by Linda Ladd
Alysson nodded, but her muscles grew tense as Odette moved the instrument over the decks.
"There are many visitors aboard,” Odette murmured. “And there is the other Monsieur MacBride with his Russian countess."
Alysson's heart sank in a way that appalled her, then fluttered to life again as Odette amended her first observation.
"But wait, she does not wear the white, but black, and she is much too tall for that one. And there is a child with them! Who can they be?"
Alysson gave up her intention not to look, taking the glass from Odette, but was too late to get a glimpse of Donovan and his companions as the ship canted to starboard to sail into the river channel.
"Most likely it was Donovan MacBride's sister, Olivia,” Douglas commented. “As I understand it, she has a child, too. A daughter, I think."
"I didn't know he had a sister,” Alysson said, unable to hide her surprised interest, and Douglas nodded.
"Yes, she's the oldest. The little girl has some sort of disability, I believe, and her mother has lived in seclusion with her on Donovan's estate in Brooklyn Heights since her husband died. Wildwood is the name of the place, but I have never met the lady myself."
He smiled again, and Alysson decided he had the warmest smile she had ever beheld. As the afternoon progressed, he spoke often to her in an affable way that made her quite comfortable with him. He made no secret that he enjoyed her company. As the last ship ended the water parade, Alysson was disappointed that the day had come to an end.
"I am hosting a party tonight at my home,” he said to Alysson as she stood. “Please come."
The brown eyes and smile made it hard for her to refuse him, but Alysson glanced uncertainly at her friends.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Compton, but I have made plans to accompany my friends to view the fireworks display later tonight."
"Then they are all invited as well,” he insisted, then included them in a louder voice. “You must all come to my house tonight. There will be dancing and entertainment, and Rosalie, perhaps if you could come, we could take a moment to further discuss the employment of your company at the Park."
Rosalie smiled. “How nice of you to invite us, Mr. Compton. Of course we will come."
"Around seven o'clock, then. My house is just next to the theater,” Douglas said, and as Rosalie moved away he took Alysson's fingers and raised them to his lips. “Until then, Miss Tyler. I hope you will save me a dance."
"Of course,” Alysson returned with a smile, and after they had taken their leave of Douglas Compton's pavilion, she decided that he was a very nice man. She would indeed save him a dance or two or three, and she would insist that as soon as they returned to Mrs. Thackeray's, Billy would practice the waltz with her so she wouldn't step on her host's toes!
Chapter 10
Douglas Compton smiled at the pretty young woman, who blushed becomingly as she curtsied before him. He remained in his position near the front door as she moved away with her mother in a rustle of blue taffeta. She was the daughter of Daniel D. Tompkins, the governor himself, and a feeling of self-satisfaction welled inside Douglas as he surveyed with cynical eyes the social and political elite of New York. He kept his contempt for them well hidden beneath the friendly smile that came so easily to him.
During the rebellion, his family had remained loyal to the king, unlike the traitors surrounding him now. He had been a boy then, just reaching manhood, and his father had thrown his wealth and power behind the occupying British forces as any loyal subject would have done. They had lost everything after Cornwallis's defeat at Yorktown. They had been forced to flee with the British forces when they left New York in 1783, settling first in Canada, then later returning to England. But these people, these very people that he now entertained so lavishly, had taken everything they had owned. Damn them.
Douglas bowed as another couple arrived, and he greeted them with a warm welcome. John Tiedgemen was a judge, and Compton made sure he and his wife held a brimming goblet of fine champagne before he resumed his position at the door. Another party was entering the foyer, and he searched the ladies in their glittering turbans and elegant finery for a glimpse of Alysson Tyler.
He frowned when she wasn't among them, pulling a solid gold watch from the pocket of his white silk waistcoat and snapping it open. It was already half past eight; they were late. Their tardiness annoyed him, but at the same time made him all the more eager to see Alysson again. Never had he expected Lord Tyler's daughter to be so beautiful, though her father had mentioned in one of his letters that her beauty would work in their favor in her marriage to MacBride.
Douglas took a glass of wine from one of the maids, very curious as to what had gone amiss. It was unusual for Lord Tyler's plans to go awry—that was one of the things Douglas had most admired about his English benefactor. He revered the man, a real lord, descended from kings, and he had since the time his father had introduced them ten years ago. They had found then that they shared the same burning desire to bring the Americans to heel again, which was why Douglas became a British spy. It had been Lord Tyler's suggestion that Douglas return to New York and purchase the Park Theater. His idea and his money. And since then, the theater had been invaluable in their intelligence work. As Daniel Tyler had said, most of the Americans had short memories of the Compton family's loyalties in the war, and as the owner of the most prestigious theater in the city, he not only had contact with the crÈme de la crÈme of society but the actors he had recruited for his cause were perfect to transport secret information from city to city under the cover of their traveling troupes.
He nodded as a curvaceous widow he knew slightly sought him out to bore him with her fawning flirtation, but he disentangled himself quickly, glancing once more at the door. Only a week ago, he had received the comminiqué which Daniel Tyler had penned, revealing at length the amusing account of his daughter's forced marriage to Donovan MacBride. His Lordship had clearly been elated by his success and had instructed Douglas to make an effort to gain her friendship once she had arrived. But her arrival had fostered a very different set of circumstances, and though he had tried to find out more from her by mentioning Donovan MacBride and the Halcyone, it had done little good. She had acted mildly interested but not willing to say very much. The whole matter intrigued him, and he had already decided to find out exactly what had happened during her crossing on the MacBride ship. They had to be married; Lord Tyler had witnessed the ceremony himself.
A faint smile lifted his lips. Not that the unexpected development displeased him. Alysson was fair game to him if she really wasn't married, and there were many ways he could use her for his own purposes. She had found him attractive; he had seen it in those big green eyes of hers. And it was apparent that she was young and vulnerable; it should be easy to win her over. He had thought of little else since he had spent time with her that morning, but he would have to be very careful. Her father had mentioned her intelligence and willfulness, as well as her beauty, and Douglas would just have to make certain that she never had any reason to distrust him. If things went well, he might even marry her himself. The idea of being the son-in-law of an English lord rather appealed to him.
When Alysson did arrive not long after, Douglas had hardly greeted the others before he took her hand and smiled down into her eyes.
"I was afraid you weren't coming,” he whispered, and Alysson smiled, thinking he looked most handsome in his black evening attire.
His eyes still held the friendly twinkle that she found so disarming, and she willingly took his arm and let him lead her toward the ballroom. White tapers by the hundreds illuminated the huge room, casting a soft glow over the glossy floor. They passed beneath an immense crystal chandelier ablaze with more candles and white wall panels where huge murals of pastoral scenes were framed in red velvet and gold.
The dancing had not begun, and Alysson moved along at his side as he maneuvered her through the milling crowd, introducing her to different friends
and acquaintances along the way. Belatedly, Alysson realized Odette and the others had not followed them.
"Mr. Compton, I'm afraid we have become separated from my friends."
"Exactly, my dear. I want us to be alone for a time."
Alysson had to laugh at his admission. “Alone? In here?"
Further conversation was made impossible as an elderly man came up to him. He was short and stocky with a perpetually flushed complexion and a long gray beard, and the woman with him was of similar height and build, her silver hair piled in an elaborate coiffure decorated with ostrich feathers and glittery black beads.
"Good evening, Doctor Whittingham. And Madam Whittingham. I hope you are enjoying yourselves this evening."
"Yes, indeed we are, my good fellow. Your gatherings are always worth the trouble of walking on this blasted leg of mine,” the doctor returned in a good-humored, blustery explosion of speech.
Alysson smiled, and Douglas winked at her. “May I introduce Miss Alysson Tyler. She has recently arrived from London with Madame Rosalie Handel's theatrical company.” He looked back at Alysson. “Alysson, Doctor Whittingham is my physician, as well as that of most of the other people in this room."
Rosalie Handel's reputation was well known to them, and Douglas's introduction brought many interested questions from the Whittinghams. As Alysson answered them, Douglas observed her, his eyes roving admiringly over her small, exquisite face. Her gown was pink silk, a very delicate shade decorated with satin roses of a darker hue. His regard lingered momentarily on the soft white flesh curving so temptingly beneath the lace of her neckline, though its cut was quite modest compared to most of the ladies in attendance.
He could tell the dress was expensive, fashionably high-waisted in the French style and draped gracefully around her legs. It was probably from the trousseau furnished by her father, and Douglas tried to visualize the naked limbs hidden beneath the smooth pink fabric. Her hair was pinned into a loose knot, surrounded by pink rosebuds, high atop her head, with fine red-gold tendrils curling tantalizing around her face. Her hair seemed rather short for the current fashion of New York, but it gave her a youthful, devastatingly disarming look of innocence. Suddenly eager to be away from the doddering old couple monopolizing her, he made an excuse and pulled Alysson away from them.
"I hope everyone doesn't find you as fascinating as they did, or I never will have a moment alone with you."
Alysson found him more charming with each passing moment, and Rosalie had seemed pleased that he had invited them to his home. After all, he did own the theater in which Rosalie wanted them to work, and Alysson reminded herself to do nothing to offend him.
"There is someone I want you to meet,” Douglas said as he caught sight of a man standing by himself near the open terrace doors. He guided Alysson toward him, and as they neared, the stranger reached out and clasped Douglas's hand in a warm handshake. They were obviously quite good friends, and Alysson thought the other gentleman to be the most elegant-looking man she had ever seen. He looked to be a bit older than Douglas, in his late forties perhaps, and he stood very erect, making him appear taller than he really was. He was clean-shaven, with dark blue, penetrating eyes, but his hair was most striking—a great leonine mane, prematurely silvered, that created a marked contrast to his tanned and unlined face.
"Alysson, allow me to introduce one of the greatest actors in the country. Mr. Adam Sinclair. Adam, this lovely lady is Miss Alysson Tyler."
Alysson felt all color drain from her face, and the hand she had extended to him stilled in midair. She thought he looked as shocked as she felt, then he gave a puzzled smile, and she realized it must have been her own stunned reaction that had surprised him.
Douglas had noted it as well, and he leaned down to her, concerned. “What is it, my dear? Are you unwell?"
Alysson recovered herself quickly, but her mind raced with the idea that the man standing in front of her was Adam Sinclair. Could it really be him? Her mother's true love?
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sinclair,” she said breathlessly, “but I was so shocked to hear your name. I've heard my mother speak of you so many times."
Douglas hid his own surprise at her revelation, then turned inquisitive eyes on Adam.
"Indeed?” Adam Sinclair was saying in a deep, sonorous baritone that Alysson knew would be magnificent upon a stage. “I do hope it was with kindness that she spoke of me, but you have me at a disadvantage, I'm afraid. What is your mother's name?"
He smiled then, a look of perplexed interest on his face, and Alysson was quick to tell him.
"It was nearly twenty years ago, but I am sure you will remember her, because I believe you became very good friends during your stay in London. Her name was Judith Hampstead then. She said she met you one day when the wind blew away her hat and you retrieved it for her."
"Judith Hampstead?” Perplexity brought Adam Sinclair's heavy black brows down into a frown. “I am afraid I have no recollection of such a lady.” He glanced around the room. “Is she here with you tonight?"
Alysson shook her head, disbelieving that he did not remember her mother, when Judith had spent so many years mourning his loss. “No, she died several months ago, but when you met her you were performing at the Crownover Theater in Southwark. She said you gave this to her."
She pulled a long silver chain from where it had been hidden in her bodice, holding out the dainty silver filigree cross for him to see. “Surely you remember giving this to her."
Adam and Douglas both gazed down at the necklace in her palm, then Adam shook his head, looking truly regretful.
"I am very sorry, Miss Tyler, but I have never seen that cross before. Douglas here can tell you that I am quite fond of jewelry such as that, and I am sure I would have remembered such a beautiful piece of work. Perhaps your mother somehow confused my name with one of the other actors."
Alysson felt a curious hurt, an ache inside, as if Adam Sinclair had forgotten her instead of her mother, but she could not insist that he remember Judith. She tucked the cross back into its place.
"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Sinclair. My mother was forgetful at times."
"I am sure not having met her was my loss, especially if your mother was as beautiful as her daughter."
An image came to Alysson: a frail, broken body on the flagstones of the cottage.
"My mother was very beautiful, Mr. Sinclair. Everyone thought so."
She looked away from them, suddenly wanting to be away from Adam Sinclair. She scanned the room for her friends and found Rosalie and Odette near one of the crimson-draped buffet tables, then froze under her second shock of the night.
Donovan MacBride stood with them, looking very tall and arrogant in his dark jacket and trousers, his spotless white cravat a vivid contrast to his dark skin. He had shaved his beard since the last time she had seen him, and Alysson stared at the lean contours of his face, thinking he looked even more handsome than before. Waves of emotion shook her, and she hated herself for the heat rising in her face, for he was not alone. His Russian mistress stood between Brace MacBride and him, her white lace dress looking very much like a bridal gown. Suddenly horrified at even the thought of having to confront the two of them, Alysson turned to Douglas.
"Please excuse me, gentlemen, but I really must rejoin my friends now."
Both men bowed gallantly, and She moved away and out onto the balcony, certainly not willing to seek out Odette and Rosalie just yet. Not when they stood with Donovan. The cool night breeze felt good upon her hot face, and she was grateful for the cloak of darkness that hid her flushed and agitated appearance. Others were milling about the garden, awaiting the fireworks display, and Alysson walked down a path lit at intervals by glass-encased oil lamps on tall brass stands, every conceivable kind of feeling whirling in a boiling vortex inside her.
The introduction to Adam Sinclair had been a shock, and a disappointment, but it was Donovan's unexpected appearance that made her hands tremble. She had known
he would go back to his mistress, but the sight of them together was more than she could bear. She hated herself for her own feelings.
The first fiery explosion suddenly brightened the starry skies above, and Alysson raised her eyes as the next appeared, a brilliant yellow starburst blossoming against the blackness like a gigantic sunflower. White and red pinwheels followed, with showers of sparks falling groundward to delight the spectators, and she could hear the crowd from the ballroom spilling into the gardens to ooh and aah as each new rocket burst into vivid splashes of color. She wanted to be by herself for a few moments longer, however, and she chose a small bench in the shadows. She watched silently until the grand finale ended the display with a glorious show of color and sound, engendering enthusiastic applause in the gardens around her.
The guests began to wander toward the house again in small, scattered groups, and it wasn't long before the lilting strains of a waltz floated from the open doors. Alysson remained where she was, calling herself a coward, but still hoping Donovan would be gone before she must return to the ballroom. Her thoughts returned to Adam Sinclair and her mother, and it made her feel very sad to think that Judith had been so lonely and unhappy in her marriage that she had created a fantasy about a young American actor. It broke her heart to think of it and brought back so many painful memories that a rush of tears burned her eyes. She suppressed them, then went rigid at the sound of Brace MacBride's deep voice nearby. A woman answered him, and Alysson came to her feet and fled her hiding place, heading for the terrace.
A waiter stood there holding a silver tray of crystal goblets of champagne, and though she had once vowed never to imbibe again, she took a glass and gulped from it as the servant moved away. She gasped then, spilling her wine as a strong arm encircled her waist. The next thing she knew her back was against a tree trunk and Donovan MacBride was staring down into her face, his arms braced on either side of her to prevent her escape.