Busbee, Shirlee

by Lady Vixen

  Dumbfounded, Allen stared at her helplessly and Nicole's laughter bubbled out at his expression. "You see —I have no choice but to wait until I'm of age."

  Realizing his lack of speech was less than complimentary, Allen attempted an explanation and found himself stammering to a halt before Nicole's amused stare. Her self-possession occasionally alarmed him. She had no maidenly attributes, and thought as clearly and hardheadedly as a man, so much so that sometimes Allen wondered despairingly if she was even aware that she was a woman! He wasn't in love with her, but he did have a great deal of affection for her and was as fond of her as he would be of a younger brother—and sporadically even he was hard pressed to remember she was a woman! But sometimes, as now, he was extremely conscious that she was a female and a young woman of good birth, with a family in England who must often wonder at her fate.

  Nicole had no coyness, no airs about her. She was straightforward and there was nothing missish about her! No vapors and maidenly blushes, and he smiled in unwilling amusement as he pictured the stunning effect that she would have on proper London the first time she opened her beautiful mouth and uttered one of the more colorful curses which she had learned from close association with a crew of rough seamen. Throwing a companionable arm about her slender shoulders, he guided her toward the path that ran through the forest. "You know, young lady, if I thought it would work, I would marry you! But I'm very much afraid you would lead me such a merry dance, I'd go to my grave long before I plan to!"

  "I wish you would marry me, Allen," Nicole said slowly. "Are you certain you couldn't bring yourself to do it? After all, we deal together admirably, and I know you could oust the Markhams."

  Allen only shook his head at the coaxing note in her voice. "Nicole, Nicole, what an unnatural girl you are! Don't you dream of falling in love?"

  Astonishment halted her steps and perplexedly she stared at him. "But I do love you! I love you better than anyone in the whole world!" she protested.

  Gently, Allen said, "That's the wrong kind of love, Nicole. Someday you'll know what I mean, and then you'll understand when I say what you feel for me isn't enough."

  Frowning, she looked at him doubtfully and Allen flicked her lightly on the nose. "Don't worry about it," he said softly. "Forget it. You'll learn soon enough what I'm talking about, once I get you into some proper clothes."

  Inclined to argue, Nicole opened her mouth to pursue the subject. But Allen gave her a determined shove and reluctantly she moved down the path.

  And to lighten her mood Allen laughed, "Come along, young Nick, I've got a surprise for you—one I hope you'll like."

  They wandered slowly out of sight and hearing of the hidden watcher, and after a few minutes the man stepped from the concealing greenery onto the path. Though he had not been able to hear their conversation on the beach, he had observed closely their air of intimacy. There was an unpleasant smile about his chiseled lips as he thought grimly that young Nick wasn't the only one due for a surprise!

  CHAPTER 6

  Nicole and Allen, completely unaware that they had been observed, continued on the little dirt path through the lush tropical undergrowth until they reached an area where the forest stopped and signs of encroaching human occupancy could be clearly seen. The forest had been hacked back to make way for the fields of tall green sugarcane, and here and there in the distance a house or building gleamed white against the vivid backdrop of bright blue sky and a multitude of shades of green. Skirting the field where they had come out of the forest, they eventually reached their destination—a small single-storied lime-washed house.

  The house belonged to the overseer, a Scotsman, one Ian MacAlister, whom Allen had met about the same time Saber had discovered the not-inconsiderable charms of Louise Huntleigh, the only child of MacAlister's employer. And while Saber paid lazy court to Louise, a deep friendship developed between Allen and MacAlister. Consequently, whenever La Belle Garce put into the Bermudas and Allen was free of his duties aboard ship, he spent his time with MacAlister, most times with Nicole in tow.

  It hadn't taken too many visits for the canny Scot to stumble across the secret that Nicole and Allen attempted to hide. But beyond muttering that they were both daft to continue such a masquerade, MacAlister turned a deaf ear and a blind eye. If the bonnie lass wanted to be a lad, it was none of his concern.

  If Ian was prepared to turn a blind eye, Marthe, his woman, a small and comely quadroon, who was also Louise's maid, was not. The whole situation affronted her sense of propriety, but a harsh look and a stern command from her beloved Ian stilled the words of censure on her lips. But for all Marthe's obvious disapproval, she had a soft heart and secretly admired Nicole's cool effrontery. When Allen approached her to help him, she was more than willing to fall in with his plan.

  Entering the coolness of the interior of the house, Nicole glanced curiously around the room, searching for anything that could possibly be Allen's surprise. But the house, with its highly polished dark wooden floors and the soft white walls, appeared as it always did.

  Rising from the cane-backed chair in which she had been seated, Marthe, wearing a crisp white gown, smiled encouragingly at Nicole. Ian, his ever-present pipe clenched tightly between his teeth, a twinkle in the light blue eyes, laughed. "My, my, lassie, between the two of them they'll maze ye brain with all those fripperies Marthe had been gathering."

  Suspiciously, Nicole eyed Marthe and Allen, and Marthe was moved to protest in her soft musical voice, "Hush, you! Miss Nicole, you come with me and don't you pay no attention to him."

  Very much in the manner of an animal scenting danger, Nicole cast a wary look around the room. Allen smiled at her obvious uneasiness and gave her a gentle push. "Go with Marthe, Nick. She won't hurt you."

  Marthe, impatient and eager to begin the transformation, grasped Nicole's nerveless hand and led her into a small bedroom. Shutting the door on the amused faces of the two men, she turned and surveyed her charge.

  Nicole stood stiffly in the center of the room, eyeing the brass tub filled with delicately scented water much as she would a scorpion. A gown of bright butter-yellow muslin was laid out on the bed, and with a growing sense of dismay her eyes fell upon the brushes and combs as well as odd pots of God knows what that littered the low dresser. Swallowing, she took a step backward, but Marthe, the light of determination burning in her black eyes, coaxed, "Come now, Miss Nicole, wouldn't you like to see what Marthe can do? It's only for our own amusement. Besides wouldn't you like to take a nice warm bath in soft rainwater instead of that nasty seawater?"

  Gingerly Nicole approached the tub and dipped a hand into the water. It did feel soft, she discovered, delightfully so, and because she knew it would be churlish and ungrateful to spurn what Allen and Marthe felt was a pleasant surprise, she gave in resignedly. Unenthusiastically she allowed Marthe to settle her in the tub and suffered the woman's ministrations. To her astonishment she found the bath enjoyable and she was feminine enough to decide that she liked the lavender scent of the soap that Marthe used with such efficiency. She did not enjoy having her hair washed and protested vehemently until Marthe calmly poured a bucket of cold water over her head. After that she sat in wet dripping rage, while Marthe ignored Nicole's muttered threats and continued just as if her charge were a young lady used to the services of a lady's maid and not a glowering young savage. But once the bath and subsequent hair washing were behind them, Nicole, wrapped in a huge white towel and sitting in a comfortable chair, found herself so relaxed she nearly fell asleep as Marthe brushed the long dark auburn locks dry. Deftly Marthe piled the glowing hair high on Nicole's head in neat curls. After dusting her lavishly with powder, Marthe coaxed Nicole into a gossamer-thin chemise before slipping the butter-yellow gown over her head. It was a very fashionable gown, but of course Nicole didn't know that, or that it had been included accidentally in an order of Louise's some months ago. Marthe, even then with Allen's half-formed plan in mind, had begged it from her mistress w
hen the gown was discovered to be much too large for the tiny Louise. Marthe had altered it slightly from her memory of Nicole's tall, slender shape, and now the gown flowed about Nicole as if made for her.

  Slightly dazed, Nicole stared at herself in the mirror, unable to believe that the regal creature who stared back could possibly be herself. The gown was cut low across the bosom, leaving her shoulders exposed, barely covering the young upthrusting breasts. A moss-green satin ribbon passed under her bosom and was tied in a small bow underneath her breasts, while the remainder of the gown fell in soft folds to her feet—her bare feet. Unfortunately Marthe had been unable to procure slippers of a size for Nicole's long, slender feet. But Nicole never gave her lack of footwear a second thought. Excitedly, like the child she was, she burst into the room where Allen and Ian sat comfortably discussing the latest events of Mr. Madison's war.

  Both men looked up and the expressions on their faces were a tribute to Marthe's skill. Not even in his wildest dreams had Allen expected Nicole to look so beautiful, and he stared as if seeing her for the first time. She was truly a lovely girl, he thought, astonished, his gaze lingering on the shining dark fire curls before traveling down the wide forehead and the surprisingly black eyebrows and thickly lashed eyes. Unnecessarily Marthe had lightly darkened her eyebrows and lashes and had applied a light coating of rice powder before gently rouging the soft, full mouth and silently Allen applauded her skill. But there was nothing artificial about the sparkle in the topaz eyes, and as Nicole danced into the room, the yellow gown swirling out behind her, she cried, "Look at me! Am I not grand? Do you think I'm pretty?" Then lowering her eyes, she asked mischievously, "Tell me, Allen, am I as pretty as the women at Madame Maria's that you and Saber visit?"

  As Madam Maria's was a very well-known bordello in New Orleans, Allen looked everywhere but at Marthe's outraged face. Clearing his throat uneasily, he said scoldingly, "Nick, Nick, you are not to compare yourself with them—and young ladies do not talk of such things!"

  "But I am not a young lady, and I don't know any other women," she confessed with paralyzing candor, then added impishly, "except Marthe."

  Allen was torn between the desire to laugh at her artless statement and a strong desire to box her ears. Deciding amusement was the safest course, he said, "Well, hopefully, we're going to do something about your not being a young lady!"

  At Nicole's sudden mutinous expression he held up a warning hand and commanded, "Now hear me out, Nick, and listen to what I say fairly."

  A very unladylike snort was his answer, but surprisingly, without further argument, Nicole sank down onto a nearby sofa and muttered, "Leave well enough alone. I'm perfectly happy the way I am and it's really none of your concern what I do!"

  Ignoring her angry words, Allen seated himself across from her, and grasping one of her hands, he said coaxingly, "Now listen to me. What I propose to do won't hurt you—in fact it will help you. You have got to learn to be a girl and a lady sooner or later. Marthe and I intend to help you to remember how a young lady should act. If you ever take your place in society again, you can't do it wearing men's clothing and cursing like a sailor. Think about what I'm saying," he finished sternly.

  Nicole's lips thinned at his words and she snatched her hand from his loose hold. She would have liked to storm from the room and tear off the gown she was wearing, but common sense made her sit still. The truth of his words were obvious and Nicole hadn't really thought about her eventual return to her ancestral estates. It was something that would occur in the nebulous far-off future. She just expected that someday she would return, sweep the Markhams from her home, and then live happily ever after. And biting her lip uncertainly, she acknowledged within herself that what Allen proposed made sense. At this point she wasn't even sure that she wanted to return to England. Grudgingly she asked, "What exactly do you want to do?"

  Allen smiled to himself at her apparent reluctance. She was such a child—no, she wasn't a child anymore, not even the sight of her bare feet peeping out from underneath the fashionable gown could hide the fact that she was a very beautiful young girl. But she was a stubborn little minx too, and he knew his task was not going to be simple. He hoped that by clever maneuvering he could instill in her the desire to want to take her place as a wellborn young woman. Carefully, feeling his way, he answered her question.

  "Marthe and I have decided between the two of us that you might enjoy being treated as a young woman. We thought that if you would agree, whenever the La Belle Garce is in port here, Marthe would act as your maid and Ian and I, with Marthe's help, would coach you in the manners of a lady. It will be a different experience for you, one I'm sure you'll enjoy, if you let yourself. You certainly have nothing to lose."

  Frowning, Nicole regarded him. She couldn't see any flaws in Allen's reasoning yet she was suspicious of it. What was the point of learning to be a lady if she had no immediate plans to put that knowledge to use? She glanced at Ian and Marthe, then at Allen. All three faces showed only affectionate interest. Reluctantly she decided that if it meant so much to them, why not?

  And in the evening that followed she discovered she enjoyed herself very much indeed. Allen was charming, paying her teasing compliments that brought a flush to her cheeks and increased the glitter of the topaz eyes. Ian and Marthe joined in treating her as if she were a visiting guest. The only thing she didn't like were those times when the three of them corrected her unruly tongue or pointed out that young ladies do not flounce down in a chair in such a manner, nor do they gulp and splutter when drinking champagne, and laughingly Allen commented on her fascination with her image in the mirror.

  She couldn't help it. She was mesmerized by her own reflection, yet it was not conceit that drew her eyes to it again and again—it was astonishment! She had to keep looking to reassure herself that the girl in the mirror was really her.

  Allen was rather elated with the results of the evening, but he kept his thoughts to himself as the two of them made their way to the ship. She had a long way to go yet before he would wish to see her in Almack's, but tonight had been the first step forward in making her aware that there was another way of living. He wished not for the first time she would have agreed to stay with Ian and Marthe. They would have been delighted, and while with an overseer and his quadroon mistress was not precisely where he would have preferred Nick to be placed, it was a damned sight better than having her on La Belle Garce under Saber's discerning eye—lecherous eye, he amended silently.

  He would have been even more elated with tonight's success if he'd known that Nicole had shed her gown and watched Marthe remove all traces of powder and rouge with a definite feeling of regret. She wasn't ready to admit she wanted to keep her first grown-up gown, but she had been struck by a queer, confusing desire for the infuriating Captain Saber to see her arrayed in the butter-yellow muslin, her hair piled high on her head. The thought alarmed her as well as confused her, and she was decidedly uneasy as she climbed into her hammock in her little cupboard on La Belle Garce.

  This afternoon and evening had stirred old memories and half-forgotten precepts. She never thought of her "other" life, the pampered life of Miss Nicole Ashford, but tonight had awakened reminiscences—memories of her laughing beautiful mother, the candlelight gleaming on her flame-red hair and her satin gown swirling about her feet as she leaned on her husband's proffered arm. Her handsome father would be wearing silks, the white lace of his shirt foaming near his throat. Together they would descend the curving oak staircase to greet their guests while she and Giles peeped down between the railings of the banister; the carved doors to the dining room would be thrown open and the children afforded a glimpse of the long mahogany table hidden beneath a snowy white tablecloth, the crystal twinkling in the candlelight and the silver glowing brightly in the room. What a long time ago it all was, yet the memories were clear as yesterday.

  Conscious that she was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about Saber and things that wer
e best forgotten, Nicole determinedly attempted to fall asleep. It was useless. Her brain was too busy and for the first time the smallness of her sleeping quarters seemed to press in on her. Damnation and hellfire! Why did Allen have to meddle? Her restlessness was all his fault! If he would just leave well enough alone she would work it out herself.

  What was she going to do? She owned little beyond the clothes on her back. Her share of the plundered cargoes they'd taken within the past years had been minimal, and she had not saved any of it. She had merely drifted, letting each day take care of itself.

  Returning to England, she suddenly realized, was going to present a multitude of difficulties that she had never imagined. It occurred to her, dampening her spirits, that she wouldn't just be able to deposit herself as she was on the family doorstep. Certainly she would more than likely have to prove her identity—and somehow live until her claim was justified. Appallingly the idea presented itself that no one would believe her and her mouth tightened. She was Nicole Ashford and she would regain her fortune . . . but how?

  She turned restlessly in her narrow hammock. Damn Allen! Why couldn't he leave well enough alone? She was happy, she told herself fiercely. Who cared for silly old gowns and scented soap? She didn't! She liked seawater baths and her well-worn coarse linen shirt and cotton pants. But then contradictorily she gave a sigh as the memory of that silky chemise came to mind. How soft it had felt lying against her skin!

  Allen's worry that Nicole sometimes forgot she was a woman was unfounded. Of late, the last year or two to be exact, she was becoming increasingly aware of a restlessness that had everything to do with her masquerade. She wouldn't acknowledge it to herself, but she had unknowingly begun to take a great interest in the dress and mannerisms of the few women she came in contact with— not the whores the seamen tumbled carelessly below decks on their first night in port after weeks at sea, but the somewhat higher-class ladies whom Saber entertained in his quarters.