"What did he want?" she squealed. "Are you both being called up for witchcraft?" Her black eyes snapped with eager hope.
Fiona drew herself up haughtily. "Not at all, you silly girl. He invited my mother and me to dine with him tomorrow."
"And we accepted," Ellen added, smiling.
"D-dine? You two? Tomorrow? I don't believe it!"
"You'll see. He's sending his servant to escort us in his carriage." Fiona tossed her head.
Grace's eyes grew narrow. "I think he's heard rumors and he's suspicious of you both. Tomorrow he'll question and probe and then decide if you should go before the magistrates."
Fiona struggled not to gasp.
"Away with you," Ellen exclaimed stoutly. "As a matter of fact, he asked us to dine with him that Sabbath when we first attended Divine Service. Do you not recall that, Grace?"
Fiona remembered and her foolish fears abated. "Besides, just look what he brought us, specially grown red roses and a big box of imported sweetmeats."
With an excited cry, Grace flew to the box and lifted up the beribboned lid. Fiona and her mother peered beyond Grace's shoulder with equal curiosity to observe the contents nestled in lace paper. They all gaped at comfits of candied orange and lemon peel, angelica shaped like tiny fruits, sugared nuts, and chocolate bonbons.
Fiona's mother reached for a cherry-covered confection and bit into it with a moan of pleasure. "Once David brought me such a box and 'twas highly prized. This must have cost a pretty penny."
Without so much as a by-your-leave, Grace stuffed several pieces into her mouth before shouting thickly up the stairs, "Ma, come down. I want to show you something."
Fiona snatched up the box. "Really, Grace, who said you could—"
As Grace raced from the room, clutching some of the candy, Fiona's mother murmured, "Let them have what they want. 'Tis a small price to repay them for all our meals."
"I guess you're right. Mother, let's take a walk. I don't feel like discussing the judge's invitation with Aunt Mercy just now, do you? They will ask so many questions, and I'm sure I don't have all the answers."
"Indeed, 'tis passing strange," her mother mused, as they strolled into the garden. "I wonder if he has a wife and children?"
"I don't think so. Surely he would have mentioned a wife in connection with the invitation." For a minute, she wondered if she should tell her mother about the strange behavior of Judge Blaize upon the beach. However, when she tried to sort it out, the memory became cloudy, unreal, almost dreamlike. Could she have exaggerated it? The fear, the excitement, the impression of his youth and handsomeness? Was that all a result of her longing to appear attractive to a man after Giles's rejection?
She finally had to admit that now she wasn't really certain of anything about that day. Perhaps the judge had tried to coax a response from her because he, too, was upset about the witch trials. When she didn't resist him strongly enough, he had tried for more, manlike, until she had fled in dismay.
She decided not to tell her mother. It was a rather shameful incident, no matter how interpreted, and if informed of it, her mother might rescind their acceptances. Right now, Fiona's curiosity was strong and formed a barrier against the pain of Giles and Grace. With rising anticipation, she engaged her mother in a discussion of what could be found to wear in their meager wardrobes.
Chapter 15
Fiona had only one gown worthy of the judge's dinner, a soft blue silk made from material her father had brought from China. Her mother had a similar outfit, only in a deeper hue. Both styles were simple: square necklines filled in with lacy fichus, elbow-length sleeves, skirts of modest fullness gathered to fitted waists.
With her hair brushed out in flaming curls, Fiona observed herself in the oval of polished tin upon the wall which mirrored her reflection in lieu of more expensive silvered glass. She looked clean and rosy from top to toe with only one thing wrong. Over the past year, the dress had grown tighter and her bosom stood out too provocatively.
"Mother," Fiona moaned. "See how tight my gown became. I cannot wear this."
Her mother laughed. "Faith, I thought your growing days were over. A shawl will help."
Had Fiona been wrong to take this chance of visiting the judge? But what could possibly happen with her mother present? Stiffening her backbone, she spread the fichu higher over the full white curves. She then tied the gold doubloon around her throat, knotting the silken cord, hoping it would prove a distraction.
"I haven't seen you wear that wee thing lately," her mother remarked. "Where has it been?"
"In my reticule. The cord grew worn and I feared to wear it every day."
" 'Tis an interesting object. So gracious of the governor to give it to you." She folded a crocheted shawl about her head and shoulders, Fiona doing likewise.
" 'Tis chilly, we may be in such light wraps," her mother laughed, "but let us be elegant or die in the attempt."
"Listen," Fiona broke in. "I think I hear a carriage." They both hurried to the window. "Yes, the judge's servant has come for us. My, what a beautiful conveyance, all red and gold, drawn by two black horses."
"Whisht! We must go downstairs at once." Her mother sounded girlishly excited and Fiona felt her own expectations rise. What would this night bring? An elaborate feast, a gallant host in beautiful surroundings who would essay to entertain them charmingly? Or something darker, stranger? Whatever the outcome, Fiona felt her curiosity would sustain her. She felt strong and brave tonight and touched the gold coin as a talisman against anything alarming. However, she didn't think the judge would have invited her mother also if he'd had any evil plans. The very idea seemed laughable.
When they entered the kitchen, Mercy and Grace eyed them both in astonishment. "Where did you get such finery?" Mercy exclaimed. " 'Tis scarcely the cloth of impoverishment such as you have claimed."
"Perhaps 'twas payment for… services," Grace purred.
Biting back an angry retort, Fiona trilled instead, "Do you believe we have a secret horde?"
Mrs. Prescott sent her a reproving glance, then went on to explain. "My husband brought us this silk from one of his trading expeditions. 'Twas not poverty stricken we were in those days, but with his death, all income ceased and our savings did not last long—"
She was interrupted by a knocking at the door and the dwarf entered, bowing and grinning. He presented Mercy with a big basket filled with beautiful exotic fruits: oranges, pineapple, bananas, even grapes out of season. "Compliments of my master to the lovely lady of the house and her fine daughter."
Grace and Mercy simpered and exclaimed over the basket, stopping to watch in awe when Fiona and her mother said goodnight and swept out the door to the waiting carriage. A liveried servant in black and silver held the horses in check, and after ushering the guests inside the coach, the dwarf climbed to a place on the rear box.
Fiona and her mother stared in awe at the interior of the carriage, fitted like an exquisite little room with padded ruby velvet seats, silken drapes, golden cushions for their feet, and vials of roses on the walls perfuming all the air.
"Begorrah!" Ellen whispered. Fiona bounced from side to side, pointing out the pictures on the ceiling, the golden oiled cloth at the windows, and finally, a flacon of wine in a gilded cask beside two silver goblets. "Look, Mother, the goblets—one has my name on it, the other one says 'Ellen.' Oh, what does it mean?"
"I think it means we are to take a sip o' wine." Her mother poured a little sparkling liquid into each goblet. "Try it. The aroma is certainly divine." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Ah, the fragrance takes me back to a summer day with David beside the sea… warm sun, azure sky, the roses David brought me… we ate our lunch, drank some golden wine like this, and then… lay down upon the sand." Smiling, she gazed dreamily into space.
Cautiously, Fiona took a sip. The brew was sweet, yet spicy, sparkling, yet soft upon the tongue. It did smell of flowers and also of the sea, and Fiona recalled the day on the beach
when Nicholas Blaize had kissed her. It was probably a momentary flirtation by a weary older man that had foolishly upset her.
She sipped her wine and felt a happy glow engulf her. She could hardly wait to see the judge's house, and when the carriage stopped, she and her mother gazed eagerly around as soon as they alighted.
The house was on the bluffs above the beach, three imposing stories of red brick covered with a creeping ivy vine. Flowering bushes swayed in the breeze, as did rioting beds of springtime bulbs: tulips, narcissus, hyacinths, and violets. A pebbled path led to flight of smooth stone steps. Light streamed from ground-level windows whose scarlet satin draperies could be seen caught back with thick gold cords.
The door swung wide and Judge Blaize, all in midnight velvet, advanced to meet them, hands outstretched, his face alight with pleasure. "Ladies, welcome to my home. How lovely you both look. Come in by the fire, the night grows cold. I must send a fur wrap with you when the hour for departure comes."
When they entered the lamplit hall, a figure stepped out of an arched doorway and Fiona caught her breath. "Giles! What are you doing here?"
He stared, seeming equally surprised as he looked from Fiona to her mother.
"Dr. Harmon came to tend one of my servants," the judge said smoothly. "A cook who was scouting for truffles in the woods unfortunately became caught in a wolf trap."
"Ach, how terrible," Ellen Prescott exclaimed. "How is the poor wee man?"
"He sustained no lasting injury." The judge waved his hand indifferently. "Even now, he is cooking in the kitchen, unfortunately without the truffles."
Giles's brows drew together. "He should be resting."
The judge purred silkily, "My decision, I believe."
Giles opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He picked up his medical bag and turned to Fiona. "May I have a word with you?"
He grasped Fiona's arm and led her forcefully to the front door. There he stopped and hissed, "What are you and your mother doing here?"
Fiona raised her eyebrows. "We have come to dine, though by what right you ask—"
"I don't trust him," Giles whispered harshly, with a quick glance down the hall behind them.
"Why not? Anyway, what could happen with my mother present, pray tell?"
He didn't reply directly, but his eyes swept over her, the next words seemingly wrung out of him against his will. "Fiona, I—I never saw you look more alluring. My God, are you trying to arouse the judge as much as you do me?"
It was impossible not to be thrilled by his words. Giles was the only one she wanted to lure. If only he could take her in his arms the way he had before, thrilling her with the rapture of his kisses. But when her eyes met Giles's, he had regained his self-control, mouth set sternly, black brows meeting. His anger met a quick response and Fiona answered, "I am trying to arouse no one. Especially not you. Why aren't you with Grace? She said you were walking out tonight, presumably to become betrothed."
He gave a harsh crack of laughter. "Is that right?"
"Well, isn't it?"
He shrugged. "As you see, I was called away on an errand of mercy."
He didn't confirm or deny. Fiona changed the subject.
"That trap—I suppose it was meant for the gray wolf that Sally tamed."
"That wolf is far from tame, but I hate to see trapped animals. Fortunately, the cook was not seriously injured, although—" He thinned his lips. "Well, I did what I could." He hesitated. "Is everything all right with you? No more hints from Grace that you are acting like a witch?"
"Oh, Grace still finds many of the things I do suspicious, but I think she just wants to annoy me."
"She's jealous, and with good reason." Giles's voice dropped lower and he stared into her eyes, the anguished message unmistakable, as though dragged forth against his will.
Fiona searched his face, seeking answers to the puzzle. "Giles, what really happened? Why did you turn so suddenly to Grace?"
"I can't tell you. Not now." His eyes moved hungrily over her once more; then, with a stiffled oath, he swung away abruptly and the door clanged shut behind him.
Fiona knew that she was trembling, tears crowding in her throat. If only she and Giles could talk honestly. It almost seemed as though he still cherished feelings for her. Was there a chance that he might break away from Grace? And if he did… what then? Would he marry a girl without a dowry? And for that matter, how could she allow a man she loved to make such a sacrifice? All his years of training would be for naught, his future life a constant struggle; never achieving all he wanted to do with no money for special equipment.
The other alternative would be to live in seclusion as his mistress, in a life of sin and degradation, which was unthinkable. She felt sure that Giles would feel the same. He was too honorable, too strong-minded. In love, he would be passionate and exciting, but also kind, unselfish, and true. Those were traits which she admired in him… and which now stood between them… also his loyalty to Grace, resulting from some past understanding with her.
Sighing, Fiona turned and started back along the hall, barely aware of velvet rugs and marble statutes, subdued lights in candle sconces. Her head jerked up as the judge stepped from the parlor. "Miss Fiona, we have long awaited you. Won't you join us in a mild libation before we dine?"
Quickly assuming a lightness she was far from feeling, Fiona answered, "Why, thank you, judge. I would be delighted."
"Nicholas," he whispered. "I want you to use my given name."
"I don't think my mother would approve of that on such short acquaintance, but I will call you Nicholas when we are alone, if you so desire." She flicked a glance upward and saw a gloating smile on his lean, dark face. Uneasiness stirred briefly in her mind, but in the next moment they had entered the sumptuous room where her mother sat on a white satin sofa heaped with gold and silver cushions. In her hand she held a goblet containing a ruby liquid which she seemed to be enjoying, not refusing the judge when he refilled it to the brim.
"Pray, drink deeply, madam, it makes your eyes glow like stars, your lips grow soft like the petals of a scarlet rose. I vow it is no wonder Fiona is such a beauty, coming by it honestly. She is certainly a younger version of yourself."
Fiona stared at such fulsome praise, but her mother merely smiled her thanks, completely self-assured and not in the least overawed by her surroundings. To Fiona, they looked overwhelming. Accepting a wine goblet, Fiona strolled around the room which was large, well lit, and exquisitely furnished with every kind of luxury: a roaring fire within a marble grate, walls silk-hung, with gilded sconces holding fragrant candles. Vases held a rioting of full-blown scarlet roses all around the room. Beside each satin couch and velvet chair, a white pelt had been spread.
Fiona bent down to touch the fur to see if it was real and instantly the judge appeared beside her. "No, my dear, I didn't hunt and kill these beasts. I abhor doing such things for sport. They all came with the house." He raised her up, black eyes boring into hers. "Do you believe me?"
"Of course," Fiona answered, then wondered if she really did. He certainly could be convincing. They were standing at the far end of the room and the judge was very close. A heat emanated from his body, a musky male aroma which was not unpleasant.
"My name?" he hinted and she answered, "Nicholas," with a slight hesitation.
His hooded eyes suddenly fastened on her bosom. "What is this coin you wear?" He slipped his fingers underneath it with a frown, letting his hand rest upon her flesh.
Not knowing how to combat this intimacy without appearing awkward, Fiona said coolly, "Sir William Phips gave me this on shipboard. He said to call on him if ever I needed help."
This might show the judge she had influential friends, but he didn't seem impressed. In fact, he sneered. "A worthless trinket, and shipboard promises are just as worthless."
He let his fingers linger on the soft swell of her breast and bent his head to breathe into her ear. "You should be wearing jewels to compliment your perfe
ct creamy skin. Does my touch excite you? You are quivering so temptingly."
"Please," Fiona whispered, moving back and covering her bosom with a shaking hand. "We had best rejoin my mother."
"Of course. Forgive me. Alas, your beauty is always my undoing." He bowed and led the way across the room to the chairs beside the fireplace.
"What were you and Giles discussing before he left?" Ellen Prescott asked with a prying air, quite unlike her usual tactful self. Fiona wondered if she taken too much wine.
"Giles wanted to know if Grace had hinted any more that I was acting like a witch," Fiona said, glancing uneasily at the judge.
"No! Does she do that?" Blaize roared. "That is intolerable. She must be reprimanded. You are her cousin as well as a guest in her mother's home."
"Oh, Grace is just a silly girl." Fiona's mother laughed. "She is annoyed by the arrival of a pretty cousin, especially since Fiona and Giles grew so friendly on the ocean voyage."
"You and Giles are still quite close?" the judge rapped out, his thin lips twisting downward.
"No, indeed. He is now close to Grace. At least—"
The judge interrupted. "Does she have a claim on the young doctor?"
"Grace seems to think so. They were friends when they were young."
"And what does Dr. Harmon say?" The judge studied her over the rim of his silver goblet as if he wished to probe into her brain.
"I haven't discussed the matter with him." Fiona hoped devoutly that the heat upon her cheeks would not betray her feelings.
"Perhaps you should. Then you can put him from your mind and consider the interest of other men who would, I'm sure, be more than willing to pay you court. Don't you agree, Mistress Prescott?"
"Fiona is a good girl," her mother stated.
This remark puzzled Fiona. Was it a warning to the judge? However, he merely smiled.
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