by Robyn Carr
A low whistle caused her to turn and face her bedroom door. She smiled at her brother. “What do you think?” she asked coyly, turning before him.
“I think there will be trouble.”
She went to him and gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek. Paul, at five and twenty, was both handsome and intelligent. He, too, had inherited the fair skin, blond hair, and bright blue eyes of their mother. Even though he had shown a rather fatherly attitude toward Vieve for the last five years, she still felt very close to him.
He placed a finger under her chin. “Do you think it wise, Vieve, to wear so shocking a gown while you dine with two handsome bachelors?”
She gave the neckline a slight tug to assure herself that she was covered. “You will be there, will you not?”
“Of course,” he said.
“I think it’s the least of what they both deserve.” Vieve tightened her mouth in emphasis, although she didn’t bother to explain any further. She was more than a little angry with Andrew trying to get her into marriage as quickly as possible with little regard for what humiliation she might suffer. She thought he might be a victim of the same misassumption she had suffered: because her family was so rich, the monetary contribution of a husband was irrelevant. But, she had stubbornly decided, that was no excuse for his behavior. Although she was a bit tardy in realizing it, Andrew could have done much to bend her father toward a more accommodating mood by gathering up some money rather than begging her to yield her virtue. She hoped he would stare at her all through the evening. She had heard quite enough about his suffering; she wished to see it in his eyes.
As for the Yankee, she was no longer afraid that he would betray her to her father. If he was so moved, she would apologize profusely. She was dreadfully sorry. And she thought Lord Ridgley might be impressed with a lavish apology and a new and mature understanding of their family’s needs. She had not known why there was resistance to a betrothal with Andrew. Let the Yankee smirk. The rogue had offered her employment, promising that her virtue need not be sacrificed for want of a decent dress and an escort to her assignations. The captain would no doubt be most intrigued to see that it was the baron’s daughter, not some common maidservant, to whom he had addressed such audacious suggestions.
“Well, you look divine, as always,” Paul told her. “If you can endure all their stares, I can keep my amusement to myself.”
She looped her arm into his. “All their stares. Where’s your mettle, Paul? Surely you can defend me against two of them.”
He laughed. “I’m certain that Andrew and our American guest will be manageable, but I wonder if I’ll be able to protect you against Aunt Elizabeth, Uncle Charles, and our formidable cousins, Robert, Faye, and Beth.”
Vieve moaned as her hand touched her brow. “I think I’ve risen from my bed too soon.”
“No you don’t. You’ve avoided this long enough. If I have to endure their haughty disdain, you can at least keep me company.” He gave her hand a pat. “Evelyn is here, too.”
Her eyes instantly brightened. Evelyn Dumere would be her sister-in-law when she and Paul could finally marry. Lords Ridgley and Dumere had been friends and neighbors for many years, and Vieve considered Evelyn her closest female friend. Although as different as night and day, they were completely loyal to each other. In fact, their contrasts brought them closer together, each envying certain characteristics in the other. Evelyn was demure and often coveted Vieve’s boldness, while Vieve wished she had Evelyn’s natural quiet grace. Evelyn adhered strictly to protocol, while Vieve was more inclined to challenge its limits.
But Evelyn was a bit older and closer to being a bride. This, in Vieve’s mind, gave her a greater status. “Perhaps I should change,” she said in an attack of conscience.
Paul chuckled as he led her down the stairs. “You won’t shock Evelyn, who knows you only too well. You will certainly upset the relatives, but that has always been a favorite pastime of yours. As for our handsome bachelors, I imagine you intend to cause them no small amount of pain.”
She held the banister with one gloved hand and looked up into Paul’s twinkling eyes. There was nothing quite so secure as being understood and accepted just as she was. “I love you,” she said. “But I think you know me too well.”
At the bottom of the elaborate staircase he paused to touch her nose. “You be careful, Vieve.” And then without further comment he led her through the drawing room doors to greet their guests.
The dress was perhaps a bit daring, but it was the height of fashion nonetheless. And all young women were wearing gowns with a more provocative décolletage. It did not cinch her waist to the point of pain, nor did she risk undue exposure when she curtsied, but she might as well have entered the drawing room in her chemise for the way she was received.
Lord Ridgley, who seemed inclined to show the same expression for both disapproval and amusement, gave a turn of his lip that caused his thick gray moustache to tilt across his face. One bushy gray brow rose in surprise, while the other plunged over a squinting eye. He was the first to approach her, kiss her hand, and in his gruff, scratchy voice, greet her. “Good evening, daughter. You look well. All of you.”
Andrew followed right on her father’s heels, letting the room at large know that he intended possession here. As he bowed over her hand to kiss it, his eyes lingered for an indelicate length of time on her swelling bosom. “You mean to drive me mad, madam?” he asked. She declined to answer, but her eyes brightened slightly at the prospect of his discomfort. He took his place at her side, where he was obviously determined to stay.
She curtsied toward Aunt Elizabeth, whom she could count on to smile sweetly, if blandly. However, her female cousins lifted long, slender noses. Elizabeth had always been staunch in her adherence to polite public behavior and conservative dress, but Faye and Beth, Vieve thought scornfully, were too young to be so old. At fifteen and thirteen, respectively, they clucked in judgmental quips like two little old ladies. Vieve had never known them to have fun or tempt the daring limits that young people usually sought. They seemed to have inherited their mother’s rigid manners and their father’s haughty superiority.
The three Latimer women were all buttoned up to their chins and sank in unison in a perfectly coordinated curtsy. The girls, a trifle thick around their waists, frowned at Vieve’s gown, while Elizabeth pinkened slightly. Vieve lifted her chin a bit, hoping they were envious rather than disapproving, which indeed they should be.
Charles Latimer, who was tall and broad-shouldered, sauntered forward to greet her. He displayed the familiar, big-toothed, gleaming smile that was always the same whether in the most bitter of disagreements or at the funniest of jests. That peculiar, identical grin was so unchangeable it seemed as if etched by an artist’s pen.
Charles’s son, Robert, was a younger version of his father, except for the smile. Robert rarely showed his teeth. Rather, he wore a perpetually bored pout on his lips. At nineteen years of age, he had done little more than loll in the lather of his father’s fortune. He did not even rise from the settee he occupied to greet Vieve, but lounged in complete disinterest until his mother tapped his knee sharply with her closed fan.
Evelyn had attached herself to Paul’s arm. They were in love and therefore inseparable. Vieve’s sparkling blue eyes and Evelyn’s warm brown ones met across the room and spoke without words of their established, companionable sisterhood.
Captain Gervais was the last to approach, brought to her attention by her father. “Captain, I should like you to meet my daughter, Vivian Donnelle.”
She had to admire the captain for his quick intelligence, for not an ounce of recognition or surprise showed on his face. He nodded amiably, took her extended hand to kiss it, and let his eyes rise to hers without any roguish or overlong attention to her low-cut gown.
“It’s a pleasure, madam,” he said. “And please, do not stand on formality. Call me Tyson.”
She tried to convey with a gracious smile t
hat she appreciated his discretion. She fluttered her lashes a bit, feeling Andrew stiffen at her side. “Thank you, Tyson. And I am most often called Vieve by friends and family.”
He gave a slight nod of approval. “Your father said you were lovely, but his words pale in your presence. I’ve looked forward to meeting you.” He glanced at Andrew and added, “And I have enjoyed chatting with your young man. He tells me that you are a very accomplished horsewoman.”
So, she thought, he was clever enough to level her with an insult without giving her away. She responded with a startled grin, surprised by both his finesse and quick wit. “Not so skilled, I’m sure, as your colonial women. One must have need of good riding ability in the wilderness.”
He laughed good-naturedly, looking over his shoulder at Boris. Her father cleared his throat and removed Tyson quickly from the piercing point of his daughter’s sense of humor. “Ahem, come along to the dining room, Tyson. She knows better than that, I assure you.”
As he moved away, Vieve heard him exclaim, “A little Tory pride is in order, I’m sure....”
“Yankees,” Andrew whispered, ridicule seething from his tone. “Barely civilized creatures.”
She cocked her head slightly in question and absently took Andrew’s available arm. Andrew could not have known how his last remark had sparked her curiosity about the captain. Vieve watched Tyson’s departing back and began to marvel at the different form he assumed in her imagination. She had a sudden vision of him in buckskin and a beaver cap, a rifle over one shoulder and a large hunting knife in his belt, like a drawing on a lampoon she had once seen. Yet for a frontiersman, he seemed to wear his dark surcoat and flawlessly white stock as though he was accustomed to formal wear. It was interesting that one who lived under what were often described as barbaric conditions in America could manage to conform to British style so elegantly.
Charles Latimer’s smile was in place, but he did not seem to have much conversation to contribute. When he did speak, he had an unusually large number of bad omens to share. The future of shipping, he predicted, was grim. The forecast for crops was not good again this year. And he had a few uncomplimentary things to say about France, which Vieve assumed were directed toward the captain, whose name suggested French ancestry. As Vieve listened to her uncle’s bleak contributions, she was not surprised, for Charles liked to dampen her father’s mood. And tonight was no exception, even before a foreign guest.
It was Tyson’s presence, of course, that lifted Lord Ridgley out of his usual despondent condition. The two men conversed affably about ships, foreign lands, and trade. Ships had long been her father’s first love. Estate management, farming, and husbandry were not his greatest gifts; Paul was more inclined to that. Lord Ridgley’s merchantmen had begun a good business until England had gone to war with her colony, causing his trade to suffer dreadfully.
“Do you have a family, Captain Gervais?” Elizabeth asked.
“Indeed. Quite a large family. I am the oldest of five children—four boys and one girl.” His eyes darted once, very quickly, toward Vieve. “I am the only one tardy in marrying. My sister, Adele, the youngest at eighteen, wed last year. My mother died just a short time later.”
“Surely there is a woman in the colonies who has cast her lot for you,” Elizabeth said.
“I am not yet married,” he repeated evenly, making it sound as though lots cast and other such dalliance were of no significance to him. “And in Virginia, long betrothals are less popular than they are here.”
“I suppose there are fewer women,” Charles observed dryly.
“There are a great many beautiful women in America—albeit, most of the truly desirable ones do not feel inclined to wait on the whim of a sailor.”
“Sailor, bah,” Lord Ridgley scoffed. “You are an able captain and your family owns an impressive fleet. You are too modest. I intend to plague you with many questions about your business.”
“What?” Charles questioned with a laugh. “Are you trying to sell ships, Boris?”
Vieve could not mistake the embarrassed look on her father’s face. Charles was infinitely more successful with money than Lord Ridgley, for over the years Charles seemed to have profited, while her father seemed to have suffered one loss after another. She looked askance at Tyson. He considered Charles from under lowered brows. The displeasure in his eyes was obvious. It interested her to find that even the Yankee could pick up on Charles’s clear intent to demean her father. Her own cheeks felt hot as her anger rose. And Andrew, consistent in his pursuit, let his hand touch her knee in a poorly timed romantic gesture.
“Captain Gervais is not involved only in shipping, as it happens,” Paul interceded. “His younger brothers manage a very prosperous plantation where tobacco, cotton, and soybeans are grown. It seems that the family has both cargo and the means for shipping it to foreign ports. We’d like to interest them in a larger fleet of cargo ships and a wider territory for trade.”
“Well, I can certainly understand your desire for that,” Charles said, his large, phony smile causing Vieve to grimace with distaste. His intention to laud over them his acclaimed prowess with money was so obvious, so determined.
She unconsciously brushed away Andrew’s hand, suddenly irritated with such nonsense.
“What with all the terrible setbacks you’ve had, Boris,” Charles went on, “it would be sheer genius to get this American merchant to back you in a few good hauls.” Charles picked up his glass of wine and took a leisurely sip, contemplating Tyson as one would a side of pork ready for the spit. “God-awful bit of bad luck, the fires and all.”
“You’re speaking of the warehouse fires, of course,” Tyson said.
“Yes, dreadful... and just when things were improving for my brother,” Charles said, shaking his head as if saddened, while every tooth in the front of his mouth gleamed.
“Yes, dreadful, but hardly bad luck.” All eyes turned to the Yankee, but he seemed not to look at anyone in particular. “I have looked at the ruined buildings. I think a fire was set on the ground floor at their common wall, destroying both structures. I heard some rubbish about lightning, but the fire burned hottest and longest on the lower level. Although there was supposedly a bad storm that night, a barely damaged, rain-soaked roof collapsed and thus extinguished the fire. The body of an unidentified man, perhaps using the warehouse as shelter, was found.”
“You looked at the charred buildings?” Charles asked in surprise. “Whatever for?”
“I am interested in the warehouse property in this country,” Tyson replied agreeably. “Soon it will become a rare commodity, and trade will be flourishing.”
Charles coughed suddenly. “How--how in heaven does an American examine British property?”
Tyson peered askance at Lord Ridgley and smiled. Looking back at Charles, he answered. “Very cautiously, I assure you.”
Charles laughed openly. “It’s a pity that Boris can’t help you. Unfortunately, the only space Boris has is nothing but a pile of ash.”
Vieve grew more appalled at her uncle’s behavior, but as she looked at her father she noticed that for once Lord Ridgley said nothing at all and only watched his brother with interest.
“That’s where you’re wrong, sir.” Tyson looked around the table. “The cost to rebuild might be more appealing to my purse now than leasing another building at a higher price in the future. I plan for more than one voyage here. Despite the government, England is eager for our harvested goods, and we still need a great deal that England can provide. For example, we have timber aplenty, but very few of our people manufacture nails.”
Charles snorted derisively. “You are quite brave, Captain, to plan for many visits to a country that would rather you stay away. You don’t worry about your own safety?”
“Trade may be constricted for the time being, but visiting between our countries is not punishable.”
“Well, I cannot imagine the cost of rebuilding two completely burned buildings. The cos
t would be phenomenal.”
Tyson Gervais mimicked Charles Latimer’s slow and deliberate act of raising the glass, taking a sip, and looking shrewdly over the rim. “I am not without the means,” he said easily. “And I have cautioned Lord Ridgley to establish watchmen at the site, lest some criminal seek to do more damage.”
“Watchmen?” Charles asked in surprise.
“Certainly,” the captain explained. “The fire, sir, was one kind of crime, but remember that a body was found. Whether or not it was deliberate to kill that poor unknown soul is irrelevant. Murder was committed. Though I am not entirely familiar with your laws, I imagine that bears a weighty punishment.”
Charles looked at Lord Ridgley and, for the first time in Vieve’s recollection, seemed almost panicked. “But I thought you had concluded that it had to be lightning that caused the fire.”
“No, Charles,” Boris said. “If memory serves me, ‘twas you who decided that must be the cause. I have always thought that perhaps the fire was purposely set.”
“Surely your competitors profited,” Charles suggested.
Boris shrugged. “There has been nothing to suggest that. In fact, my competitors are also friends, and I was even generously offered the use of a warehouse in port, free of rent for a few months, to temporarily ease my plight. But we continue to investigate, Charles. If I learn anything new, I will certainly let you know.”
“There has been a good deal of trouble,” Charles said meaningfully. “Especially around the wharves, since more and more colonials are presuming upon the establishment of open trading.” Charles looked around the table slowly, hungry for a challenge to this statement, but none came.
“There is trouble around every port,” Tyson said flatly. “I pride myself in sensing trouble in business even before it happens. Fortunately, the rebuilding is not too extensive and could begin immediately, and Lord Ridgley impresses me as a man with good ideas. He is crafty and entices me to yield a large sum to a future partnership.”
