Lady Savage

by Donna Lea Simpson

  She closed her eyes and tried to settle herself to get some sleep with the distracting knowledge that Tony was pressed against her and held her close, sleepily curling his body around hers. Marriage. When she was married and felt such cravings, she would be able to satisfy them. There would be no stopping, no turning away from passion just as one wanted to go on. But would it be with a man who made her feel thus? Or had she never experienced such feelings with Gaston-Reade simply because they had never been in such a position, both literally and figuratively?

  Despite such puzzling questions as her mind taunted her with, she finally grew weary and her eyes closed, and she lost all awareness.

  • • •

  Tony, cramped and cold, awoke to find weak light penetrating the cavern entrance. The rain had stopped and the wind had died overnight; he could surmise that much from the lack of sound other than morning birdsong. He had his arms around Savina and she was curled up to his body, which was responding in a natural way. He must conquer that treacherous passion before she awoke, and to aid that aim he gently disengaged himself and tested his damaged ankle by putting his foot down. Would it carry his weight? It was a little swollen and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t broken, nor even sprained, just bruised, he thought.

  He limped to the opening and gazed out. The sun had arisen and the forest was steaming, a mist rising from the vegetation and slick ground. He took a deep breath, thankful his body was responding appropriately, though he felt an overwhelming urge of a different sort. He exited, did what he had to do, and limped back into the cave, gazing down at Savina, still curled in a tight ball and asleep.

  He couldn’t conceal from himself what he felt for her. He was in love for the first time in his life, and it wasn’t mere passion that spoke, though his body longed for her in the most indecent of ways. She inspired tenderness, too, and he was filled with the certainty that she was the perfection of all womankind, the most adorable, the sweetest, the most intelligent, and the kindest of all females. What he had laughed at in other men he now saw in himself, the urge to put his beloved on a pedestal so high she couldn’t possibly earn her ascent to such a dizzying and lofty height. And yet he acknowledged her faults, if faults they truly were. She was hasty, at times, and argumentative. She could be stubborn and unruly, and he found those blemishes wholly endearing, providing the salt in a personality that would be cloyingly, sweetly perfect without them.

  But she was not only affianced to his employer, he didn’t even have a right to try to take her away from the earl, not by any measurement he could fathom. He was not rich, nor did he have any expectations of wealth. His life’s plan was not calculated in any way to make him wealthy. His birth was good, but without the cachet of nobility in his background.

  He would impoverish her if he told her his feelings and asked her to share his life; though he was confident in his emotions, he had seen poverty before and what it could do to those who married for love despite a lack of income to support them comfortably. Love alone could not feed nor clothe two young people, but worse was the effect on the inevitable progeny that would come from such a passionate union. A large brood plus too little money for good food, proper schooling, or even an adequate house equaled squalor and misery; such were the mathematics of poverty. He loved her too much to see her become a threadbare and workworn woman, old before her time with care and strife.

  But she had a sweet and passionate nature, and if he confessed his feelings to her and she felt the same, she might eagerly throw her lot in with his, damning society to condemn them.

  No, as much as he longed to hear a confession of love from her sweet lips, he knew his duty now. He knelt by her side and stroked back her mud-encrusted hair. She murmured in her sleep and turned her face up to his, but he denied himself the right to kiss her awake, though he longed to; he wanted to kiss her muck-streaked cheek and take her in his arms. He had to ignore his own feelings and hope, against all of his inner desires, that her emotions were not engaged. He had to get her back to the encampment, exaggerate his injury, and make it seem like her night was spent nursing him, not kissing him. Whether she would go along with his charade was doubtful, but if he put it to her that it would soothe her poor father’s understandable anxiety, she would likely acquiesce. He knew that what she would not do for herself she would do for those she loved.

  “Savina,” he said, shaking her shoulder. “Savina, it’s morning. The weather has improved and we must get back to the others. Every second we delay is another second of torment for your poor father.”

  She sluggishly sat up, passed one hand over her eyes and gazed at him. “Tony, you’re filthy! What a sight we both will be in the light of day.” She arose and stretched, holding one hand to her back and grimacing at the ache. “All right. I suppose we must go. I am so hungry and thirsty I would even drink seawater right now.”

  The way back was awful and treacherous, taking more than an hour and a half. When they finally limped back into the encampment they were a wretched sight, he knew, clothes torn by rocks, mud caking their hair and clothes and limbs, misery on their filthy faces. It was good, he thought, good that they looked so wretched as to forestall any suspicion of their pastime while away. The memories would stay locked in his own heart forever.

  Zazu was the first to see them, and she dropped the pot she was carrying and ran to them, crying out incoherently, and supporting them both. Savina’s father went to his child the moment he spotted her and held her close, sobbing uncontrollably from his fear. The earl and Mr. William Barker were about to set out to look for them, and were clearly relieved that they didn’t have to do so with no idea of where to look. The explanations were tedious and lengthy, but finally they sat on crates and drank hot tea provided by Zazu, who was brushing Savina’s hair, cleansing it as best she could of mud and tangles.

  “I still don’t understand what could possibly have prompted you to wander off in that singular way,” the earl asked, his face a mask of incomprehension. “Where were you going?”

  “Only up to the rise, to see if there was any better spot for the signal fire,” Tony hastily offered. “We got lost, though, and then that wretched rain came and I sprained my ankle. It was all we could do to find a spot to shelter. It was an awful night, wet and cold and hungry. It was thoroughly wretched, and all my fault.”

  Savina glanced at him, and then looked away. Tony sighed with relief. She was not going to reveal anything more, he felt sure. For both of their sakes he was relieved.

  Thirteen

  Once they were alone, Savina and Zazu, repairing the damage the overnight storm had done to their encampment, were able to talk unguardedly. She would never think of keeping anything from her friend and sorely needed someone to unburden her conscience to anyway.

  “What really happened?” Zazu asked while they brushed drying mud from the barrels and crates that made up their encampment’s seating arrangements.

  The tarpaulin had come down in the wind, Savina saw, and they too must have had an exhausting, terrifying night, perhaps worse than she and Tony in their protected cave. Wearily, Savina slumped down on one of the crates and put her head in her hands. Then she looked up and met her friend’s intelligent gaze. “I think I’m in love with Tony Heywood.”

  Zazu sat down opposite her and took Savina’s hands in her own. “Are you sure?”

  “No! I’m not sure at all. How can you tell, Zazu, if you’re in love or not? You must know. You love Nelson.”

  “I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone. I only know how I felt . . . how I still feel.”

  “How? Tell me.”

  “I want for Nelson everything that is best. I hold him here,” she said, releasing Savina’s hands and covering her heart with one hand.

  “But but do you shiver when he touches you? Do you long to disappear with him and . . . just run away and never come back?”

  Zazu’s expression was grave. “Are you truly speaking of love, or something else? What happened up there
overnight?”

  “Nothing! He kissed me. And I kissed him.” Savina covered her face, scrubbed her eyes and then opened them again, staring over at her friend. “I wanted to do more, but we both knew we couldn’t. Is that what love is?”

  “There is a part of that,” Zazu admitted, speaking slowly. “But Savina, it’s so much more! Nelson and I trust each other. We believe in each other. I know in my heart that I will love Nelson always, and that he will always love me.”

  “Then how could you leave him behind?”

  She shrugged. “It hurt more to be so close but know we could never be together. And there were other things, other decisions . . .” She shook her head and looked away, her dark eyes welling with tears that threatened to spill over. She dashed one away impatiently. “We talked it over, and he said I needed to do what was best. He said he loved me, and that would never change, but that I had to make the decision for myself. I’ve told you the rest, and there is more in my heart . . .” She stopped and gazed meaningfully at Savina.

  Savina sighed and nodded. “I think I do understand.” She stood and looked around the encampment, the sandy muck piled up against things and the wet blankets strewn about. The tarpaulin had been folded and set aside for the men to put back up later, after the tropical sunshine had dried out the encampment. “It looks like you had as restful a night as I.”

  “It was awful,” Zazu said simply, rising too. “But worse for your father and myself, wondering where you were, and if you would be all right. I thought you would be. I know you; you’re a resolute woman. Lot of good spirit, my grandmother would say. But your poor father—he doesn’t understand how strong you are, how indomitable—and he was so worried.” Zazu reached out and hugged her. “He prayed all night, aloud; it was heartbreaking. I did the best I could, and he clung to me for a time, weeping.”

  Savina felt the tears begin, and for a moment could not choke them back. She sobbed on her friend’s shoulder, but then heard voices and straightened, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you for looking after him,” she murmured, kissing her friend’s cheek. “To him, you’re like another daughter, Zazu. Thank you!”

  “We’ll talk later,” Zazu whispered.

  The day went on, and Savina did her best to ignore the sensation that something was wrong, but she couldn’t. She was unhappy, and her mind was tormented with doubts and fears. She and Zazu slipped away to the freshwater lake and bathed, washing their hair and clothes as best they could, rinsing away the grit and filth of the difficult night both had spent. After dinner—an abundance of steamed fish, since many had washed ashore in the storm the night before—and after tidying the dishes and pots, she walked down to the beach where the men were constructing their boat.

  Her father, now that she was back, had returned to his task as Lord Gaston-Reade’s second-in-command on the boat-building crew. He waved to her, but she didn’t want to interfere, so took a seat on a rock nearby.

  Lady Venture was alone, out on her rocky promontory, and she scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of a ship. Savina supposed poor Annie must be off collecting wood for the fire, and Mr. William Barker, too, perhaps. The work of living never stopped, and all had been enjoined to gather wood, fruit and palm fronds whenever they had a spare moment.

  The earl had bowed to necessity enough to remove his boots and stockings and take off his jacket, rolling his sleeves up over his forearms, and so Savina was treated to a shocking display of manly calf and ankle. He was, as the ladies of Jamaica had whispered, a well-set-up young man, and she supposed she should be shocked, but was titillated by the sight of so much of her fiancé’s muscular flesh.

  She sighed. All she felt was the same intense irritation he always seemed to inspire now. She couldn’t imagine going through life in that state of constant vexation, though it seemed to her many women must.

  The sun descended and Savina’s father climbed the sloping beach, every line of his body expressing his weariness. He stopped at Savina’s seat, laid one hand on her shoulder, and said, “Savina, my dear, I am not as young as I used to be. Your fiancé . . . now that is an untiring fellow. Bright future. Very bright future. You will be in good hands.”

  “You should go up and lie down, Papa,” she said, gazing up at him with affection. His lined face was gray with exhaustion, and she promised herself to take better care of him. Even if that was all life held for her, she should be happy to love and be loved by such an affectionate, if occasionally misguided, parent.

  “You’re right, my dear. I shall lay myself down and pray to the good Lord to send us a rescue boat. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He wandered off, picking up his shoes and stockings from where he had left them, above the wet sand on a rock, and continued up to the encampment.

  Lord Gaston-Reade stood staring at his raft. It was on the sandy beach, but up high enough that high tide would not reach it. Constructed of palm logs and lashed together with vines, torn strips of fabric and the chinks stuffed with whatever they could find, it wasn’t pretty, but it would likely float. For a while. Until it became waterlogged.

  Slipping from her rocky seat, Savina moved down the beach and joined him in staring at the craft. She dug her toes into the sand. “Do you think you will be able to find help?” she asked.

  “I do. We have talked it over, your father and I, and we think we are not too far from Turks Island; it should be south of us. We don’t think we were blown so far north as the Bahamian islands.”

  “How sure are you?”

  The earl cast her an exasperated look. “I do not like the tenor of your questions, Savina. You appear to be interrogating me. Do you doubt my powers of reasoning?”

  Irritation chafed at Savina again, and she had to clamp down on her lip to keep from arguing. “Of course not.” Unfortunately, biting her lip didn’t work; she burst into speech again. “But are you willing to bet your life, and that of others, on it? Who will go with you? Not my father, I can tell you that with all certainty. I will not allow it. And how do you know that after hours in the water this craft will not become waterlogged and sink? And what will happen if you face winds? Will it stand up to waves?”

  He glared down at her, his hands on his hips, his feet apart. Dark with anger, his gray eyes were shadowed by his beetling brow. “Do you think I haven’t thought of all that? Really, Savina, you go too far. You’re questioning me most impertinently, and no wife of mine will take that tone with me.”

  Which made her next subject all the easier to introduce. Taking a deep breath, she faced him squarely. She had thought all day, and there was only one conclusion. “I don’t think that you and I are suited to each other at all. I cannot be less than I am to satisfy your requirements. Albert, I don’t want to marry you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him. His face was shadowed, since he had his back to the sunset, but she could see him turning scarlet at her defiant words.

  “What nonsense. Absolute madness!” The earl looked down at her, then back at the boat, and then he turned to face Savina. “You’re hysterical,” he said, his tone calmer. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “I can understand your fear. The night must have been awful . . . terrible for you, and I do know how hard you work.”

  That he had no inkling of what had gone on between Tony and her, nor did he even seem to suspect or worry about it, irritated Savina.

  He put both hands on her shoulders. “I know how hard this has been on everyone, but trust me. I will find us a way off this island, I guarantee it.”

  Cold dread gripped her stomach. Her father believed so implicitly in the earl’s judgment that he would willingly place his own life in Gaston-Reade’s hands. But Savina would throw herself down in front of the boat rather than let her father go. She pulled herself from his grasp and stared up at him. “But the American captain—”

  “Don’t speak to me of that invidious coward!” the earl roared, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. “I have hear
d enough. He will not send word to our navy. Why should he? What has he to gain?”

  “His own soul,” Savina yelled back, clenching her fists against the inclination to beat at him, to try to make him see her point. “Albert, he was not some monster; I will not believe him so lost to all human feeling as to strand helpless people and abandon them to the elements with no hope of rescue.”

  Gaston-Reade’s expression held pity and scorn. “How little you understand of the world or the ways of men, Savina.”

  “I understand enough to know that you and I will never suit. Even your own reason must tell you how little we think and feel alike on all subjects.” She paced away and kicked at the sand. “We didn’t have enough time to get to know each other, and the drawing room is such an artificial—”

  “Enough, Savina!” He held up one hand as she turned back to him. “I will not listen to another word on this subject. When we get back to London you’ll feel differently, and I will not have you jeopardize our future by saying too much now.” He gazed at his boat one last time, then said, “I’m going back up to the encampment. I suggest you do the same.”

  Savina watched him go, then glanced up at the rock promontory. On a whim, she strode across the sand, climbed the rocky outcropping, and made her way to Lady Venture’s station.

  Her hair windblown and her cheeks red from the sun and fire, Lady Venture turned as Savina approached. “Oh, I thought you might be Annie. Where is that girl?”

  “I don’t know.” Savina gazed at the fire. As twilight approached, Lady Venture added dry wood to the heap, whereas in daylight she used lots of green palm leaves, brush, anything that would give a lot of smoke. She had, to Savina’s surprise, not shirked her duty.

  “What happened during the night last night?” Savina asked. “That was a terrible storm.”

  “I stayed as long as I could, but the waves came crashing over the promontory and swept my fire out to sea. William and I rebuilt it today.”