by DiAnn Mills
“Did he hurt ye?” Henry said to Delight, holding down the belligerent soldier.
Delight shook her head and demanded her trembling body to cease quaking.
Henry bent to tie the soldier’s hands behind his back. “I should not have sent you inside without me.”
“We did not have any idea what had happened,” she said through a ragged breath. “I trusted God, and He did not fail us.”
She saw the soft glow of love emitting from his eyes before he reverted his attention to the soldier and the men Uncle Matthew held at gunpoint. Suddenly it occurred to her that her uncle had jeopardized his life and his home by helping Henry.
“Uncle Matthew, what will you do after this?” Delight said.
“I’m enlisting with Henry,” he grinned, looking so much like Papa. “Rather than hide from the redcoats, I plan to defend my country.”
“You will meet your death,” the branded thief said.
“Rather a noble grave than live under the tyranny of the king,” Uncle Matthew said. “You think about those things while you are in chains.”
Charity quickly untied the knots binding James’s mouth, then whirled and fell into Delight’s arms. “I was so frightened for you.”
“You were magnificent.” Delight twirled her sister around the kitchen. “And so are our sisters. More so, our diversion worked.”
In that instant, Elijah quieted while Mercy and Hope clung to their mother’s skirts.
Charity smiled weakly before turning back to James.
“Remind me to never make the Butler women angry,” he said. “I would not survive. What I just witnessed would shake any man’s resolve.” He clasped Charity’s hand in his. “And you are full of surprises.”
“I believe she had a good teacher,” Henry said, urging the soldier to his feet. “In truth, my Delight is the epitome of a woman in love with her God, her country—”
“And her soon-to-be husband,” Delight said.
Chapter 21
Delight shivered as she wriggled into her Sunday dress of indigo and white lace. Although the room had a distinct chill, she knew her shaking was due to anticipation of the wedding ceremony about to proceed. Nervous and excited best described her—and filled with a mountain of love for Henry.
Had it been only yesterday morning when she had fretted about her disobedience to God and her feelings for Henry? So much had occurred since then, and she had had so little time with him before he left with Uncle Matthew and James with the captured men. She prayed for an uneventful journey. Life certainly looked less perilous when she trusted God completely. Perhaps this way of thinking was what Papa meant all along. Not trusting God held more danger than anything man could conjure.
She wished he could be here this day to see her wed Henry, but he’d already given his blessing. When Papa received the news, he’d be pleased, and he’d have plenty of other weddings to attend once the war ended.
The war. She refused to let that reality darken her day. She must trust God, not simply today, but on every day of her life.
“Delight, are you ready?” Charity said from the doorway. “Mama started to come, but then Elijah demanded to be fed.”
“Almost. Would you straighten my hair? It has a willful mind today.”
Charity picked up a brush and in a few quick strokes had Delight’s locks secured into a bouquet of loops and curls.
“Perfect.” Delight turned to give her sister a hug.
“I am so happy for you,” Charity said through a sprinkling of tears.
“Oh, you are not rid of me. I will be around for a while to make your life interesting.”
Her sister giggled. “Henry’s life will never be boring.”
“Oh, but I love him so much.”
“And he loves you.”
“Thank you for everything you have done,” Delight whispered. “I will never forget your goodness.”
“We shall see. I imagine I can think of several things to tease you about once Henry leaves in the morning.”
A few moments later, Delight stood by Henry’s side, his hand firmly clasped around hers. Devotion flowed from his fingertips to her heart and back again. She felt his gaze upon her, and she smiled into those blue pools of tenderness. Never had she been so certain of the life before her. The uncertainties of the days ahead lessened in her understanding of God’s provision, the dreams of this wondrous country, and her love for Henry, her beloved turncoat.
DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She combines unforgettable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels.
Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests. Library Journal presented her with a Best Books 2014: Genre Fiction award in the Christian Fiction category for Firewall.
DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers; the 2015 president of the Romance Writers of America’s Faith, Hope & Love chapter; and a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association and International Thriller Writers. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.
DiAnn is very active online and would love to connect with readers on any of the social media platforms listed at www.diannmills.com.
Faithful Traitor
by Jill Stengl
Chapter 1
A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.
PROVERBS 22:1
October 1774
How does it look, Mummy?” Georgette Talbot turned before her mirror and touched the strand of matched pearls adorning her throat. The snowy skirt drifted about her slippers. “I hardly recognize myself. Are you certain the bodice is not too daring? I should hate to be the subject of gossip tomorrow. You know how Marianne’s mother is.”
“Victoria Grenville can only dream of having a daughter as fair as either of my two treasures. Should anyone criticize your attire, ‘twould be a matter of sour grapes. You have superb shoulders and flawless skin—we must emphasize them.”
“Since my face is plain,” Georgette completed the thought. “If only I were beautiful like you.” She covered her mouth with one hand, holding up her elbow with the other.
“Bosh.” Her mother studied her with a critical eye. “Stop covering your lips; it appears ill-bred. You are far from plain, as I have told you countless times. A discerning man will admire your excellent teeth, shapely figure, and golden hair.”
“If that is true, my world is bereft of discerning men. They take one look at my colossal mouth and back away.”
“It is not the size of your mouth that frightens men away, Georgette.” Her mother’s blue eyes held a warning. “Perhaps a touch more powder, Agnes. Her cheeks are too red. Is that as tight as you can make her stays?”
“Yes, madam,” the maid said.
“Any tighter and I should swoon during the first dance.” Georgette felt like a feather pillow with a cord tied about its middle. Her inward parts must be entirely disarranged.
But at least her waist was tiny.
Georgette’s mother huffed. “You must trust your mother with these things, Georgette. Remember how successful your sister was in her debut—she had Mr. Honeywell enthralled almost from the moment she entered the ballroom, and now look at her, happily wedded to a rising barrister.”
“But I am twenty now and no debutante, Mummy. There are no Mr. Honeywells here in New York. If ever I am to have opportunity to wed, we must return to England soon.” She gazed through her dormer window at the tall merchant ships anchored in the river. “Please, can we not sail on one of those ships? I should die if we were to spend another summer in this hot, stinking village that calls itself a city!”
Her mother directed the maid to rearrange her skirts, then
stood back to judge the effect. “You will marry whomever your parents approve for you, Georgette. You must allow that Juliette is happy, and she scarcely knew Mr. Honeywell on their wedding day. I had not intended to tell you this yet, but your papa has already selected a suitor—a discerning man—who can support you in a manner even superior to the one you now enjoy.” She adjusted her own golden cloud of hair while looking into Georgette’s mirror.
“Surely you do not mean that Mr. LaTournay he constantly talks about.” Georgette lifted one brow.
“I do. The man is charming, influential in city politics, and wealthy enough to make him the target of every matchmaking mother in town.”
“Ha! As if such a man would form an attachment to me.”
“Indeed, Mr. LaTournay craves an introduction, and your father is of the opinion that the man has admired you for some time.”
Mr. LaTournay had been watching her? Georgette reached for her throat and struggled to swallow. “But Mother, his reputation!”
“I would discount much of the gossip you hear. Every man worth his salt sows a few wild oats before he settles down. You must not hold that against Mr. LaTournay. Is he not exceedingly handsome?”
“I have never met the man, Mummy, and I never wish to.”
Her mother turned with a sweep of her skirts. “Come now. Your father has the carriage waiting.”
Georgette drifted down the steep staircase with her gloved fingers skimming the handrail. Her anticipation of the dance had all but vanished. How often had she seen young women whisper behind their fans, cast fatuous glances at Mr. LaTournay’s elegant figure, and burst into giggles?
“Georgette, do hurry!” Her father’s call rattled the rafters.
From their vantage point near the punch bowl, Georgette and her friend watched dancers spin and promenade across the floor. “I dislike sounding critical, but I believe the Harrisons invited too many ladies for the number of men tonight.” To Georgette’s relief, Mr. LaTournay seemed to be absent. Once when she spotted a tall man amid the throng, her heart had leaped to her throat, but the alarm proved false.
“There are few eligible men in town since this dreadful rebellion.” Marianne Grenville fanned herself. “We must keep praying that the governor will return to the province and set things right. He has been away for months.”
“Politics! I despise them. All this talk about the onset of anarchy. I should think any man of courage would refuse to put up with such nonsense.” Georgette fluffed her skirts. “And as long as gaming tables remain open, my father is unlikely to take Mother and me back home to England. He says it is business that keeps him in town, but I know better. Marianne, if ever I am tempted to wed a gamester, please kick me.”
“Surely it is not so bad as that.”
“Surely it is. You may wish to believe ill of no one, my dear, but in this case thinking the worst is warranted.” Georgette tried to sound indifferent. “My mother prattles about the importance of my making a brilliant match. As though any man would notice me when there are many local beauties of family and fortune for the asking. Such as you, for instance.” She tapped her friend on the arm, smiling lest Marianne take offense.
“You are beautiful, Gigi, though not in the conventional way.”
“So my mother tells me. And what precisely does that mean? Never mind; I think I should rather not know. It is certain that my style of beauty is not one to inspire sonnets and duels.” She paused. “Not that I care for either.”
Marianne blinked and attempted a smile. Dearly though Georgette loved her, Marianne would benefit from a dash more humor and romance amid her charms. “Someday, somewhere, you will meet the man you should marry, Gigi.”
“Oh Marianne, I fear that the man of my dreams does not exist. Is there a man yet living in this world who will love only one woman all his life?” Closing her eyes, Georgette clutched her fan to her chest and inhaled deeply, releasing her breath in a sigh. “I would make that man happier than he could imagine, if only he would love me for myself. Do you never dream of such love?”
Marianne’s blue eyes expressed shock. “I try not to dwell on things of that sort, Gigi.”
Georgette’s shoulders drooped. “Perhaps it is not beneficial to dream, but at times dreams are my only escape. Reality is distressingly prosaic. Perhaps I should aspire to the stage.”
Marianne glanced away. “I know you grow tired of hearing this, Gigi, but your burdens would seem much lighter if you would share them with God. He cares about your troubles and would help if you—”
“I know.” Georgette crossed her arms over her chest in unladylike fashion. Her whalebone stays pinched. “I do think about what you tell me, Marianne. Truly I do. Sometimes I feel God’s presence and I want to believe, but it is all so strange. …”
Marianne touched her arm. “Here comes your father.”
Frederick Talbot strode toward them, appearing strangely pleased. “LaTournay, I have been looking everywhere for you.” His eyes focused beyond the two startled girls. “Have you and Georgette already been introduced?”
“I have not yet had the pleasure.” The calm reply came from directly behind Georgette. Her blood congealed. Uncrossing her arms, she hurriedly looked down to make sure nothing was showing that oughtn’t, then met her father’s hopeful gaze.
“In that case, Georgette, please allow me to introduce Mr. LaTournay,” he said. “He and I have conducted business for several years, though only recently have we met in person. He and his grandfather before him have been our best suppliers of fine wool. Mr. LaTournay, my daughter Georgette.”
Murmuring something polite and keeping her eyes lowered, Georgette turned and extended her hand. Long fingers squeezed hers. A kiss tickled her hand as the man bowed with continental elegance. Brown hair had been brushed back from his high forehead into a neat pigtail. He spoke quietly. “Miss Talbot, will you honor me with your next dance?”
Georgette glanced at her father, who nodded. “I … yes.” Mr. LaTournay lifted his head and met her gaze. She jerked her hand from his grasp and placed it over her heart. To her horror, his dark eyes followed the motion before he quickly looked away. Even after her father introduced LaTournay to Marianne, Georgette trembled in reaction. Instead of lilting violins, she heard blood pounding in her ears.
The men moved away. Georgette dragged her gaze from the back of LaTournay’s emerald velvet coat and stared at the floor, struggling to check her scrambled thoughts and emotions.
“We have actually been introduced to Mr. LaTournay—and he asked you to dance!” Marianne said. “My mother says he is one of the most eligible bachelors in the entire colony. He is acquainted with Governor Tryon and with, oh, everyone of importance.”
Georgette recovered her voice. “I care nothing for his connections. When he looked into my eyes, I felt …” Her vocabulary failed. “He has a huge mole on his face, and he wears a beard. Why would Papa wish me to know such a person?”
Marianne waved her fan before Georgette’s eyes. “Many pardons, but do we speak of the same man? Mr. LaTournay is far from ugly. It is true that he seldom smiles, and his manners are somewhat stiff, but you could make him smile if anyone could, Gigi. He is a man with a great future, my father says.”
“And a wicked past.” Georgette rubbed her arms. “As if Apollyon himself took the form of a man. I do not wish to dance with him. I would rather stand here all evening than allow that fiend to touch my hand again.” She backed up toward the wall.
Following, Marianne shook her head. “You are allowing imagination to nullify discretion. Just dance, Gigi. You will probably never see him again. Keep in mind that he has honored you with his request, and relax.”
“I wonder how much of our conversation he overheard. He was standing behind us, Marianne, eavesdropping.”
“Did we speak of anything shocking? Gigi—”
A British officer approached Marianne to request a dance. She accepted, fluttering her fan, leaving Georgette alone. With vague
thoughts of escape, Georgette turned and bumped into LaTournay’s brocaded waistcoat. Heat enflamed her body and face.
“Miss Talbot.” He bowed and extended his arm.
Forcing herself to smile, she placed her hand on his velvet sleeve, and he led her to the dance floor. The musicians struck up a lively country-dance tune. Although her feet performed the dance steps, Georgette’s mind went blank. Her careful training in the art of conversation was for naught.
Other couples chatted throughout the dance. Georgette and her partner remained silent. Crazed imaginings flitted through her mind. Sometimes women allowed men to escort them into the gardens. What would she do if Mr. LaTournay suggested such a move? Scream?
“How tragic that I have conducted business with your father these many years and never before met you.”
His comment startled her into missing a step. He guided her back into place. Before she could reply, he continued. “Instead of bemoaning my loss, I should take pleasure in the moment. New York is privileged to have you, Miss Talbot, and I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
She avoided his eyes. “Although my father has traveled to these American colonies numerous times, my mother and I first arrived in this province with the trade ships last April. I know of you by repute.”
“My usual practice is to summer in the country and return to town for trade with foreign merchants,” he said. “Winter will soon be upon us, so I must return north before the river becomes impassable. Alas, I am expected home before November. In these remaining days before my departure, may I call upon you, Miss Talbot?”
Georgette welcomed winter’s approach. “We are unlikely to meet again. My family will return to England as soon as my father has completed his business here. We long to see home. Are you native to New York, sir?” She bit her lip, but the question had already escaped. She hoped he would not misconstrue her curiosity as personal interest.
