Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  "No more gloomy days of prayer and long faces," Lady Deale declared. "In Cromwell's time, all festivities were forbidden. Even members of a family would inform on one another for any infraction of the rigid laws. It was a sad time for England, and we'll do our best to make up for it."

  A whole steer and two pigs had been roasted outside over a spit. There was wild game, fresh bay oysters, venison, and fried chicken. The summer kitchen and cellar were lined with pies and cakes of every kind. Biscuits and cookies spilled over trays onto the tables, adding their smell to the delicious odors drifting through the house and yard.

  Mistletoe balls hung by bright ribbons from chandeliers and doorways, and the sound of music filtered through the windows. The heavy snow drifting across the yard and piling against the glass panes like spun sugar only added to the fairytale enchantment for Charity.

  A dozen times she had run down the steps to watch for arriving guests, hair undone about her shoulders and a child's excitement sparking in her eyes.

  "Miss Caroline, please," the maid had begged. As soon as she was finished with the young mistress, she was free to return to her Jack and the servants' celebrations in the barn. Free at least until it was time to serve the meal. "If you'll just hold still," she coaxed. She applied the hot curling iron cautiously. "It would be a lot easier if you'd wear a wig."

  Charity giggled, imagining herself under a huge wig of white horsehair with powder drifting down on the azure satin gown. "I like my own hair, thank you." She peered into the mirror suspiciously.

  Her features were without fault. The peach-tinted alabaster skin was unmarred by pox or wrinkles. Her teeth were small and even without a gap or evidence of rot, a rarity even among the gentry.

  Charity moistened her full bottom lip with the tip of a pink tongue. Her mouth was a bit saucy. She colored prettily as she remembered how Jamie had caught her lower lip between his teeth and—Stop! She would not think of Jamie. Caroline had no part of her love affair with James Drummond. Charity surveyed the reflection critically, with the cold detachment of a farm woman buying a milk cow at market.

  "Yer face is yer fortune," Mam had said. "It's all a poor girl has—that and her maidenhood. You must use what you have quickly, before it's lost!"

  Charity inspected her almond-shaped eyes; they were cool, shuttered, as a proper lady's should be. The brows arched naturally, brown and not flaxen like her hair. Mam had declared them first-rate. "Me own I must blacken wi' charcoal," she had confided. Charity's lashes were long, thick, and curving, not as dark as they might have been; they were a minor flaw in her natural beauty. The eyes themselves were large, sea-green and sparkling in the candlelight. There was nothing to be done about the color. Green they were, and green they would go to the grave. "Blue!" Mam had insisted. "Blue is the best color for a yellow-haired woman." Actually, Charity didn't like to think of herself as having yellow hair. Straw was yellow. Her hair didn't look like straw.

  It was her crowning glory. "Moonlight," Jamie had called it. She grimaced. Him again! Her head must be made of oak. Why couldn't she put him out of her mind? This was serious business. Didn't a soldier check his weapons before going into battle? Her looks were her weapons. And if she was to make a place for herself on the Tidewater, she must do it before she aged, or before word of her shameful conduct with James Drummond became common knowledge. A maiden ruined would be a maiden scorned.

  The green eyes twinkled. She didn't look ruined—didn't feel ruined either. If anything, becoming a woman had added something to her beauty. Vanity was not one of her sins, no matter how often the good fathers had tried to tell her so at confession. But now she must admit to lust, lust in the flesh and in her heart. She was possessed of carnal desires. She must subdue that passion in Christian marriage and put all lewd thoughts from her mind.

  "There, mistress." The maid stood back. "Finished."

  Charity stood and turned as far as she could to see the web of pearls woven through her hair. A wide smile rewarded the servant's efforts. "Oh, it's beautiful. Thank you."

  The girl blushed and bobbed a curtsy. Mistress Caroline was free in her ways to the help, more so than she should be, some said. But the girl liked it, and liked serving her. Perhaps if the lady wed and went to a new husband's home she might need a maid. "Thank you, mistress," Nan murmured. "You look like a queen, you do."

  Charity turned about again like a child, admiring the wide farthingale, invisible now beneath the stomacher and petticoat.

  It extended the azure gown at her hips, making her waist seem all the tinier. The stomacher itself was embroidered with thread of gold, the flowered pattern repeated at the turned-back cuffs at her elbows. It was a simple gown, all the more costly for its clean lines. With a mischievous wink to Nan, Charity whisked away the lace at the bodice, revealing a full creamy bosom.

  "Oh, Miss Caroline," the girl protested. "You daren't."

  "In London they show nipples," Charity retorted. "Can you see my nipples?"

  "No, Miss Caroline. But..."

  "Then I shall be in the latest style." She tilted her face up to the small mirror again and slapped each cheek sharply in turn. It stung, and her eyes misted, but the color added excitement to her appearance. "I think," Charity teased, "that I am now loaded for bear, as James Drummond would say." Inwardly she winced. Her seduction was not for Jamie. She must find a proper husband, one to keep her as she would be kept.

  Maggie's head appeared in the doorway. "Her ladyship says she needs you, Miss Caroline. Lord Beauford has arrived and that Captain Halifax from Annapolis, the handsome one."

  "And Master Drummond, has he come yet?" Damn! Would she make it plain for all the servants to know that she still cared if he came or not? Taking a deep breath, Charity moved toward the door.

  "No, Miss Caroline. He sent his regrets. Her ladyship was right put out, it being Christmas and all."

  Not coming! A sharp pain knifed through her composure. "I hope he isn't ill," she said smoothly. Coward! He couldn't bear to face me.

  "He didn't say, miss." Maggie's eyes narrowed as she saw the daring neckline of Caroline's gown. "You'd best have a modesty piece, ain't you?"

  Charity's gray-green eyes showed amusement. "In London I would be considered quite provincial." She forced herself to descend the steps in a dignified manner befitting a Tidewater lady.

  Captain Halifax turned and smiled. "Mistress Caroline, how exquisite you look." He took her hand and led her into the great hall. "You've made the cold journey across the bay well worth the effort."

  Charity murmured something in reply and flashed a smile in Lord Beauford's direction. He and Elizabeth were engaged in lively conversation. The old man nodded and she gave a slight curtsy. "My lord." Halifax stiffened slightly, and Charity looked up at him questioningly. "You do know the earl, don't you, Captain?"

  "I've been introduced." The thick brows twitched; he continued to hold her arm.

  Halifax was of less than average height but so muscular that he gave the appearance of being a much larger man. Tonight his close-cropped black hair was covered with a wig, the wide shoulders encased in a purple velvet waistcoat, the thick neck wrapped in a white silk scarf. The buckles on his shoes must have cost a month's pay, Charity thought archly. She had not realized the man was such a dandy.

  "Is there some problem?" Charity asked. "The earl has offended you in some way?" There seemed to be no way to free her arm without making a fool of herself; it was caught in the steel vise of his grasp. She tried to subdue the fear that welled up inside.

  "No, not in the least," he protested. "I'm just not used to the informality one sees in the Colony. At home..." He shrugged, sending ripples across the smooth surface of the velvet waistcoat. "In England, one would never see such familiarity between a peer and the country folk."

  Charity pulled her hand free with one quick jerk. "Country folk? You refer to Aunt Elizabeth as country folk?"

  A tide of red crept up the clean-shaven face. "I meant no insult to La
dy Deale."

  "Was it me then you meant to slur, sir?" Charity's soft voice lashed. "My family has no title, nor claims to any, but my father can trace his bloodline back many generations."

  "What's this?" Major Whiggsby demanded. "Has the captain been less than a gentleman?" Candlelight reflected off his uniform buttons as he drew himself up stiffly and glared at Halifax.

  Charity gave him one of her sweetest smiles. "Not at all, Major. Captain Halifax was merely remarking on different customs in this far-flung corner of the world." She fluttered her lashes at the two of them. It wouldn't do to anger Halifax or to snub Major Whiggsby. The captain she would not have to husband under any circumstances, but he could be dangerous. A keen intelligence lurked behind those steely gray eyes. She didn't want him for an enemy. As for Whiggsby, he was a pompous fool. Could she face the prospect of looking into that face every morning for the rest of her life? Still... to reject him without further consideration...

  Halifax offered his arm once more. "The music is starting. Will you—"

  "Your pardon, sir, but the lady is plainly bored with your presence." Whiggsby held out a thin hand. "Mistress Caroline?"

  Charity looked from Whiggsby to Halifax. To choose one above the other would be to court disaster to her plans. "I cannot," she stammered. "I..." Her eyes locked with those of Lord Beauford, her distress plainly evident. "I have promised the earl," she lied. "The first dance belongs to Lord Beauford."

  As if on signal, he came toward her and she hurried to meet him. "I have just explained, Lord Beauford, that this dance was yours." Her voice trembled slightly.

  "So it is, so it is," he agreed. He nodded coolly to the two contestants. "Mistress Caroline is committed, gentlemen," he declared. He took the offered hand and led her into the other room.

  "You have saved my life," she whispered conspiratorially. Then she paused, suddenly remembering the loss of Lady Edith. "I would not have you break your mourning," she said.

  "Poppycock! If I were to remain in mourning a proper length of time for all four wives, I would have spent half my life in black." He cleared his throat and gave her a crooked smile. "Edith was ever one to enjoy a frolic. God, but I miss that woman." His eyes showed his sadness. "I had Edith the longest you know."

  "We needn't dance, Lord Beauford. I would be just as happy to take refreshment with you," Charity offered. The music was quite lively and she was afraid it would be too much for his lordship.

  "And miss my chance to dance with the loveliest woman in Maryland? Not on your life." With a real chuckle, he escorted her onto the dance floor.

  Three sets later, they retired to sample Elizabeth's bounty. Charity was breathless from the pace and the old earl red-faced and beaming. "Haven't had such fun since my cousin and I turned a cow into the maze at Kensington." He dropped into a chair. "Sit, sit, child. I'm not about to turn you over to those young bucks yet." He waved to a servant. "Brandy, French if you have it." He winked at Caroline. "My physician says it will be the death of me. But I'll be eighty if I live until my next birthday. If a man can't do as he pleases at four score, when can he, eh?" He took a hearty gulp of the brandy and nodded his approval. "French it is, and not too heavy a tax paid on it, I hope." His eyes twinkled merrily.

  To her surprise, Charity was having fun with the old gentleman. His good-natured jests and easy chatter required nothing more of her than to provide an audience. He was not at all what she supposed a lord to be.

  "I like you," he declared. "You're a sensible young woman. You've got a brain in your head. I can see why Elizabeth speaks of you so highly."

  Charity was suddenly aware of Captain Halifax standing before her. He bowed and invited her to dance.

  "Go, go!" Beauford said. "I'll just have another brandy. You mind your manners, young man."

  "Yes, your lordship," Halifax replied, taking Caroline's hand and leading her across the crowded room. "I thought you might be avoiding me," he said. The gray eyes bored into hers.

  "Not at all, Captain." Charity smiled up at him. "I could hardly abandon the earl, could I?"

  The tanned face was smooth, marred only by a thin scar under his left eye. The man was attractive in a rugged sort of way. Again Charity had the premonition of danger. Did he or didn't he know of her connection with Jamie? Did he suspect her of being an accomplice of the smugglers?

  "Aunt Elizabeth was happy you could join us tonight. She thought perhaps your official duties might keep you in Annapolis. I understand there was another trial this week." The steps of the dance separated and then joined them again.

  "A trial and a hanging."

  Cold shock spilled through Charity's veins, and she forced a gay appearance as she moved from partner to partner. An execution! They'd not heard that. Could it have anything to do with Jamie's absence tonight?

  The music ended and Elizabeth clapped her hands to get her guests' attention. Hot food was being set out, and there were games for those who wished to continue the active festivities.

  "What would you prefer?" the captain asked Charity. "Food or pleasure?"

  "The games," she replied eagerly. "Unless you are hungry, Captain Halifax."

  "My Christian name is Daniel. It would please me if you would call me by it." A strong arm caught her firmly about the waist; his other hand captured her chin and lifted her face to meet his kiss.

  Her protests were met with rounds of laughter and calls of "Mistletoe" and "Christmas forfeit." She bit off an angry response as she realized she had indeed been caught under a kissing ball in the doorway between the hall and ballroom.

  "Once more for good measure!" another guest urged.

  With a grin, Halifax complied, kissing her soundly. Charity flushed crimson as he released her, trying to keep her composure.

  "I've wanted to do that since I first met you," he murmured.

  She took two steps backward, coming up hard against a solid object. "Oh, excuse me," she stammered, turning to stare wide-eyed into the hard face of Jamie Drummond.

  Chapter 16

  His eyes inspected her arrogantly from the top of her head to her soft leather shoes. "Caroline," he sniffed. "Must I constantly find you in these situations?" The faint lisp conveyed contempt as his glance fell across Captain Halifax. "I'm surprised to find you here," he admitted, dusting an imaginary bit of lint off the pink satin coat. "Toying with the affections of my beloved."

  Halifax darkened with rage, his muscles tensing until it seemed they would rip the velvet coat asunder. "Drummond! I know nothing of any betrothal between you two!"

  "Jamie—" Charity protested.

  "Silence, Caroline. I will deal with this... this gentleman," Jamie sneered. He undid two ivory buttons and slipped off a white glove.

  "Don't be a fool, Drummond. It was only a Christmas kiss," the captain warned.

  Swiftly Jamie slapped the silk glove across the man's face. "I'll have satisfaction, sir, or your apology!"

  Halifax ripped the flimsy glove from his hand and threw it to the floor. "You're mad!"

  "Pistols at twenty paces," Jamie challenged. "Or blades; 'tis your choice."

  Charity covered her mouth with her hands. Had he gone mad? "No! Don't," she pleaded. "Jamie!"

  A crowd had gathered. Lord Beauford pushed himself through. "What's amiss here?" he demanded.

  "Jamie's challenged the captain to a duel," a man supplied.

  "Stupid," a woman chimed in. "No need for such a thing."

  The earl rapped the floor sharply with his walking stick. "Is this so? James?"

  "Captain Halifax has behaved in a despicable manner impugning my honor. He must apologize or face the consequences." Jamie took a gold snuffbox from the pocket of his waistcoat, opened it, took a sniff of snuff, and sneezed elegantly. "He insulted my lady."

  Lord Beauford turned his attention to the captain. "Did you insult Mistress Smythe-Tarylton?"

  "Hell no, I didn't insult her. All I did was kiss her under the mistletoe. I had no idea..." He bit back an
obscenity. "My apologies to the lady." His voice was choked with fury. "I refuse to fight you, Drummond. It would be murder."

  "Coward," Jamie spat.

  Halifax's face went from beet-red to tallow. "I believe you Marylanders are all mad." His voice was a harsh whisper. "I am here to carry out His Majesty's instructions, to enforce English law, not to execute his honest citizens." He nodded stiffly in Lady Deale's direction. "With your permission." Whirling about abruptly, he strode from the room.

  "Mercenary," Jamie flung after him contemptuously.

  "Come! Come!" Lady Deale cried. "This is Christmas." She motioned to the musicians to begin playing again. Her eyes shot daggers at Jamie as she ushered her guests into the dining area.

  Lord Beauford clapped Jamie on the shoulder. "You're well out of that," he sympathized. "Dangerous fellow, Halifax. No real harm done, I'm sure."

  Jamie caught Charity's hand. "If you'll excuse me, sir. I think we'd best straighten out this misunderstanding in private." Before she could offer a protest, Jamie pulled her down the hall to the back entrance. Pausing only long enough to grab a cloak from a surprised servant, he threw it about Charity's shoulders and dragged her outside into the garden.

  "How dare you!" she exploded. "Are you out of your mind? What do you mean calling me your beloved in front of all those people? And challenging Captain Halifax to a—" Her tirade was cut off by a soul-shattering kiss.

  "Damn you, woman," he whispered huskily when their lips parted. "I can't live without you. I nearly lost you to Squire Moreland and I'm sure as hell not going to let you throw yourself away on some other fool!"

  His mouth captured hers again in a lingering kiss that drove all reason from her brain. She clung to him, conscious only of the feel of his warm body against her own.

  "Come with me," he ordered, his voice thick with passion. "Before I take you here on the ground." A sinewy arm swept her up into his arms, and he carried her swiftly toward the stables.