A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3)

by Helen Susan Swift

  The punch was stronger than I expected. 'Did the French dance too?' I asked, trying not to splutter in a most unladylike manner.

  'Only to certain tunes,' George smiled.

  'I suppose that there were ladies present?' I experienced sudden unreasoning hatred for the women who had taught him.

  'There were ladies present,' George Rogers blundered on. 'Could you imagine the scene if only the officers were dancing? Why, Miss Flockhart, I might have been partnered by Major Weir there,' he gestured to a pouchy middle-aged man who had carelessly managed to lose an arm somewhere in his career. 'Or Captain Buchanan.' The captain was a tall, thin fellow with large hands and a fearful facial scar that twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer.

  These men gave me pause. As George had already made clear, war was not all glory and honour. I had a brief vision of my captain lying on some foreign field with a sabre slash across his face and his arm lying at his side. The image made me shiver and put me entirely out of humour.

  'What sort of women?' I asked the question I did not wish him to answer in an attempt to chase the unwelcome images from my mind.

  George sipped his punch. 'There were some delightful Dutch ladies with the most charming manners.' His wink caught me off-guard, and I wondered if he were teasing me, or attempting to make me jealous.

  'Oh,' I opened my fan. 'Was there any lady in particular?' I nursed false anger. I wished to be elsewhere for a spell so that I could control my sudden concern. If Mother Faa was correct and this uniformed man was to be my husband, I had no desire for him to ride into danger. The presence of some foreign woman or other was of far less interest.

  'Oh, there were many,' George had no idea of the turmoil inside my head.

  'I see.' I have a temper. Sometimes it is useful, and sometimes it leads me to great trouble. Now I used it unwisely. By that age, I had no foolish and over-romantic notions about men. I knew that soldiers were no angels and, in common with most women of sense, I did not expect my future husband to be lacking in experience in the bedroom. It is a strange double standard that demands total abstinence from a woman yet nearly encourages men to do the exact opposite. I am fully aware that many married ladies are very respectable on the outside while harbouring a whole nest of lovers in secret; one look at the darkened carriages in the New Town when husbands are away will prove the truth of that. However, if people conduct such affairs in private, then no harm is done. I pretended to be out of humour to rid me of my fears for George's well-being, not out of concern for his fidelity.

  'Well, I think you had better return to your Low Country women.' It was the only excuse I could think of as I turned my head, unable to take my gaze from the fearfully disfigured Captain Buchanan. My poor, brave George, putting himself in danger of such a fate!

  Pinning up the train of my dress to show I was available for other men to ask to dance, I finished the contents of my punch glass at a single foolish swallow, turned with a flourish and walked away. I hoped George watched me as I swung my hips to show that I was as desirable as any Dutch woman. Thank you, Mrs Macfarlane, I thought, as I caught a glimpse of his gaze concentrating on that part of me that I swivelled the most.

  I had no desire to hurt him, I only wanted time to think, and if I invoked jealousy in one or both of us, well, that was a natural way to encourage love. If the captain saw I was jealous of his previous acquaintances, he would realise how I regarded him and would surely reciprocate. I started as my invitation to dance attracted another man.

  'I am Sir Lancelot Snodgrass,' the gentleman bowed before me. 'Would you care to join me on the floor?'

  I raised my eyebrows at this somewhat unconventional introduction. 'Well, Sir Lancelot, I would be delighted to join you.' I curtseyed, hoping that George Rogers was watching. He had already exceeded the quota of dances required to announce his affection for me. Any more would be gluttony, yet I fervently hoped that George returned to feast with me.

  You will remember that in the early years of this century, the respectable people frowned on skin-to-skin touching between the sexes during a dance. However, we could talk and mingle within certain perimeters.

  I did not much like the look of Sir Lancelot but once one had pinned up one's dress, one was obliged to dance with any man that asked. To turn down any dance was the height of bad manners as well as signalling one's intention never to dance again that night.

  'You are from Edinburgh?' Sir Lancelot had a deep voice that matched his deep-set eyes.

  'Yes,' I said as we passed each other. I did not like the touch of Sir Lancelot's hand on mine even through my glove.

  'So am I.' We circled each other with him trying to catch my eye and me trying just as hard to avoid his.

  'That's interesting,' I said as we passed. I hoped that George was close by for I did not care one bit for Sir Lancelot's company.

  'Perhaps we are close by,' Sir Lancelot panted in my ear. 'Where do you live?'

  'Where do you live?' I countered for I had no desire to reveal my address to this man.

  'In the New Town,' he said.

  I did not believe him. The New Town had not yet expanded to its present size, and we were a small and compact community. I knew all the faces, if not all the names. 'That's interesting.' I hoped the dance would end soon so I could escape this man with his probing eyes and lying tongue. Some men made my flesh crawl.

  'I am sure I know your face,' Sir Lancelot said.

  'You could have seen me around,' I said. This dance seemed interminably long. I tried to keep in step with the rest. Where was George Rogers when I needed him?

  'It was a long time ago,' Sir Lancelot said, 'and I am sure you were not Miss Flockhart then.'

  I had not told this man my name. Something cold seemed to clamp around my heart. 'I fear you must be mistaken,' I tried to keep my tone light as I prayed for the music to stop so I could escape.

  'I am never mistaken,' Sir Lancelot put his mouth close to my ear. 'A particular friend of mine told me to look out for you.'

  'Oh?' I was in an agony of discomfort. Could I pretend a twisted ankle and limp from the dance floor? I wished I had not walked away from poor George. 'And who was this particular friend, pray?'

  'Mr William Turnbull,' Sir Lancelot rolled out the name as if it was a prize sweetmeat. His gaze never left my face.

  'Ah,' I tried to keep the sick dismay from my face.

  'We're watching you,' Sir Lancelot said. We parted, circled and returned, with my dancing partner as attentive as ever Eve's snake had been.

  'That must be an immense waste of time,' I tried to keep my tone light. If I had been a man, I could have provoked this odious man to a duel and cheerfully shot him. As a woman, I lacked that outlet.

  'On the contrary, Miss Flockhart, we find you immensely entertaining.' The music stopped at last, and we curtseyed and bowed. 'Mr Turnbull informed me that you have many secrets.' Sir Lancelot touched my arm. 'I am intrigued to find out more. I wonder how much the good Captain Rogers knows.' Bowing again, he sauntered away. I noticed Lady Pluscarden watching from a seat in the corner and bobbed a curtsey.

  I was shaking so much that I nearly fell into my seat.

  'Here you are!' George's presence was most welcome. 'I thought I had lost you in the press.' He offered a glass of punch which I accepted with alacrity.

  'That's better Miss Flockhart.' He pulled a chair to my side. 'I would like to say that I had no particular friends among the Dutch women.'

  I had all-but-forgotten my pretended anger with George. 'Thank you for telling me that, George.' I still could not force a smile. 'I should not have acted as I did. The fault was mine, not yours, and I hope you can forgive me.'

  'There is nothing to forgive,' George said at once, and I liked him all the better for it. 'I believe I was teasing you.' He smiled. 'The matter is closed.' He frowned. 'You look a little unsettled, Dorothea. Are you unwell?'

  'I just had an encounter with a thoroughly unpleasant man,' I said.

  'O
h?' George looked around the room with its colourful dresses, scarlet uniforms and scattering of civilian men. His tone hardened. 'Who was it?'

  'A Sir Lancelot Snodgrass,' I said. 'A horrible creature.'

  George raised his eyebrows. 'Pray point him out to me.'

  'No, no,' I had no desire to involve my good captain in another duel. He had not proved himself the best of shots against Gibbie, and Sir Lancelot looked like a man who would delight in putting a pistol ball in anybody's head. 'Please forget it, George. He's gone now.' This evening was not progressing as I had hoped it would.

  'I'll find him,' George rose on his last word and moved through the crowd. I followed, plucking at his sleeve until he took hold of me and guided me back to my seat. 'It would be better if you remained there.'

  'Please, George, let it lie,' I wished I had controlled my tongue. Hush your tongues, Horace had said, and he never wrote a more accurate phrase.

  I watched in an agony of suspense as George drifted from man to man. I wished I had said nothing. I wished I had kept my mouth shut rather than involving a man I more than liked in affairs he could not alter.

  Another dance began, and the floor became a medley of men and women, laughing, talking and enjoying life as I sat there alone and anxious. I bit my lip, hoping that George did not find Sir Lancelot.

  'Miss Flockhart!' I looked up. Sir Lancelot stood in front of me with a glass in his hand and George at his side.

  'I found Sir Lancelot,' Captain Rogers said.

  'So I see,' I waited, with my hands coiling and uncoiling on my lap. 'I rather wish you had not.'

  'I can understand that,' Sir Lancelot gave a mocking little bow.

  Trying to ignore Sir Lancelot, I faced George. Somehow, I knew that things were coming to a climax. What happened in the next few minutes would decide the future of our friendship. It would either deepen or end, and at that moment I desperately hoped that George would stand by me.

  'Sir Lancelot informed me that you are not who you say you are,' George's voice was as cold as Arctic ice. 'Please tell me that he is mistaken.'

  When I met George's eyes, I saw pain. He was a good man and a brave man, yet he was bound by tradition and honour to do what was best for his family line. I could not lie to him, I would not lie to him, and I refused to reveal more of the truth in front of Sir Lancelot. The music died, and I was aware of Lady Pluscarden watching from her perch.

  I took a deep breath and prayed that George would understand. 'I am Dorothea Flockhart,' I said. 'Sir Lancelot is a man who mingles with unsavoury characters who are not gentlemen.' I stood up, fighting the trembling of my legs. 'You, Captain Rogers, know me well enough to know I am not given to telling untruths.'

  'You hide your true self,' Sir Lancelot said. 'You tell the partial truth and leave out vital intelligence. Mr Turnbull and I have had long conversations about you.'

  'Then, sir, neither you nor Mr Turnbull is a true gentleman,' I wished that George would come to my aid. Please trust me George; I cannot reveal everything.

  Do you wish me to inform this brave soldier about your past?' Sir Lancelot said.

  To my great relief, George spoke out at last. 'I am sure Miss Flockhart will tell me everything in due course.' I could have hugged him.

  Sir Lancelot folded his arms and stared at me. 'I will wait here until she does.'

  I was not sure which emotion was uppermost, indignation, anger or fear. 'I am not here to perform at your leisure, sir!' I managed to say.

  'And yet, madam,' Sir Lancelot gave a neat little bow. 'I heard that you performed for the pleasure of others.'

  I stared at him, speechless with humiliation and mounting hatred. How much did that man know? How much of my past life was bandied about by Turnbull and Sir Lancelot and their circle of friends? At that minute I wished I had remained in India, anonymous among the Indians who had proved true friends. I also wished I had brought my pistols, for I would willingly have pushed one against Sir Lancelot's forehead and blown his brains out across the assembled company. Perhaps respectable ladies should not harbour such thoughts, well, this lady did, and she had another idea where to press the muzzle of her pistol that would have appalled my more traditional companions.

  I looked at Captain Rogers, hoping for support. He looked shocked. 'Tell me that it's not true, Miss Flockhart.'

  I could not tell him that. My tongue seemed to swell within my suddenly dry mouth so I could not articulate a single word. The memories returned in a sequence of vivid flashes, each one imprinted in my mind. I saw their faces and heard their laughter. Man after man, laughing as they came to me. Only my anger prevented me from fainting; that and my intense hatred for Sir Lancelot Snodgrass.

  'Miss Flockhart?' George Rogers' voice was hard as his eyes. I was the enemy now, as much as the French had ever been. 'Is that your real name?'

  'It is what she calls herself now,' Sir Lancelot spoke lightly. 'I am so glad you came to me in person, Captain. It would have been ruinous for the reputation of your family if you had spent much more time with a woman of this type.'

  'Captain…'I began. The words choked in my throat. 'George… You must trust me.'

  I knew it was too late. Sir Lancelot's hints of impropriety or worse had already destroyed my credibility. A gentleman and an officer, a man who possessed the King's Commission, could not be seen with a woman whose reputation was less than perfect. George had already informed me of the history of his family and his brother who had eloped with a maidservant. The Rogers family could not afford any more scandal, George's career would end, and quite possibly his regiment would ostracise him. He would be cast adrift from all good society, a man shunned.

  I could not allow that to happen. I would nurse my secrets and watch my future collapse.

  'What is your real name, Madam?' George Rogers' voice cracked like the wrath of God. I saw the agony in his eyes and knew he had cared for me, as I had for him.

  'I am Dorothea Flockhart,' I lifted my chin stubbornly.

  'And now ask her how many men she has entertained,' Sir Lancelot was enjoying himself.

  That was the moment of truth. If George supported me, there was hope. If he did not, then our friendship would die. I waited, hoping.

  'Well, Madam?' George asked.

  I could not plead, not with Sir Lancelot watching. I did not answer. It was up to George and the trust I hoped we had built up over the past weeks.

  'Goodbye, madam.' Turning on his heel, Captain Rogers marched into the crowd. He did not turn around.

  Sir Lancelot gave the most elegant of little bows. 'I am sure Mr Turnbull will be calling on you soon,' he said.

  I was alone, sitting on my chair in that building I had entered with such high hopes only a few hours ago. It had taken one whiff of scandal, one suggestion of impropriety for a man I liked, and who I knew liked me, to walk out of my life. I knew I would not see him again. As the first of my tears fell, I saw Lady Pluscarden start and half rise from her chair. I left the Assembly Rooms before she could talk to me, and George Street welcomed me with a blast of air that was no colder than the thoughts that crammed into my brain.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I will not dwell on the remainder of that night. I will only say that I returned to Thistle Street in tears, with one shoe missing, and my hair a-tangle under my broken hat.

  Mrs Macfarlane nodded. 'The night did not go well, then. Come with me, Miss Flockhart,' she brought me into the drawing room and poured me a large glass of claret. 'This may help.'

  I stared at her, saying nothing as my mind turned somersaults.

  'Where is the elegant Captain?'

  I shook my head, holding the glass in shaking hands.

  'Drink,' Mrs Macfarlane lifted my hand, so the glass pressed to my lips. 'Did he misuse you, Miss Flockhart?'

  I shook my head again.

  'There's been bad work though,' Mrs Macfarlane nearly poured the claret down my throat. 'Bad work.' She grunted. 'Will you be seeing Captain Rogers again
, Miss Flockhart?'

  'No,' I managed to say.

  'And why not? A well set up lady like yourself! He should be proud to know you.'

  'There are things you don't know, Mrs Macfarlane.'

  'We all have a past, Miss Flockhart and we all do silly things in our youth.' Mrs Macfarlane poured out another glass of claret. 'Do you wish to talk about it?'

  'I can't,' I said.

  'Very well, then.' Mrs Macfarlane frowned. 'Was that Turnbull fellow involved?

  I nodded.

  'I thought so,' Mrs Macfarlane nodded slowly. 'It's high time he was put in his place.'

  I agreed. Still numb from losing George in such a manner, I could take no more. Once more at the bottom of a deep dark well, I felt as if everybody I had ever known was kicking me, even George Rogers. I wanted to strike back.

  'What should we do?'

  Mrs Macfarlane smiled. We will discuss that tomorrow,' she said. 'Come on, let's get you to bed.'

  'Yes Mrs Macfarlane,' I said as meekly as if she had been my mother. I did not expect to sleep.

  I had looked at the clock a dozen times as it approached two in the afternoon. Each tick seemed to hang in the air before it sounded, and each quivering movement of the minute hand lasted ten times as long as it should do. I took a deep breath, stood up and walked the length of the drawing room. At last, I was fighting back. Finally, I was doing something, and I felt sick. Was that because of fragile nerves? Or fear? Or was it something else? I eyed the claret and whisky decanters and wondered if I should pour myself something. The clock ticked again, another second closer to two o'clock.

  I must have jumped an inch in the air when the knock came at the door. I sat down, composed myself and attempted to look calm when Mrs Macfarlane ushered Mr Turnbull into the room.

  'Here is Mr Turnbull for you, Miss Flockhart.' Mrs Macfarlane kept her expression neutral.

  'Thank you, Mrs Macfarlane. You'll forgive me if I don't rise, Mr Turnbull' I said.

  Turnbull gave a low bow as he entered. 'Miss Flockhart,' he purred. 'How good it is to see you once more.'