"Which was?"
Julian spoke as though he were talking to himself. It was apparent he had forgotten all about Lavender. "I am searching for someone whom I cannot find. I may never see her again."
Her head snapped up and she stared at him. Yes, he was still searching for the Swallow! Suddenly her anger melted away, and she wondered if his only reason for wanting the Swallow was to avenge his brother. Could there be another motive?
"If you . .. will tell me who you are looking for, perhaps I will help you. I know most everyone about Williamsburg."
He was silent for a long moment, then he smiled. "I am still searching for my Helen of Troy."
She knew why he had come, but she would have to hide that knowledge. "I see. I. . . cannot help you 'there."
"No matter," he said dryly. "I did not really expect to find her here. It was just a chance I took."
"I wonder if you had thought of using Lizzy for your model?"
"As you once pointed out to me, none of your friends from good families would consider posing for money." His eyes took on a faraway look. "Besides, Miss Eldridge's coloring is all wrong for my Helen."
In that moment, several gentlemen ventured into the garden for a smoke, and their voices carried to Lavender and Julian. The general conversation was that of the war. Elizabeth's grandfather seemed to be holding the other's attention as he spoke of his earlier exploits when he rode with George Washington.
"I rode with the general in fifty-five. Of course he wasn't a general at that time. As you know, we were then British subjects, and our common enemy were the French and Indians. I saw Washington when his uniform was riddled with bullet holes. He had two horses shot from under him, and still he led our men away from a massacre and back to Virginia. I am now eighty years old, but if the general needed me, I'd put a uniform on right now and follow him into hell if he asked it of me. With him leading the way, we will soon drive the English into the sea!"
Elizabeth's father was the next to speak. "Virginia has suffered the indignities of the burnings and harassment of our plantations by the British. It will not be long before they realize that Virginia is vital to the economy of the Colonies, and we'll have Cornwallis tramping in our front yards. We need to be ready when that day comes."
Several voices were raised in agreement, but the look on Julian's face was one of rage. Lavender, watching him, saw the muscle twitch in his jaw. "You were right, Miss Daymond, it is time to go home."
"Are you sure the woman you are looking for is not here?" Julian could not see the humor in her eyes since her head was downcast.
"No, she is not here, or I would sense it."
"Do you know her very well?"
He looked past Lavender to a bright red Chinese lantern that was swaying in the wind. "Yes, very well." His eyes came back to her and he took her hand, leading her toward the house. "Let us take leave of our hostess. 1 have had enough of this colonial hospitality. For that matter, I have had enough of the damned Colonies."
His stride was so long that Lavender had to run to keep up with him. She did not know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted the Swallow to be his model, not out of any obsession he might have with her, but so he would have her likeness to use against her. What would he do if he knew that at that very moment he held the Swallow's hand in his? Whatever emotions had compelled him to come all the way to America to capture her still had possession of his mind. Would he soon give up his pursuit?
Lavender's mind was immersed with problems that had no solutions and questions without answers. She was glad the evening was coming to an end, because she did not know how much longer she could keep up this pretense.
Weeks passed without Julian being aware of it. Summer lingered as one golden day followed another. There were cool mornings and warm afternoons. The blue sky was a backdrop for the magnificent autumn leaves of scarlet, gold, and orange.
For the last few days Julian had been working furiously on his painting as if driven by an urgency that he could no longer control. He had to finish the portrait so he would have a likeness of his nemesis, the Swallow. He ate only when hunger drove him to it, and slept only when he could no longer see to dab paint on the canvas.
It was a bright day and the garden was kissed with warm afternoon sunlight as Julian applied blue paint to the eyes of his Helen of Troy. No, he thought, it was still not the right shade of blue. Her eyes had been bluer, more alive and vital. He stood back and surveyed his work with a critical eye. Today he was putting the finishing touches to Helen's eyes, and, needing the sunlight to aid him, he had come into the garden.
His practiced eye ran over his Helen of Troy from the crown of her golden hair to the soles of her golden sandals. She was dressed in early Greek style, the flimsy costume clinging to her soft curves. He had not been able to capture the creaminess of her skin, but her face was beautiful, angelic and innocent, her body soft and inviting to a man's caress. Oh, yes, the Swallow was the perfect subject for his faithless Helen of Troy who had also been responsible for death and disaster.
When a shadow fell across the painting, blocking off the sunlight, Julian angrily growled to the offender without glancing up. "Move out of my way. I have to complete this before the light goes."
The person obediently stepped aside, silently watching Julian as he dabbed his brush into the blue paint and applied it to the canvas. Julian, feeling someone looking over his shoulder, tossed his brush down and turned to face whoever had dared intrude on his time.
"I insist on being left alone when I paint," he said, his eyes angrily moving over the young gentleman dressed in the uniform of an American colonel. There was something vaguely familiar about the man with the golden hair and bright blue eyes. "Do I know you?" Julian asked, staring long and hard at the young man.
"I do not believe we have met, sir. May I say that you have a rare talent, but if I might make a suggestion, a little green added to the blue might give you her true eye color."
Julian stared at his painting again. "You may be right. 1 am having a difficult time with the eyes since I must paint mostly from assumption."
"You have captured her likeness very well, and I must say I am glad you are painting from assumption, since the nature of the flimsy costume would lead me to call you to task if you were using a live model. But if I might offer another suggestion, the mole you have on her left shoulder is situated on her right shoulder, and a little lower down."
Julian stared at the young man, his heart pounding in his throat. "How could you know about that? Is this woman known to you?"
The young gentleman, ignoring Julian's demanding question, pointed to the woman. "Her eyebrows are just a shade darker, and have more of a natural arch."
Julian choked on his anger. "So you have met her, too? It isn't surprising, since she seems to know all the men in Virginia, as well as points north and south."
"I am not sure I like what you are implying. I may yet have to call you to task."
Julian's eyes glinted. "That would not be a wise move on your part. Besides, I have given you no provocation unless this woman means something to you personally." He tried to act uninterested, when in fact he wanted to tear the truth from the young man. "Do you know the woman in my portrait?" he asked in an agony of anticipation.
Amusement danced in the young man's blue eyes. "Of course I know her, so I can say you have chosen your subject well."
"Well," Julian said, his voice catching in his throat. "Are you going to tell me her name or not?"
The young man laughed, and his eyes danced with indulgence. "Of course, but surely you have drawn your own conclusions as to who your Helen is?"
Julian had the feeling that the American was enjoying himself at his expense. "I demand that you tell me her name," he bit out in a commanding voice. "And what is she to you?"
Chandler was enjoying himself, and it showed in his dancing blue eyes. "My relationship with her is very simple. I love her, and she loves me."
Julian's whole
being was filled with jealous rage, and coldness surrounded his heart. "Put a name to her, damn you. Who is she?"
Laughing blue eyes danced with mirth. "I thought you must know her since you reside in the same house with her. She is my twin sister, and I must say in all modesty that her beauty does rival even Helen of Troy's."
Julian stood as if turned to stone, his eyes probing, assessing, questioning the even features of the young man. His throat was dry as he spoke. "Your twin sister? Who are you?" Already Julian was putting the pieces together and the truth hit him full force. He waited only for the man to confirm it. He felt sick inside because of his blind stupidity.
"Allow me to present myself to you. I am Colonel Chandler Daymond, twin brother to Lavender Daymond, your Helen of Troy!"
Julian was hit by a barrage of intense emotions— outrage, fury, disbelief that he could be such a fool! How could this be? Why had he not seen it all along? His fury was boundless. Lavender had played him for a fool, stripped him of his pride, and made him look like an imbecile. She had used her female wiles to capture his heart and then left him floundering. His teeth ground together as he thought about her playing the part of the homely mouse whom he had pitied. How she must have laughed at his blind stupidity.
"If I may ask, sir," Chandler inquired, enjoying himself enormously. "Are you feeling all right? You have turned quite pale."
Brought back to the present, Julian tried to smother his anger. "I have never felt better in my life, Colonel Daymond. On meeting you, many things have been made clear to me. How can I thank you for enlightening me on your sister's identity?"
Chandler smiled. "What is thanks among gentlemen? Perhaps on further acquaintance more doors of knowledge will open to you. May I inquire as to what your name is? I want to be sure I am speaking to the right person."
Julian picked up the canvas and shoved it at Chandler. "My name is of no importance. As for the portrait, I make you a present of it. When you see your sister, please inform her that I had to leave—she will understand why. But tell her that I will see her again, this I promise."
Chandler leaned the painting against a tree. "Can I assume that you are the Duke of Mannington?"
Julian met the blue eyes that were so like the Swallow's. "I am," he answered arrogantly.
"I thought you might be, but I had to know for certain. It is my misfortune to inform you that I am placing you under arrest, Your Grace."
Julian's senses became alert, and he smiled at the issued challenge. "It will take more than you to arrest me, Colonel."
"I anticipated that, which is why I brought reinforcements," Chandler admitted. "Look around you, Your Grace, and you will find four guns trained on your heart. Do we understand each other?"
Julian's eyes quickly assessed the situation. He shrugged his shoulders, giving in to the inevitable. "I concede that you have me at a disadvantage, Colonel Daymond."
Chandler motioned for his men to come forward. But when one of them would have placed Julian in irons, Chandler stopped him. "I do not think we will be needing those. Will you come with me peaceably, Your Grace?"
"You lead, and I will follow, but first tell me—how long has my identity been known to your sister?"
"I believe she first learned who you were only when she attended General Cornwallis's gala. It took her a while longer to learn why you had come to America. Imagine her surprise when she discovered you had come for her."
"Yes, I can see how I badly underestimated her."
"So have many of your countrymen, Your Grace."
Julian's eyes darkened and narrowed to pinpoints. "Yes, they have. But I can assure you that is a mistake I will never make again."
"No, you won't, because you will never get the chance. I do not know why you have so relentlessly pursued my sister, but it comes to an end today."
Julian dragged his eyes away from Chandler with an effort and glanced toward the house. "Is your sister not to be present at my final humiliation so she can have her pleasure? I would have thought she would play her last performance for my benefit."
"No, Lavender will not be here, and you do not know my sister very well if you think she takes pleasure in anyone's downfall, even an enemy's."
"You are right, I do not know your sister very well at all."
Chandler bowed from the waist. "Shall we go, Your Grace?"
Julian walked with his back straight and his eyes forward. On either side of him there marched two soldiers, and behind him, Chandler Daymond. An inferno ignited within Julian's heart. He would come out of this somehow, and when he did, there was nowhere on this earth that Lavender Daymond could hide to escape from his revenge!
Julian had been in the small cell at the Public Hospital for several hours. His wrists were bound with shackles that were attached to the brick wall by short chains. When he tried to reach the cell door, the irons cut painfully into his skin, so he restricted his movements. Lying back on the straw mattress, which had been tossed on the floor for his comfort, he kept his sanity by planning what tortures he would inflict on Lavender when he finally got his hands on her.
In the distance, Julian heard a door opening, and he knew someone was coming his way. He rose to a sitting position and braced his back against the brick wall. He struggled to gain his feet as three men appeared. One of them unlocked the cell door and stood before him with a malicious grin on his face.
"My name is Brainard Thruston. You might say I am responsible for the hospitality you have been receiving today. However, I think 1 should point out to you that I had nothing to do with your arrest. That honor goes entirely to Chandler Daymond. When I informed him about your interest in his sister, he came posthaste."
A haughty frown thinned Julian's lips. "You shouldn't have put yourself to so much trouble on my account, Mr. Thruston. Remind me to repay you in kind one day."
Brainard snapped his fingers, and his two companions grabbed Julian and slammed him against the wall, momentarily knocking the breath from his body.
"I am sure Your Grace has never had to suffer the indignity of being chained like a common criminal, but many of our sailors have been impressed on your ships, and forced to endure an English whip," Brainard said.
Julian's eyes narrowed in on the sandy-haired man, and he found him not to his liking. "Such is war—or so I'm told," he said, standing tall and towering above Brainard Thruston by at least six inches.
"You are an arrogant bastard, but I'll take that out of you."
Julian raised an eyebrow at his jailer. "You are ill informed about my lineage if you think I am a bastard. I can assure you my mother and father were married. Can you say the same about yours?"
Brainard's face was shrouded with outrage. "If I were you, I would begin to worry, because I have plans for you," he threatened.
"Excuse me if I don't appear enthusiastic, Mr. Thruston. I have very little interest in your plans, whatever they may be."
Brainard's face was a mask of fury, and there was resentment in his gray eyes. "Strip his shirt off!" Brainard shouted to his two companions. "I will show this pompous ass how we view his kind in America! I am not impressed with your title, Englishman."
Julian felt his shirt rip down the back and still he smiled at Brainard. "I have decided, even on short acquaintance, that you are not a favorite of mine, either."
Brainard doubled up his fists and struck Julian a heavy blow to the stomach. Julian folded, and would have crumpled to his knees but for the two men who held him upright. Again and again Brainard struck him, but always Julian raised his head and stared at his tormentor with unwavering eyes. Brainard seemed driven to humble the duke, but so far he had not succeeded.
One of the men's eyes darted about the cell nervously. "I don't like to be a part of this, Mr. Thruston. I never did think it sporting to hit a man who couldn't defend himself."
Brainard turned on the man. "Are you an English lover then?"
"No, sir, but fair is fair."
"I'll show you fair,"
Brainard said through clenched teeth. "This man came to America with the express thought of capturing the Swallow. I will teach him that no Englishman can molest our women. Turn him around and hold him fast!"
Julian reeled under a blow that Brainard delivered with the ivory handle of a whip. Blood ran down his face and into his eyes, and he strained against his chains to get to his tormentor, murder glaring in his eyes.
Julian was turned around and shoved against the brick wall. He felt the first whiplash that cut across his back like burning coals against his skin. He staggered under the force of the blow, and felt his head swimming drunkenly.
"Better men than you are dying every day on both sides of this war," Julian managed to say, past the pain that ripped down his back.
Another crack of the whip brought more searing pain, and Julian gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He would rather die than allow this man to break him. The lash came again and again, and Julian soon lost count of the times it cut into his back. Blood and sweat mingled as he slumped to the floor, in spite of the two men who tried to hold him upright.
In a sea of pain, Julian heard a familiar voice. It took him a few moments to realize it was Lavender's brother, Chandler.
"What in the hell is going on here, Brainard?" Chandler demanded. "When I agreed to leave Julian Westfield in your care, that did not give you leave to torture him! You have gone too far this time."
"Not that it is any of your business, but I was teaching this Englishman a lesson. You should be glad I am defending your sister's honor."
"You are wrong, it is my business. My sister's honor needs no defending by you or anyone else. Get out of here, and take those men with you. I will deal with you later."
Julian was vaguely aware of the helping hands that moved him to the mattress. "I want you to know this is none of my doing," Chandler said.
Julian tried to speak, but the inside of his mouth felt like cotton, and he felt darkness descending on him. He wanted so to tell Chandler Daymond to go to hell, but his eyes closed, and his last conscious thought was that Lavender would have much to answer for.
Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 18
