Surrender in Moonlight

by Jennifer Blake

  Charlotte, glowing with excitement and the satisfaction of seeing the theme of the ball she had suggested much admired, told a chosen few, Ramon and Lorna among them, that they must watch the moon. As the evening progressed, it would gradually darken until, at the chosen hour, it would be eclipsed. There would then be a surprise dance, after which the ball would be over.

  The young girl scintillated in white silk scattered with diamanté. Her elder sister was in royal-blue silk, only a shade lighter than the ceiling canopy and with a similar scattering of the tiny cut-glass stones known as diamanté. Lorna had declined the glitter on her own costume, choosing instead a gown of soft lavender-blue tulle, the color of a distant shore as seen from the sea at dawn, though, in keeping with the theme, she wore a headdress of lavender satin in the shape of a coronet that was centered with a small gold moon, the radiating beams of which were formed of long, thin beads.

  As the long room filled, the atmosphere was one of suppressed anticipation and excitement. It was not the prospect of the hall's finale, however brilliant it might be, that charged the air, but the knowledge of the danger the men in the room would be facing when it was over. Charlotte, flitting up to Lorna where she stood alone for a moment, expressed it best.

  "The men look different tonight, don't you think? You see it even in those who are not in uniform, though they are not so dashing. I suppose it is knowing they may not return, and that they count the game worth the risk."

  "Yes, I suppose so," Lorna answered.

  "I admire that in a man," the girl went on, her eyes alight with discovery, "but I suppose most women do. We are really elemental creatures, aren't we? It is important that the man who may claim us be not only able, but willing, to protect us."

  "It doesn't always follow that a man who will risk his life for gain, or even for a cause, will do the same for a woman," Lorna pointed out.

  Charlotte opened her eyes wide. "But of course he would! A gentleman always protects a lady, only some more…more handily than others."

  "If that is so, then who is it we must be protected from?"

  "From men who are not gentlemen!" With a gay laugh and a flounce of her skirts, the younger girl whirled away.

  It was a simple philosophy, one that Lorna had been raised with, though she had reason now to doubt its validity; one that she had used as a weapon against Ramon that night nearly two weeks ago. Unconsciously, she sought his tall form and dark head in the growing crowd. She caught sight of him with Edward Lansing; they had come early, that he might discuss a few final points about the forthcoming run with the man who was his partner. Ramon was one of those in uniform, like those he had designed himself for the officers of the Lorelei in order to make them easier to pick out from the crew in time of need. The blue coat stretched across his broad shoulders, while the blue stripe down the dark gray leg of his trousers made him seem taller and more erect. The severe cut and dark color gave him a lean grace that was heightened by the gold bullion on his shoulders and gold-fringed sash holding a dress sword at his waist. It was fairly obvious whom Charlotte had been thinking of when she had spoken of men made dashing by such attire.

  Lorna took a deep breath against the tightness gathering in her chest. It was ridiculous to allow herself to be affected by what was no more than a costume, one that had no connection with country or cause. As for the danger Ramon faced, his was no greater than that which threatened any of the many men in the room who would be putting to sea at midnight.

  The musicians, behind a screen of palms and ferns, had tuned up and now began a spritely Chopin piece to welcome the arriving guests. Lorna glanced at her program, but it only showed her what she had suspected, the first dance would be a waltz, followed by a polonaise and a polka, and then another waltz to finish the first set. Ramon had put down his name for the second waltz; on the day of the picnic, he had been placed in a position where he could not escape asking Elizabeth for the first, and Charlotte for the polonaise.

  "Permit me, if you will?"

  She stiffened, her grasp tightening instinctively on her program, but Nate Bacon wrenched it from her fingers. Taking the small, attached pencil in his grasp, he scrawled his name beside the polka.

  "Mere," he said, handing the moon-shaped card back. "I don't think you will be able to avoid me while you are in my arms on the dance floor. There are a few things that need discussion between the two of us."

  "I hardly think a gathering of this sort is the time or place," she said, retaining the cool indifference of her voice with an effort.

  "Oh, I will admit it isn't what I would have chosen, but you have not answered my notes requesting a more private interview, and you are always surrounded by admirers."

  "In any case," she went on as if he had not spoken, "I have nothing to say to you."

  "No? Well, I have quite a bit to say to you, and to ask, about the death of my son."

  Lorna sent a quick glance around her, aware, even as she did so, that the thickset man beside her had spoken in overly loud tones in order to make her nervous. "You knew Franklin, knew what he was like. Can you not guess what happened?"

  "Guessing isn't knowing."

  She sent him a harassed glance tinged with pain. "He became violent. We fought. It was an accident that he was killed. What more do you want to know?"

  "Several things," he said, his voice taking on a hoarse note, "like whether the marriage was consummated, and if you are now carrying his child?"

  "No!" she said with a disgust that she did not trouble to hide.

  His face took on a reddish-purple hue, and his chest seemed to swell. "That's both bad news and good. I wanted a child, but if there is not to be one, then there is no need for care in my dealings with you."

  "Dealings? As far as I am concerned, there will be none."

  "Oh, but there will. You are wanted for murder; I myself swore out the warrant. What do you think fine people like the Lansings will say when they hear of it, as they will if you don't cooperate? No, I think we will deal together, and I expect the association to be most pleasant." The took he gave her, his hot gaze moving over the soft curves of her shoulders, was the exact opposite.

  "That…that's blackmail!"

  "You know, I believe you are right, but then I see no reason to be too nice in my methods. You certainly served me a dirty trick, using Cazenave to get away from me."

  "It wasn't you I was running from."

  "Wasn't it?" he asked, and smiled his loose-lipped smile.

  Abruptly, she knew he was right. Franklin, and Nate's hopes for an heir through his son, had been a buffer between her and her lascivious father-in-law. With him dead, there had been nothing. There was nothing now.

  The answer must have been reflected in her eyes, for he went on, "You know better, don't you. I meant to have you from the moment I saw you sitting at your uncle's table beside your meek cousins. I might have married you, if it weren't for my invalid wife, and gotten my heir directly while enjoying you myself. That wasn't possible, so I arranged to marry you to Franklin and prepared myself to wait a respectable time before approaching you. You ruined my plans, destroyed my son, but it doesn't matter. I'll have you yet. Nothing will stop me, nothing. Do you understand?"

  It occurred to Lorna, as she listened to his low-voiced threats, that the instability of Franklin's mind might not all have stemmed from his childhood accident; a portion might have been inherited. "You must be mad if you think you can do with me as you please. Ramon will not permit you to carry out such threats."

  "You are not as close to him now as you once were, I hear. I will admit I don't understand why, but it works to my advantage. Since he seems to have lost interest in you, he may not be so quick to come to your aid. Regardless, he will be leaving Nassau in a few hours and won't be returning for more than a week. By then, it will be too late."

  Before she could form a reply, he bowed abruptly and strode away. He must have seen Peter approaching, coming to claim her for the waltz just beginning; fo
r, a few seconds later, the Englishman came to a halt in front of her.

  "I don't like that fellow," he said, staring after Nate.

  "Nor do I," Lorna answered fervently, then, as he turned to stare at her, forced a smile and lowered her lashes, shielding her distress from his too clear gaze as she pretended to study her program. "Why, I believe this is your dance, sir!"

  "So, it is!" he agreed in theatrical surprise, leading her onto the floor, though his expression was watchful as he took her in his arms.

  He had reason to be suspicious, Lorna told herself with a suppressed sigh as they whirled to the strains of Strauss's "Roses of the South." Instead of the evenhanded way in which she had treated him earlier, spacing her time in his company with time spent also with Frazier, Slick, Chris, and also, on occasion, Ramon, she had sought him out for protection from Nate's attempts to speak to her alone. It was not entirely by choice; the Lorelei's officers, including Ramon, of course, had been embroiled in the last-minute details of seeing that the ship would be in working order after her repairs, and ready to sail.

  Still, it wasn't fair to Peter to use him; never mind that he made it so very difficult not to. He was always there, or so it seemed, and such easy company that it would have required a tremendous effort to avoid taking advantage of him. For the moment, with Ramon occupied elsewhere, her need was too great to permit such altruism.

  So distant had Ramon become of late, in fact, that mentioning him to Nate as her possible champion had been merest bravado. Whether from annoyance at her refusal of his advances or from irritation at her conduct on the picnic, he had kept his distance for the last few days. It was only the ship and the forthcoming run to Wilmington, she had tried to tell herself. Naturally, he was concerned with these things, since the lives of his men and himself, plus his plans for the future, depended on his efforts and vigilance now.

  Often at night, however, she still heard the guitarist in the garden, softly playing his tender songs of love and lament. She was not certain whether it was only because she knew Ramon played the instrument or also because of the promptings of vanity, but she sometimes pretended the guitarist was Ramon, serenading her as she drifted off to sleep. She had never tried to discover if she was right. It was not possible to see into the darkness of the garden from the veranda outside her room, and the guitarist was heard only after she had retired for the night. She could have waited, could have crept downstairs to see. But on consideration, she had decided each time that she would as soon not know, in case the man was a stranger, or the music not meant for her at all.

  "Will you miss me while I'm gone?"

  She brought her attention back to Peter with an effort. "Certainly I will. It will be so dull here without our court jester!"

  "Ah," he intoned mournfully, "first the kiss, then the slap."

  "I didn't kiss you," she said, drawing back in mock hauteur.

  "No. Would you? That is, would you permit me to kiss you?"

  His clowning cloaked the seriousness of the question, but it lay there, in the blue depths of his eyes. For the flick of an instant, she remembered Ramon that day at the old house: he had neither asked for permission nor required it. In an effort to keep the conversation on a light level, she inquired demurely, "Good-bye?"

  "Or hello, or whatever you please. A proper kiss, mind, none of your pecks on the cheek or, heaven forbid, the nose."

  "I…will have to think about it."

  He pounced on the hesitation. "For how long?"

  "I'm not sure. Tell me again, now, when does your ship leave?"

  "Heartless, heartless woman, you know very well the Bonny Girl will leave with the others!"

  "Indeed I do, and it was cruel of me to tease you. Of course, you may kiss me, dear Peter!"

  Staring down at her, his expression gloomy, he said, "Why do I have the feeling that I am going to be fobbed off with a brotherly smack again? I am nobody's brother, except for a great lout who will be the eighth earl, and a covey of brats younger than I am."

  Over his shoulder, Lorna saw Ramon, sedately turning with the eldest Lansing sister. At the same time, he was watching her, a scowl between his eyes. Had he overheard her laughing permission? She could not tell, but the empty feeling in the region of her breastbone told her it was possible, if not probable. She could not worry about it now, however. Besides, what business was it of his?

  "Peter," she began, the amusement leaving her as concern took its place.

  "Never mind," he said hastily. "I didn't mean to bring clouds to those gray eyes of yours. You may kiss me any way you like; isn't that magnanimous of me? Also, any time you like, and as often as you like. I am nothing if not thorough. It's one of my chief, and many, charms; one I trust you will grow to appreciate. Ah! Don't look now, but we are being honored with the presence of the heroine of Bull Run."

  "Not Sara Morgan?"

  "None other. I wonder how it was managed; she hasn't been out much while she has been here. A bit under the weather, I hear."

  It had been managed with careful calculation, Lorna knew, since she had been present while the campaign was mapped out on her first shopping expedition with the Lansing sisters. First had been sent a note of welcome, accompanied by a basket of fruit and cakes, and a large bouquet of flowers. After a few days, a call had been paid. Finding the lady unwell, as the servants' grapevine had foretold, the sisters had left flowers, expressions of admiration and condolence, plus the offer of a carriage to use while taking the air of an evening. Later, the physician who treated Mrs. Lansing on occasion had been sent to call. He had prescribed a tonic for the southern lady's indisposition, which appeared to be consumption, recommending also that being among people would be beneficial to her rather melancholy turn of mind. The Lansing sisters had then called again, with the invitation to the ball grasped firmly in their hands. The poor woman, weighted down with authoritative advice and obligation for favors received, could hardly have refused to lend her presence to their soirée.

  "She doesn't look very happy," Lorna said.

  "A handsome woman, nonetheless."

  "And I thought you preferred fair women," Lorna said with an air of injury, and could not quell the laugh that rose in her at his hasty reassurances. She was still smiling, inquiring about his famous, much worn and society-prone coat, when the music ended.

  The polonaise belonged to Ramon's executive officer. Slick's performance on the floor was polished, in contrast to what might have been expected given his long-limbed frame, rather sloping walk, and faint air of the backwoods. He had five sisters who all loved to dance, he said, and a bevy of cousins who played with ease any musical instrument they picked up or sat down at. Dancing was a regular Saturday night occurrence in the hills of north Louisiana, portions of them at any rate-the Baptists; around the towns frowned on people kicking up their heels, drinking hard liquor, or having fun in general. Said it all led to sin, while, truth to tell, it kept 'em from it-as well as out of the bushes and the swamp bottoms, and places like that. Most of the dancing was done in squares, but the other, slower dances served to let the girls catch their breath in between.

  Regardless, when the polonaise, a Polish dance in triple time, was done, Lorna was somewhat breathless and glad for the offer of a glass of punch. While Slick moved away through the crowd to get it for her, she found a place to stand near the wall. Spreading the fan that hung from one wrist, she began to ply it. She had made no more than a half dozen strokes when she heard her name called and, looking around, saw Charlotte bearing down upon her.

  "Come with me quickly," the young girl said, catching her arm, "before the polka begins. Mrs. Morgan wishes to meet you!"

  A moment later, Lorna's hand was being taken in the frail ones of the heroine of the evening. Her gaze rested upon the pale and thin face of Sara Morgan, made even more striking by the contrast with her widow's weeds, while the woman's shrewd, measuring glance ran over Lorna in turn.

  They exchanged the conventional greetings. Then Sara M
organ said, "Indeed yes, I can believe you ran the fire of the federal ships at New Orleans; you have that steadfast look. I heard something of it from the Misses Lansings, of course," she paused to smile at Charlotte hovering beside them, intently listening for once, "but I would enjoy hearing more details some time."

  "I did nothing except cower in my cabin, in all truth," Lorna said with a wry smile. "It doesn't begin to compare with your adventures, I'm afraid."

  "I was never under fire, nor likely to be, and there were others who also carried messages in those days and hours before Bull Run."

  "You must have run the blockade, too, on your outward journey to England?" Lorna suggested.

  "Yes, but that was some months ago, before the strangling cordon of ships began to tighten. There were several women, and even children, on board as passengers then, so little was the danger considered. I understand it is quite different now."

  "Apparently so."

  There was no opportunity to say more, for Nate Bacon approached and, moving deliberately to Lorna's side, nodded to Sara Morgan and Charlotte before turning to her. "I believe the next dance is mine."

  "Yes, certainly," Lorna agreed in pleasant tones, "but perhaps you will excuse me, since I have just met this lady and there is much for us to talk about."

  The smile Nate turned upon Sara Morgan was smooth, urbane, but, though his words were tinged with self-deprecation, there was iron beneath them. "I'm sure the lady will understand my reluctance to release so beautiful a partner? I am not a patient man, and I have waited no short time for this moment."

  "Of course," the woman in black agreed, rather at a loss as she glanced from Lorna to the man beside her. "There will always be another time to chat."

  It was then that Slick reached her side, carefully maneuvering the two cups of punch he carried. Behind him there was a stir as the dancers took their places for the polka and the first notes of the music began. Nate swung toward Lorna in triumph and haste. His elbow struck a cup, and punch cascaded in a pale yellow stream down the side of his trousers to the shining toes of his boots.