by Linda Ladd
Chapter 23
On the fifteenth day of May in 1812, Alysson celebrated her nineteenth birthday and, at Donovan's insistence, spent most of that afternoon in the luxurious shop of New York's most renowned couturiere being fitted for a complete new wardrobe. It was his birthday present to her. By the time Madame Bouvier was finished showing her a vast array of satins, foulards, and brocades, as well as feathers, reticules, gloves, and slippers, all in compliance with her husband's orders that no expense be spared, dusk had descended over the city streets.
Eager to be away from the tedious hours of selecting day dresses and evening gowns, Alysson settled back into the gold velvet squabs to relax. Jethro slapped the reins, and she heaved a heavy sigh, feeling very tired from the ordeal at the overzealous French dressmaker's. But it had been exciting too, for she now wore a dress that Donovan had chosen personally for her. She examined the white satin gown with its yoke of fine Venetian lace, glistening with tiny pearls. Her fingers went to her throat where a five-strand pearl necklace with a diamond clasp was fastened. Donovan had described this very dress to her the first night he had made love to her, and Alysson treasured it as yet another token of his love, just as he had meant it to be.
She glanced out the window, anxious to arrive home. Olivia and Katie had returned to Wildwood the day before after a long stay, and though she felt a moment's guilt about it, she rather looked forward to a time alone with her most deliciously virile husband. At the moment, she would like nothing more for her birthday than to spend a long evening in bed with Donovan.
She laughed to herself at what a wanton hussy she had become, but nevertheless shivered to think of the feel of Donovan's well-practiced hands playing over her body. He was such an exciting man, sometimes so gentle with her, taking hours to caress her into a fevered state of sensation. But at other times, he would appear at the door at midday, pulling her off to their bedchamber to take her eagerly, hungrily, as if he could not wait another moment.
Chillbumps formed, undulating over her flesh as the carriage turned into the curving road in front of the house. She was surprised but pleased to see Donovan awaiting her on the front porch. He came upright from where he lounged one shoulder against the pillar, running down the steps, and she smiled eagerly at him as he pulled open the door.
"Where have you been so long?” he demanded, lifting her out and holding her close for a bare moment before he put her on her feet.
"Letting Madame Bouvier prick me all day with her sharpest pins and needles,” she answered in mock vexation. Donovan laughed.
To her surprise and Jethro's amusement, he swept her off her feet and ran lightly up the steps with her in his arms. Inside, the lamps had not been lit against the encroaching night, and he carried her into the front parlor where the maids had drawn the drapes, making it very dark and private. He put her down, but kept his hands on her small waist, holding her close in front of him.
"Happy Birthday, my love,” he said very softly, his lips barely grazing her forehead. He straightened, smiling down at her.
"Tell me, sweet. If you could have anything this night from me, any birthday present in the world, what would you ask for?"
Alysson looked up at him, his chiseled face swathed in shadows, making his curly black hair even blacker, and she smiled sensuously, remembering her arousing thoughts during the ride home. She slid her palms slowly up the front of his gray jacket, her voice low, husky, and seductive.
"I would have you take me upstairs and undress me very slowly, like you did last night, kissing every—"
She gasped in surprise as Donovan's palm came up to muffle anything else she might have to say. He pulled her against him, and she heard the low rumble of suppressed laughter deep in his chest.
"Surprise! Happy Birthday, Alysson!"
Alysson froze as the loud chorus of voices sounded from all around them. Candles were lit one by one, revealing all the people who had been hiding behind furniture and in the shadowy recesses of the room—Odette, Billy, Rosalie, Olivia, and Katie. Alysson's face went from shock to dismay to scarlet. She hid her face in Donovan's fine linen shirt in utter mind-numbing mortification as they all gathered around them. She wouldn't look up, couldn't look at any of them, not ever again. The way Donovan was rocking with silent laughter didn't help in the least.
"Don't be so embarrassed, love, they all know how happily married we are,” he whispered, leaning down close. But it was only when Stephens rolled in a huge cart with a three-tiered cake and candles that Alysson could face anyone. Her face still hot with a blush that would not go away, she sat down behind a small round table laden with birthday presents. Odette and Katie helped her unwrap them as the others were served warm plum cake and champagne. Donovan stood back, his eyes never leaving his wife as she finally got over her embarrassment and began to laugh and exclaim over her gifts.
The surprise party had turned out well after a month of planning, and he was still amazed that neither Katie nor Odette had let the surprise slip to Alysson. Neither were known for their trustworthiness when it came to keeping secrets, but Alysson had been more than surprised. He chuckled inside again to think of what she had requested of him in front of everyone. Her quick passion never failed to please and excite him, and it was so like Alysson to say such a thing, but always in private. In front of others, she was so shy and reserved concerning the intimate part of their marriage. She was embarrassed even when he kissed her in front of others, which was often. What she had said amused him still, but the time was at hand now for his real surprise, and he was very eager to reveal it to her.
"Come along, English, it's time for my special gift to you."
Everyone sat down and quieted as he went to her. Alysson put her hand in the one he extended to her, looking around curiously at her friends as he led her to the closed doors of the adjoining dining room. What more he could possibly do? He had done so much already. Love warmed her eyes to a smoky emerald glow as she looked up at him. He squeezed her hand, then slid open the doors.
Two people stood on the other side, and Alysson's expectant smile dropped away. She blanched white, then, to Donovan's startled dismay, burst into tears.
"Mathilde, Freddie,” she managed brokenly. Even the unsentimental Rosalie Handel dabbed at her eyes with her hanky as Alysson went into the sturdy arms of the beloved old German woman, sobbing on her broad shoulder as she pulled Freddie close into their embrace with her other arm.
Donovan's initial concern disappeared as Alysson released them and went to him, hugging him tightly.
"Oh, thank you,” she whispered. “You are the kindest, most wonderful man in the entire world."
Then she was gone again, wiping at her joyful tears as she drew her dear friends forward to meet her new American friends. Freddie and Mathilde smiled shyly at everyone, all the while trying to answer the countless questions Alysson was putting to them about their past year in England.
Donovan stayed in the background and enjoyed Alysson's happiness, having never quite realized the pleasure he would give his young wife, by bringing her friends to New York. When he had posted Alysson's letter to them just after Christmas, he had sent along one of his agents with orders to bring them back or not return himself. Though it had taken some time and expense to track them down, it was worth any amount to him. He hoped that now the sad, wistful look that had sometimes darkened Alysson's green eyes would be banished forever.
In the happy days that followed, Mathilde and Freddie settled into the MacBride town house with Alysson pampering their every need and desire, until they were quite bewildered by the unaccustomed luxury. Amused by young Freddie's discomfort in the company of the women day after day, Donovan finally took him to his offices with him. Once he learned of the lad's interest in the sea, he promised him a position as cabin boy on one of the MacBride ships as soon as Freddie was old enough. After that, Freddie spent most of his time at the harborfront and the MacBride Shipping Offices, while Alysson was pleased to have Mathild
e remain at home with her.
On a warm June afternoon when the yellow cinnamon roses were blooming full and fragrant along the trellises, the two of them strolled leisurely through the gardens. Alysson stopped to cut a rose for her basket. She felt wonderful and carefree and happier than she had ever been in her life. She sat down on a low stone wall beside Mathilde, giving the old woman a spontaneous hug and kiss on the cheek.
"I am so glad you are here with me. Do you really like it here in America? Will you stay?"
"Ja, ’tis fine here. Your house is grand, so different from our wee cottage. But dis idleness is not goot. I need sometink ta do. Da cook, she need help wid these huge meals the master orders."
"Don't call him the master, Mathilde. He wants you to call him Donovan. He said so himself. You're our guest here. You don't have to cook or do anything."
"Ja, I work. I have always work,” Mathilde answered stubbornly, then frowned as a familiar, mischievous smile turned up the corners of Alysson's mouth.
"What? You grin like a crocodile."
"I was only thinking that I may have the perfect job for you, if you absolutely must work."
"What is it then? Be assayin’ what you mean."
Alysson's smiled widened.
"You can be the nursemaid for my babe,” she said softly, putting her hand on her stomach. Mathilde stared at her, her ruddy old face slowly giving over to beaming delight.
"You are with child? Does the master know?"
"Not yet,” Alysson said, her eyes dancing. “I only just found out this morning. That's where I went after breakfast. To Doctor Whittingham's office. I have suspected it for nearly two months now. I intend to tell Donovan as soon as he returns from his ride."
"He vill be pleased. It is almost sinful the way he dotes on you.” Mathilde observed, but with an indulgent smile, for she had worried very much about Alysson in the months they had been separated.
"I rather like it,” Alysson said with a grin, but the clopping of a single horse arriving in the cobbled stableyard sent her to her feet.
"There he is!” she cried, and ran without even a good-bye to Mathilde, down the path toward the gate.
"Do not run! Remember der Kind!" Mathilde cried after her, and Alysson did slow a trifle, climbing atop a low wall to await her husband's arrival.
He appeared a moment later astride Warlock, dressed casually for the morning's ride, his muscular thighs adorned in doeskin breeches, his high black boots caught in the stirrups. He looked so big and tanned in the white silk shirt he wore, and when he saw Alysson, his teeth flashed white in a wide smile. He guided the great stallion toward her, bending down to lift her easily with one arm to sit across the saddle in front of him.
"Hello, my love,” he said huskily after giving her a thorough kiss.
"Hello, I've got a surprise for you,” she began, but Donovan didn't give her time to say more.
"And I have one for you, but you'll have to come along with me to see it. Hold tight."
Alysson leaned back against his broad chest, feeling very secure in the circle of his strong arms as he spurred the horse down the carriage road to Wall Street. Ignoring the curious stares of passersby, he trotted down the length of William Street with her to Bowery Road. When they reached the dirt roads leading into the less populated northern part of the island, he broke into a gallop.
Alysson held on to the saddle tightly. The fast ride was exhilarating and wonderful, even though she had no idea where he was taking her. When he finally slowed the horse, they turned into an overgrown path that meandered through shady maple trees to a large manor house. Despite its burned and dilapidated exterior, Alysson could tell that it had been a beautiful home at one time.
"Where are we?” she asked as Donovan slid off the horse and reached up for her.
"This was my father's house.” He set her down, looking up at the second story. “I was born up there, in the room with the iron balcony."
Alysson followed his pointing finger, looking at the house with new interest. As she walked along the weed-choked brick wall with him, his hand caught hers, and she remembered the haunting pain in his eyes the night he had told her about the British soldiers torching his home. She could see it so clearly in her mind, a little black-haired boy, trying to be brave for his mother, trying not to cry. She looked up at him, but he didn't seem to be reliving such memories as he led her around the side to the backyard. A short distance down the black lawn, a stone springhouse sat nestled among a grove of hickory trees, and while Donovan pumped her a cup of cold water, Alysson sat on the wall, looking around. For the first time, she saw the pile of freshly cut lumber stacked against the back of the mansion.
"You're going to rebuild it, aren't you?” she said, pleased by the thought of restoring the stately old house.
Donovan leaned one hip against the wall beside her and looked up at the house. “Yes, I am."
"And we are going to live here, aren't we?"
"No."
Alysson had been so sure that was his intention that she looked at him in surprise. “No? Then who will?"
Donovan smiled, his eyes intent on her face. “No one. I intend to make it into a theater for you. The interior has already been gutted, and if the weather stays good, it should be open by the end of the summer.” Alysson's mouth gaped, and she stared wordlessly at him.
"Truly?” she said finally. “Do you mean it?"
"Of course I mean it."
She still could not believe he was really considering such a thing. “But you said it wouldn't be seemly for me to be on the stage. You said that—"
"That was then,” he interjected, pulling her close and resting his chin on top of her soft hair. “I'll own this theater, so you can be completely in charge. You can choose the actors you want, and the plays as well, if you wish. I thought Rosalie and the others might be interested in playing here part of the time."
Overcome by emotion, Alysson could only lean against him. She could not speak, could not tell him what this last kindness meant to her. As tears sprang, she stifled a sob, and Donovan's arms tightened around her.
"You're going to have to stop crying every time I give you a gift,” he chided gently,” or I'll think you don't like them."
"I like them all,” she said, her words catching in her throat, and Donovan held her to him until she wiped her tears and pushed away from him, the magnitude of having her own theater and being able to pick any production she wished finally sinking in.
"Come and show me everything!"
She pulled him by the hand like an eager child, and Donovan followed her up the repaired back entrance into the kitchen. Inside the vast, gutted interior, he pointed out the newly built stage, taking great pleasure in each delighted exclamation from her, in each happy smile, for he had suffered much remorse for having been forced to take acting away from her.
"What will you choose for the opening performance?"
He leaned against the wall as he asked his question, hands in his pockets, watching as she walked back and forth along the edge of the stage. "Lear again?"
"Oh, no, I am tired of the tragedies. I am much too happy now to ever act in a tragedy again! I will put on a comedy, perhaps A Midsummer Night's Dream, since that is Katie's favorite.” She looked down at him then, and he could see the beginning of something in those expressive green eyes of hers. “Could she play the part of Puck, Donovan? I know she could do it! She memorizes lines so well! And she would be so thrilled!"
"That's a decision Olivia will have to make, but I can't really imagine little Katie getting up on a stage in front of an audience."
"Oh, but she has a natural gift for it!” Alysson exclaimed, and Donovan grinned as she began pacing again, one forefinger tapping her chin as she decided who would play what and when the rehearsals would begin.
It was later when they rode homeward that he remembered the surprise she had mentioned to him.
"Tell me your surprise,” he said against the top of her head. �
�We forgot all about it."
"Now?” Alysson asked, turning her face slightly to look back at him as they cantered along. When he nodded, her eyes took on a devilish glint.
"I just thought I would tell you that I am going to have a baby,” she said nonchalantly and felt his whole body go rigid behind her. The reins were drawn back, skidding the stallion to a sudden halt, causing the spirited beast to prance sideways.
"What did you say?"
Alysson was enjoying his reaction, thinking it was rare indeed for Donovan to reveal any kind of shock.
"I said that I was—"
Before she could finish, he was off the horse and so was she. He held her at arm's length, black eyes searching her face.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, smiling.
"When?"
"Before Christmas, I think."
He folded her in his arms then, holding her tightly. “My God, why didn't you tell me sooner? I've been galloping around with you like a complete idiot. That can't be good for you in your condition!"
"You didn't hurt me. The doctor said everything looked fine, and I'm having none of the symptoms I had last time. In fact,” she exclaimed, twirling away from him and laughing, “I feel wonderful!"
"Nevertheless, I don't want you doing anything strenuous, do you understand? The servants can help you. And you ran to meet me, Alysson,” he said, remembering, “and you climbed up on the blasted wall. You're going to have to be more careful with yourself!"
"I will, I promise,” she said contritely. “Don't worry so much."
Despite her admonition, she felt a wonderful sense of well-being as he held her tenderly in his arms for the rest of the ride home. A journey which took twice as long because Donovan held his steed to a snail's pace, the likes of which Warlock had never experienced before.