady Adrienne, is it not? I still remember the day last autumn when you accompanied your mother to my humble establishment. How may I serve you? Have you come to choose a fan on her behalf?"

  Hoping that the odious man in the phaeton was watching, Adrienne let the fanmaker fawn over her. "I have business of my own, Mr. Ralna. In passing, I could not help admiring this exquisite creation in your window."

  "Ah! You have flawless taste, just like your mother!" He smiled broadly. "That fan is made with the rarest ivory, fifteenth-century embroidered silk, and priceless Arles lace. Rumor has it that Marie Antoinette herself commissioned it after receiving the silk as a gift." Ralna paused, allowing his words to sink in, then murmured, "Shall we step inside for a closer look?"

  "Why, the fan is part of history!" Wide-eyed, Adrienne had turned to follow the elderly man, when she was distracted by a tap on her shoulder. A backward glance revealed the phaeton driver's face, and she found that the sight of him made her furious. "Leave me alone," she hissed.

  "Don't tell me that you made all that fuss, disrupted traffic, and endangered my horses over a bloody fan?" came his acid reply.

  Adrienne refused to look back. "A brute like you would not understand. Do not speak to me again."

  She had progressed several steps and was about to precede Eugene Ralna into the shop when the voice she despised called out, "Did you intend to make a gift to me of your parasol?"

  Whirling, Adrienne met his mocking eyes and watched as he held out her parasol. The frilly thing looked ridiculous in his male hand. Did he mean for her to walk over and retrieve it? An instant later the parasol came sailing through the air toward her, and somehow she reached out and caught it. Her tormentor laughed, then bowed low.

  "Don't let me keep you from your urgently important fan inspection," he taunted, and returned to his high-perch phaeton.

  Adrienne hurried past Eugene Ralna, into the safety of his shop. Meanwhile, outside on sunlit Oxford Street, two young women were tittering as they stood, with a lady's maid, in front of the haberdasher's shop and discussed the impertinent rake who had caused Adrienne Beauvisage to blush to the roots of her chestnut hair.

  "Isn't that Nathan Raveneau?" the first girl whispered.

  "Definitely," her friend agreed. "I have heard the most outrageous stories about him from my sister and her friends. Since he returned from the West Indies, he's been setting London society on its ear!"

  Not to be outdone, the first girl pronounced, "My cousin told me that everyone has taken to calling him the 'Scapegrace'!" Just then Nathan Raveneau seemed to sense their scrutiny and turned his head to stare at the two gossiping girls. They went pale, then pink, and scampered away like frightened bunnies.

  Chapter 2

  "I don't know why I bother to come here any more," Nicholai Beauvisage muttered under his breath as he looked around White's Club. "Nothing's the same as it was, and even if it were, I'm too old for this nonsense."

  Raggett, the proprietor of the legendary gentlemen's establishment, brought him a brandy. "I was not aware that the club had changed since your last sojourn in London."

  "You know perfectly well what I mean. Brummell and Byron have exiled themselves in Europe, and even the Regent is perpetually under a cloud of gloom since the death o
f his daughter in childbirth. For years the bucks of St. James have been allowed to behave like a lot of spoiled children, but the pleasure's gone out of it now, don't you think?"

  "Not for everyone, sir," Raggett replied, inclining his head toward the green baize tables where an assortment of fops, young and old, continued their endless party. As the host, it was his task to help each guest relax and join in the fun. Noting the approach of Nathan Raveneau, Raggett seized the opportunity. "Don't sink into the doldrums yet, sir! Here's our young sea captain, Raveneau, back from the West Indies, and perfectly unspoiled as far as I can see."

  Nicholai perked up. "Raveneau?"

  "Indeed, sir. He's a man after your own heart." Raggett decided not to mention that all the dandies at White's were fascinated by the mysterious Raveneau who partook of society's sophisticated pleasures only on occasion and followed none of its rules. People were calling him the Scapegrace. Raggett gestured toward the younger man and smiled. "You're back from your latest pirate skirmishes, I see, sir, and looking very fit!"

  Staring as if he'd seen a ghost, Nicholai exclaimed, "My God, you are the image of your father! Do you remember me? I am Nicholai Beauvisage, an old friend of both your parents."

  "Of course I remember!" Nathan's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "When I was a boy, six perhaps, your wife sailed on my family's brigantine from America to England... searching for you, as I recall. The fair Lisette was my first love, and I hoped that she would come to her senses and decide not to marry you."

  Nicholai's smile widened. "Infatuation with Lisette would be a noble beginning for any lad! Good God, that was twenty-five years ago! Come, sit, and tell me about your parents. I know that they keep a house in London, but I have been so embroiled in the affairs of my wayward daughter during my fortnight here that I've had no chance to call on old friends."

  Explaining that his parents, Andre and Devon Raveneau, were at home in Connecticut, Nathan elaborated, "I am not even staying at our London home myself. I don't want to trouble the staff to fuss over only one person, and I spend more and more of my year in the West Indies. Since I don't even know how long I'll be in London, it's easier for me to put up at a hotel—"

  "If I remember my own tendencies at your age, I might venture to guess that you also like your privacy and prefer not to have your parents' servants hovering at all hours?"

  They laughed, finished their brandies, and decided to sup together. In the dining room they ordered champagne and turbot, which was served with turtle soup, boiled potatoes, pickles, smelts, and peas.

  "I'll never get used to English food," Nathan remarked.

  "Do you know Captain Gronow?" Nicholai's green eyes danced with mischief. "He advises putting a bit of everything onto your fork at once. Claims that technique enhances the tastes."

  Nathan stared in consternation before giving way to more laughter. "I can't tell you how much my spirits have improved since meeting you, sir. I was out of sorts when I arrived tonight, thanks to a hot-tempered little hoyden in Oxford Street who nearly challenged me to a duel!"

  "I needed a bit of cheering myself. London's not what it used to be, and I was feeling quite bored listening to the fops criticizing everyone. I'm relieved to know there are still other men like me at White's."

  "Don't forget," Nathan cautioned, "I'm really American by birth, just like you, my friend!"

  "London should be grateful to have us, then." Nicholai poured more champagne and sighed. "I suppose that my dark mood might actually stem from concern for my daughter. Your mention of a hoyden reminded me of my own irrepressible Adrienne. You see, she is the reason I am here from France—to try to persuade her to come home, where she would be safe and cared for. Instead, Adrienne prefers to seek employment, like a common servant!"

  "Is that so terrible?"

  "Perhaps not, but she is headstrong, and I believe that she's in danger." He told the story of Walter Frakes-Hogg in a rush, his eyes turning stormy as he recounted the scoundrel's attempts to take advantage of Adrienne, and the threats he had made in recent weeks. Nicholai finished with today's episode of the unsigned note as the table was cleared and dessert appeared. "Why won't she listen to me and come back to France?"

  "Hasn't she given you an explanation?"

  "Well, yes, but I don't like it. Adrienne insists that she wants to support herself and to continue her education. She has always been incorrigible. A few years ago she ran away from school and fell in with a woman who was being paid by noblemen to find them young... ladybirds. Thank God she was rescued in time." He shook his head. "She's grown up since then, but she still fights convention, and she's not interested in marriage. I'm sleepless with worry."

  "It must be difficult to stand back and trust her when you fear for her safety. I've had Walter Frakes-Hogg pointed out to me as a person to avoid, so I understand your concern."

  "If only she'd listen to me!"

  Nathan sought another topic. "My own parents have had their share of sleepless nights over me as well. I learned too well from my father and became a sea captain myself, and now I spend most of the year in Barbados."

  "Barbados! Odd you should say that; the island is my favorite of all I've visited."

  Pleased to have found a distraction, Nathan smiled and leaned forward. His dessert, a particularly heavy trifle, went unsampled. "I share your sentiments, sir. When I began sailing my own ships to the West Indies, I had no intention of lingering. I meant to load up sugar and rum and be on my way, but I found that Barbados worked on me in the subtlest ways—"

  "Yes!" the older man exclaimed. "Everything seems exotic there, from the sun on one's back to the turquoise sea to the scent of the frangipani and the sight of the bearded fig trees—"

  "And the food and drink!" Nathan broke in. "I could live forever on Bajan rum, papaya, flying fish, limes, pigeon peas and rice, breadfruit—"

  "And yet one can still get a proper cup of tea, thanks to the British influence. I'm so fond of Barbados that I purchased fifty acres of land along the eastern coast and am loath to sell it... just in case Lisette agrees one day to leave France."

  Nathan cocked an eyebrow. "The east coast, you say? It's certainly beautiful, but that side of Barbados is also be treacherous, and not only because it's battered by the wild Atlantic Ocean. Perhaps even more dangerous is a person who lives in the eastern parish of St. Philip."

  "What person is that?"

  He sipped his brandy and slowly explained, "Xavier Crowe is my nemesis. You see, I have my own home on a sugarcane plantation farther north, but Crowe is the sort of sea captain who gives the rest of us a bad name and does everything in his power to spoil the pleasure I take in living on Barbados."

  Beauvisage's expression was concerned. "What can one man possibly be doing to cause you such aggravation?"

  "Crowe is just twenty-five, but he's spoiled, dishonorable, crafty, and far too rich. His mansion, called Crowe's Nest, overlooks the ocean, and he has plenty of henchmen to carry out his plots. More than once, when a ship has drawn near in bad weather, Crowe's men have strung lanterns along the beach's palm trees. The incoming ships have been fooled into thinking that they've reached the safe haven of Bridgetown, and they sailed toward the lights."

  "Let me guess," Nicholai interjected grimly. "The ships were dashed on the reef."

  "Just so. And Crowe's men looted the wrecks before they sank. Since he was always careful to be conspicuously absent from Crowe's Nest during the actual crime, Xavier's never been caught. Most Barbadians are afraid of him and his power, while I simply despise the man—and the feeling is mutual." He paused to light a cheroot, using the interlude to calm his temper. "I'll admit, I've had personal conflicts with him that've deepened the bad feelings between us, but it is his character and his deeds that I detest most. You ought to think twice before becoming Crowe's neighbor."

  Nicholai rubbed his jaw as he formulated a plan. "From your description of Crowe's Nest, it sounds as if our estates might adjoin." He watched the spa
rk of interest kindle in Raveneau's eyes. "You'd love to get your hands on my fifty acres, wouldn't you?"

  "To watch over Crowe—and likely catch him in his crimes—yes, I would. Intensely." A decanter of port, with two glasses, appeared, but Nathan didn't notice. His knuckles were white on the arms of the chair, and the sparks in his eyes had caught fire. "I wish that I could ask you to name your price for your land, but unfortunately my funds are nearly all tied up in the estate I've purchased in St. Andrew's Parish. The house and plantation buildings date back to 1660, and they've gotten rather shabby. When I bought that land on Barbados and began planning the restoration of my new estate, I thought that nothing could mar my happiness, but Crowe has managed to strike me on every front."

  Nicholai Beauvisage met the younger man's eyes with a penetrating stare. "I perceive, my friend, that we may be able to assist one another. If you will come to my aid, I am prepared to give you the fifty acres you covet."

  "I accept!"

  "You are young and full of fire." Nicholai chuckled. "Perhaps you should hear your side of the bargain before you agree."

  Nathan was already imagining what would happen when the land adjoining Crowe's Nest belonged to him. What a fantastic stroke of luck it had been for him to meet Beauvisage here tonight! "Tell me then," he said. "I'll do anything."

  "I want you to guard my daughter from danger until her twenty-first birthday, four months hence." He poured ruby-hued port into his own glass. "Adrienne has accepted a position as companion to Lady Thomasina Harms and shortly will travel with her ladyship to Harms Castle, there to pass the summer in musty boredom."

  "Wouldn't you imagine that Harms Castle will be protection in itself?" Nathan suggested hopefully.

  "Lady Harms has a randy son called Huntsford, and then there's Frakes-Hogg, who doubtless won't give up so easily. Perhaps I'm being a nervous father, but I will feel a good deal better about returning to France if I know that someone I trust is keeping an eye on Adrienne."

  "Are you suggesting that I protect your daughter from danger and... romantic seduction?"