While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  But she was shy and uncertain, despite her determination to be like her friend and idol, Stella. She wanted to have people love her—someone special to love her!

  What she knew of love was based on the smuggled novels that she and Stella read by candlelight in their tiny room at the seminary. She dreamed of romance and excitement, of a tall, black-haired, dangerous stranger who would enter her life and, with the suddenness of a thunderbolt, sweep her away to a place where they would live happily ever after.

  Had Anne, too, dreamed of a life of love? Had her mother thought her love for the young and handsome Lord Selby would overcome all the disapproval their marriage had caused?—a marriage that was certainly not what his family and friends would have expected of him.

  Again Elizabeth felt a chill. Would her husband, her husband who was so different from her dreams, have second thoughts? Would he decide he had married unwisely and prefer to forget the existence of a wife? Would he desert her in America?

  She bit her lip, wishing that she had not let her father and Melissa force her into this marriage. Now that the deed was done, Elizabeth was full of second thoughts, wondering if she had been wise to base a marriage only on respect, wondering if she shouldn't have rebelled against her father's wishes.

  Nathan Ridgeway was certainly a handsome young man. And as Melissa, her dark eyes glittering coldly, had mentioned more than once, he was a wealthy young man, a well connected young man, despite his American roots.

  And so, like many another young girl faced with a hostile stepmother, a father who evinced little interest in her and who wanted her out of his life, and a handsome, kind suitor pressing for acceptance of his proposal, Elizabeth had capitulated, smothering all her doubts, dreams, and reservations. What else was left open to her?

  In England of 1836, William IV, "Silly Billy," was on the throne; his niece Victoria, barely seventeen and the heiress apparent, was being groomed for the royal duties that one day would be hers. Women were almost totally under the dominance and control of the men in the family. A woman's role was plain—wife and mother. Anything else was unthinkable for a young lady in Elizabeth's position. Certainly she was not equipped to support herself—an education at Mrs. Finche's exclusive seminary was all she possessed. Unfortunately, Mrs. Finche's had been more concerned with social graces than academic accomplishments, and while Elizabeth had a smattering of geography and languages and could read and write very well, she had few other skills to offer a prospective employer. The only respectable employment available to her was that of either governess or companion.

  Governessing was out, she knew. Her age was against her, and while she thought little of her appearance, common sense told her that she looked nothing like a governess—and never would. Not with eyes of violet fringed with long, dark, gold-tipped lashes, a straight little nose, a full, generous mouth with a hint of passion in its curve, and hair... how to describe that hair, a sunbeam caught in moonlight? Perhaps—certainly it was masses of shining silvery ash with a tendency to curl in soft tendrils about her face.

  Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Elizabeth surveyed herself dispassionately. No, she would never be taken for a governess, not with her features and slender body—the body not yet fully formed, the high pointed breasts only a delicate promise, the hips boyishly slim—and yet, despite her lack of height, for she was a small girl, there was the unmistakable hint that someday, when her body attained its adult ripeness, she would be a lovely woman possessed of a face and body that would cause more than one man to stare after her in admiration and speculation.

  But now, with her face still that of a barely-aware-of-the-world child and the small body slim to the point of thinness, Elizabeth saw nothing that could have encouraged a man like Nathan Ridgeway to plead so earnestly for her hand. But he had and she had accepted—the heavy gold band on her slender finger was proof of that.

  The door opened and Melissa, in a sumptuous gown of soft sage satin with brocade flowers of the same color, swept into the room. Impatiently she glanced at the slender figure clad in the unnecessary corset and a lawn chemise standing near the mirror.

  "My word, Elizabeth, haven't you changed yet? You have guests waiting below! Guests—and a new husband, I might add. Where is Mary? Didn't you ring for her?"

  Elizabeth remained mute under Melissa's onslaught, knowing her stepmother didn't expect an answer, nor would she have listened to an explanation.

  Crossing the room, Melissa yanked on the bell rope. "Really, you are going to have to stop this mooning about. You are a married woman now."

  Determined not to arouse Melissa further, Elizabeth smiled and murmured, "I don't feel any different, Stepmother. I feel just as I did before the wedding. Do just mere words change one?"

  "What a ridiculous question!" Melissa snapped. "Of course they do. You are now Mrs. Ridgeway, no longer only the daughter of Lord Selby. Tonight you leave for Portsmouth, and after that for America. The words of the wedding ceremony are what made it possible. You're silly to wonder if mere words can change you."

  Before Melissa could continue with what was fast becoming a vitriolic castigation, a harassed-looking serving woman scurried into the room.

  Dropping a curtsy in Melissa's direction, the woman, Mary Eames, muttered, "You rang, Madame?"

  Melissa, her thin lips pursed into a line of displeasure, bit out, "Help your mistress to dress, and be quick about it! She's been up here dawdling long enough." Then, ignoring the other two occupants, Melissa gave her dark curls a pat and, after twitching her voluminous skirt in place unnecessarily, approached the door. "I'll expect you downstairs in twenty minutes, Elizabeth. See that you are there! And Mary, if she is not, you will answer to me."

  Elizabeth exchanged glances with the servant, but neither uttered a sound. Instead, Mary hurried over to a carved mahogany wardrobe where a beautiful icy-blue taffeta gown hung in readiness for her mistress.

  Deftly Mary slipped the gown over Elizabeth's fair head and expertly arranged the full skirt of the dress. It took only a moment to finish up the fastenings, and after straightening the frothy blond lace that filled the low-cut bodice, Mary turned her attention to Elizabeth's hair.

  Mindful of Melissa's wrath if her mistress was not downstairs in the allotted time, Mary wasted little time in arranging the long, heavy, nearly silver strands of hair in a Grecian knot worn high in the back, the front hair parted and coaxed into soft curls at the temple.

  Handing Elizabeth a pair of long white gloves and a fan of carved ivory from India, Mary urged her to the door. Giving Elizabeth an encouraging smile, she said, "If you'll permit me to make a personal remark, miss—that is, Madame—you made a lovely bride, and all of us below tairs want to wish you and Mr. Ridgeway the very best."

  After thanking Mary, a brave smile on her mouth, her slim shoulders held straight, she slowly walked to the curving grand staircase that led downstairs. She would never return to these rooms again—she was going to her future. She closed her eyes, offering a desperate little prayer that she had made the right decision in accepting Nathan Ridgeway's proposal.

  Downstairs in the main ballroom, decorated for the occasion with huge silver tubs of white carnations and white gladiolus, there were others who were also wondering if Lord Selby's decision to accept Mr. Ridgeway's suit had been in the best interests of his only child. As the Dowager Duchess of Chatham whispered to her close crony, Lady Alstair, "What does one really know of this young man, beyond his beautiful manners? I certainly wouldn't want to marry a child of mine to one I knew so little about. And the child is so young! I would have thought Melissa would grant her at least one season before marrying her off in this hurly-burly manner." A knowing look on her face, she continued, "Of course, it must be mortifying to have such a young stepdaughter—and such a lovely one at that. I suppose one can't really blame Melissa for engineering the match. As for Selby's countenance of it, everyone knows he regretted his first marriage and has ignored the child. If only Elizabeth ha
d been a boy..." There was a brief moment of silence as both ladies considered how different Elizabeth's life would have been if she had indeed been the son her father wanted. "I do feel so sorry for the child," the duchess went on. "Selby has much to answer for in his treatment of her."

  "Disgraceful!" Lady Alstair murmured, her ready sympathy aroused. "Even if he was ashamed of her mother's antecedents, which were respectable, if unexceptional, there was no reason to treat his own child so cavalierly."

  "I agree, my dear. But you know Selby—a colder, prouder man I have never met." Leaning closer to her friend, the dowager duchess breathed, "Look at his marriage to Melissa. She is twenty-eight, long past her first blush of youth, and certainly one would have to call her attractive rather than pretty. But because of her birth, Selby decided she was a suitable bride. He wants that heir, you know."

  Eyeing Melissa as she stood conversing with several London acquaintances at the far end of the imposing room, Lady Alstair inquired, "Do you think she is breeding?"

  "More than likely—and all the more reason for her to marry off little Elizabeth to an American. Melissa will not want her children to share any of Selby's wealth with a half-sister. I certainly hope that Selby has done right by the child."

  Nathan Ridgeway, watching Elizabeth come down the stairs, was curious about the same thing. He had no intention of seeing Elizabeth done out of a fortune because her father had married a greedy, selfish woman. Smiling at Elizabeth, Nathan walked across the room to greet her.

  "How beautiful you look, my love. Truly, I am the luckiest of men today," he said in a low tone.

  Some of Elizabeth's doubts fled as she looked into his fine features. Nathan Ridgeway was a pleasant-looking young man, possessing wide, thickly lashed gray eyes, a handsomely male nose, and a full well-shaped mouth. Only the most critical and discerning person would have noticed that the eyes were apt to slide away from one's gaze and that the chin had a hint of weakness. His hair was fair, although not as fair as Elizabeth's silvery curls, and he stood a few inches under six feet, a slim, delicately boned man, his muttonchop whiskers making him appear older than his twenty-six years.

  Giving him a shy smile—for Elizabeth was in awe of her new husband—she stared down at her square-toed satin slippers peeping from beneath the voluminous taffeta skirt and murmured, "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long?"

  Nathan clasped her hand in his and, bending his head closer to hers, said softly, "I could never wait too long for you, my sweet."

  Her troubled heart expanding like a flower under the sun at his words, a rush of something near to love for him swept through her. She had made the right decision, and, given time, one day she would be able to return Nathan's love with an emotion to match what he felt for her.

  They made a pretty pair as they stood together, Nathan a head or so taller than Elizabeth, both young, both slim, and both almost startling in their fairness. More than one matron was misty-eyed as she gazed at them. Their future was in front of them, and what a future it would be: Elizabeth, at present Lord Selby's only child, was in line for an enormous fortune; Nathan, the youngest son of a wealthy plantation owner in Natchez, had already been given, a wedding gift from his father, hundreds of fertile acres near the banks of the Mississippi River in Louisiana. A magnificent house on the bluff that constituted "Upper Natchez" was under construction for them. As for wedding presents, the couple would lack for nothing—crystal, silver, china, linen, exquisite trifles, and numerous expensive odds and ends had been pouring in for days.

  "Congratulations, Ridgeway," grated a harsh voice behind the young couple, interrupting their absorption in each other.

  Elizabeth slowly turned to look in the direction of the voice, noting vaguely the way Nathan dropped her hand as if it burned him and the way his whole body seemed to freeze as he pivoted to stare at the swarthy, burly man who had spoken.

  Stiffly, Nathan replied, "Thank you, Longstreet. I didn't expect to see you here."

  "Oh? You thought I would miss the wedding of one of my dearest and best-loved friends?"

  Aware of an odd constraint in the air and puzzled by a note in Longstreet's voice that she couldn't place, she glanced from one to the other. Her first impression of Mr. Longstreet was not favorable. He frightened her a little with his icy, icy blue eyes and heavy, almost ugly features. Striving to break the silence that had fallen, Elizabeth asked, "Will you introduce me, Mr. Rid—I mean Nathan? I don't believe I've ever heard you mention Mr. Longstreet before."

  "Not mentioned me?" Longstreet said with a sharp bark of harsh laughter. "How odd! Not more than six weeks ago in London he swore undying... ah... friendship for me."

  "Lower your voice, you fool! Everyone is staring," Nathan snapped. Catching Elizabeth's startled gaze, he said, "Excuse us a few moments, my dear? Longstreet is not himself."

  Not waiting for her assent, Nathan grasped the other man's arm and escorted him into the gardens. More than a little bewildered by the exchange, Elizabeth stared after them, curious how her husband came to have such an odd friend. Why, Mr. Longstreet had acted almost jealous.

  That queer idea brought to mind one of her greatest misgivings: She knew little about Nathan Ridgeway, other than that he came from a respectable family and that her father had given his permission for Nathan to approach her with an offer of marriage. Thinking back on the past few months, she admitted that her courtship had been a tepid affair. Almost completely innocent about relationships between men and women, she wasn't positive how she knew that—she sensed that something was missing between her and Nathan. Certainly their courtship had not been the rapturous whirlwind she had read about in those romances, nor did Nathan resemble the black-haired, vibrant hero she dreamed about. Regretfully she reminded herself that Nathan's courting had been correct, and she pushed away the wish that he had been more eager, more inclined to steal a kiss or a forbidden embrace. It was vulgar and not nice of her to continue to think such thoughts, she scolded herself. Young ladies of her station and breeding did not pine over such common and unnecessary things as kisses and stolen embraces!

  Elizabeth had learned little about her married duties from Melissa, only that she was "to obey her husband and endure quietly and with a ladylike demeanor while he satisfied his base temptations." Certainly that did not sound exciting, nor did it resemble the thrilling emotions that moved her favorite heroine. But then, her heroine was in love, not marrying for expediency.

  Annoyed at herself for bemoaning her fate and for wishing for something she couldn't even name, she glanced shyly around the room, hoping to catch a friendly eye. In this she was more than successful, as the Dowager Duchess of Chatham and Lady Alstair, having noticed her abandonment by Nathan, swept up to her. Elizabeth found herself warmly clasped first to the duchess's massive puce-satin-covered bosom and then engulfed in an embrace by Lady Alstair.

  "My dearest, dearest child!" exclaimed the duchess, an encouraging smile on the plump, merry features. "You made a lovely, lovely bride. I am so happy for you and delighted to see you so successfully launched in life."

  "Oh, yes, dear Elizabeth, you are fortunate," chimed in Lady Alstair, her faded blue eyes kind as they surveyed Elizabeth's fragile loveliness. "Mr. Ridgeway is a most exemplary young man, and you are to be congratulated upon your marriage. I wish you very happy, my dear."

  Flustered and taken aback to find herself the object of such unexpected attention and kindly interest by two of the most formidable matrons in the room, Elizabeth could only smile uncertainly and stammer, "Why—why, th-thank y-you!"

  Both elderly ladies beamed at her as if she had just said something clever. Conversation would have languished then, if Lord Selby himself, looking splendid in a tight-fitting tailored coat of claret kerseymere, his cool aristocratic handsomeness intensified by the high white satin stock about his throat, hadn't strolled over just as Elizabeth finished speaking.

  "Deserted by the bridegroom already, Elizabeth?" he inquired dryly, his eyes flicke
ring over to the open door where Nathan and Charles Longstreet could be seen in conversation.

  Tongue-tied as usual in her father's presence, Elizabeth shot him a doubtful look. He so seldom paid her any heed that she wasn't certain whether he was interested or merely commenting on an obvious fact. It appeared, this time at least, that he was more than a little interested, for as he watched Nathan a frown began to crease his forehead.

  "Well, we can't have that," he said after a moment's pause. "Excuse us, ladies, I intend to reunite my daughter with her husband. Come along, Elizabeth. Nathan should be ashamed of himself, neglecting you so soon." Taking Elizabeth by the arm, he started across the room.

  It was an odd sensation for Elizabeth, walking by his side, his strong hand loosely clasping her arm. It was the first time she could ever remember her father touching her, and she wondered that it should come at a time when she was no longer under his control. Peeping up at his coldly chiseled features, she marveled that this aloof man was her father. Even approaching forty years of age, Jasper Selby was an incredibly handsome man—tall, above six feet, and with an athletic build. It was not surprising that Anne had fallen in love with him some eighteen years before. His hair was golden brown, that shade of light hair that never seems to fade, only growing fairer with the passage of time as the silver strands replace the golden ones. The face itself was enhanced rather than diminished by the slight grooves of dissipation in his lean cheeks and the attractive creases that radiated out from piercing blue eyes.

  Elizabeth sighed. All her life she had wanted desperately to love him, but his very nature made it impossible. How can one love a father who has made it plain he wishes nothing to do with a daughter? At least, she reminded herself guiltily, he hadn't abandoned her and thrown her out into the gutter. For that she would try to like him and try harder not to resent his lack of affection for her.

  Selby heard the small sound she made and glanced down at her. "Something wrong, Elizabeth?"