When Hutton mentioned the next evening's event, her father finally realised that the man might have come to see his daughter too. He made an excuse and left them for a quarter of an hour or so in the salon.
Bathsheba was wearing a soft blue day dress made of shantung silk which flattered her figure and brought out the colour of her eyes. For Alistair, there was no doubt that she stirred something within him. All the time he had been talking with her father, he had been aware of her on the periphery of his vision. It had been hard to concentrate on everything her father had discussed because he had been imagining how his life would be with her at his side.
As soon as they were alone, he apologised for not having been in contact sooner.
“I am sorry to have left it so late before seeing you again. I do hope that you had no misgivings about our tryst tomorrow evening? Urgent business meant that I had to leave the city rather precipitously. I needed to make a trip to Portsmouth about one of my ships and its cargo.”
“I do hope that your business went well?” Bathsheba quipped. She hadn't imagined that he was in shipping. It could be a prosperous venture as easily as a disastrous one. Many were the ships that were grounded, wrecked or even pirated.
“Yes, this time all was well with the cargo. The problem came from a dispute with the crew. My agent and I managed to sort that out without too many hard feelings.”
She was tempted to ask more, hoping the subject would veer towards his five years in North America. Since the afternoon in the teashop, her imagination had run rampant. She had invented all manner of motives for him being in the ex-colonies and then again, why she might not like to hear why he had been there five years. She could invent until the cows came home, but if she never knew the real reason, it would be wasted time.
“Has your shipping enterprise anything to do with your five years in the ex-colonies?”
There. She'd asked.
“I suppose you could say that it has,” he replied as though he had never thought of it before.
“I was a privateer for his majesty's government during the war with the United States.”
Bathsheba drew in a sharp breath involuntarily. She had not imagined something quite that dramatic. A privateer was the next step up from a pirate.
Alistair heard her and gave a sardonic smile. He did not like lying, which might be considered a defect in a privateer, however, he'd preferred taking the risk and being honest with her. He was preparing a solid foundation for any future dealings they might have - if any were to be had after this revelation.
“I imagine, then, that you have lived an exciting life...” she trailed off comparing her own inconsequential life with his.
“I was young and longing for adventure. Adventure was served to me on a silver plate for six months until a storm put the ship out of commission. Couldn't have been better for the Americans as we became easy prey. I don't know if you know, but captured crew of privateers are treated as prisoners of war?”
She shook her head. She didn't know a lot about the particulars of war and even less about the particulars of the high seas. Women were kept ignorant of anything that might hurtle their sensibilities. She certainly didn't have easy access to much except perhaps newspapers, which were known for their sensationalism. Her father was reluctant to discuss anything of any political consequence with her, so she was pretty naïve when it came to anything outside her own domain. He must have guessed that. The Satyr's Seduction should have told him a lot.
“Does that mean that you were taken as a prisoner of war?” she asked.
“Yes. That is what happened. I was in a prison for nearly two years. Just as well that I was young and healthy because the conditions were atrocious.” He wasn't smiling as he remembered the filth and the rats.
“At the end of the war, the survivors were released and left to fend for themselves. I managed to sign on as crew on 'The Dainty' which was headed for the southern hemisphere. Difficult to be subservient when one has been master of his own ship, but I had no choice. I had no proof of my identity and even less money.”
“What a remarkable life you have lived,” Bathsheba said enviously.
“Did you not want to come back to England?”
“Ohhh, yes, but no one would take me on, except that one captain heading south. I was a scrawny specimen by the time I got out of prison. The captain's second journey, however, was back to our fair isle, so I signed on again and worked my way home with the same man. He was good to me, perhaps believing me when I told him I had funds in England. I just couldn't get at them without proving who I was.”
“How extremely frustrating for you. It would seem that you are now back to your old self, though.”
“No. I don't think my old self would have been in a museum and had the good fortune of meeting you,” he answered almost to himself. He then grinned at her and her heart missed a beat.
“I must tell you that I am looking forward to our musical evening tomorrow,” he added.
“So am I,” she told him without the tiniest doubt in her mind.
“Do you know who else will be attending?” she asked.
He mentioned a few names, but none of them were familiar to her. They spoke of Mrs. Pemberton's fondness for unsuitable colours and a number of other amusing points, but both agreed that she was a generous woman when it came to entertaining. The supper was guaranteed to be sumptuous.
Bathsheba's father returned and it was the signal for them to part company. Both were a little sorry because they had talked so easily that they hadn't noticed the time passing. It was going to be a long twenty-four hours until they met again.
Chapter 4
Bathsheba slept badly that night with visions of sailing the seven seas with swashbuckling pirates. The scenario was entertaining in itself, because she had never been on a ship before. The pirates might have been anybody; she didn't know any of the faces - except for one, who was definitely Mr. Hutton.
That wasn't what disturbed her sleep.
It was Mr. Hutton's obvious connection to her, his possessiveness of her. She was his woman; there was no doubt about that.
Upon waking in the morning, she was left feeling restless. It was a dream that had her desperately trying to remember how it had ended. She wasn't silly, though. It was like most dreams one had – interrupted. She felt cheated.
Peggy commented on her pale complexion, hinting her mistress looked tired.
“I really must have a nap this afternoon, Peggy, if I am to look decent for this evening.”
“Yes, Miss. I was going to suggest it anyway, especially as you're not accustomed to late nights. We don't want you wilting before any of the other 'moiselles. That Mr. Hutton strikes me as a prize worth having.”
“Don't be silly, Peggy. One evening out with the man hardly means I am competing for him or am serious about him.”
“Aren't cha, Miss? Could've fooled me.” Peggy chuckled.
“Peggy! I won't hear of such a thing, and please don't go spreading the idea around,” she chided. Bathsheba blushed.
“No, Miss. As you like.” Peggy had only been teasing but from Bathsheba's reaction alone, she could tell that she'd been right. Her mistress was smitten and, with good reason. He was a good-looking man and, from what was being said, wealthy too. He was a prize and perhaps she could help her mistress win him. Hmmm....
*
Bathsheba's nap hadn't really done much good. Her sea-faring escapade had continued, but it'd had nothing to do with her previous dream. She woke up more frustrated than rested.
Peggy had known how to put her in the right mood, however.
A bath with relaxing salts, which smelled of roses, did wonders. A shampoo with a light head massage, a soft towelling followed by a massage with Peggy's own special oil left her relaxed and drowsy. Peggy left her for a half hour before bringing her a tisane and sweet biscuits. The special treatment did its trick and she felt renewed.
By six o'clock, she was standing nervously i
n front of the cheval mirror wondering if she hadn't overdone it with the new dress. Thankfully, Peggy was there to 'ooh and ahh' and to generally make a fuss of her.
“You're a pure delight for the eyes, Miss. I'm sure all the gentlemen will be envious of Mr. Hutton.”
“Please, Peggy. Don't exaggerate. This is only a musical evening and, besides, I'm too old to imagine any such thing. I just hope that I do Mr. Hutton honour, and if so, I will be happy.”
Bathsheba rapidly turned to her right and then to the left just to make sure that the skirt hung properly, and then she sighed. It was a sigh of resignation. She mustn't read more into the evening if she didn't want to be disappointed.
Chapter 5
Mrs. Pemberton had exceeded herself with the event.
At least a hundred people had been invited and catered for. She really was an outstanding hostess, and somehow, her unflattering attire, which tonight was deep purple with a black fringe hanging from the strangest parts of her, had become an integral part of any of her evenings.
She greeted Alistair graciously and then turned to his companion.
“Why, I do believe that it is Bathsheba Baxter! What a pleasant surprise, my dear.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Pemberton. How amazing that you should recognise me. I'm flattered,” Bathsheba responded.
“You have grown into an attractive gel, ain't she, Mr. Hutton?” she prompted him but then didn't wait for his reaction.
“Of course, I would recognise you. You look so like your dear Mama that I hesitated for a second.”
“What a lovely thing to say. Mama was highly considered, I have heard. I would be happy to resemble her even the tiniest portion,” Bathsheba smiled.
“Enjoy yourself, my dear. We have an exceptional quartet playing this evening as well as the contralto, Mrs. Franks. I am sure Mr. Hutton will make sure you are perfectly at ease, won't you, Mr. Hutton?”
“Of course, Ma'am. I am most grateful for your 'do' as it has given me the opportunity to invite Miss Baxter to accompany me.” He smiled at both women and charmed them in doing so.
They wended their way upstairs to the double salon, which was impressively furnished with gilded chairs, each with a red cushion. Some seats had already been claimed but there were still guests milling around greeting one another. The musicians had already begun to prepare their equipment on a rostrum waiting for Mrs. Pemberton to give them the signal to begin.
Alistair was accosted several times by acquaintances wondering who his companion was. They weren't quite that blatant when introducing themselves, but it was obvious to Bathsheba and Alistair that she had caused a small sensation.
Her choice of dress had been perfect for the evening. She felt completely comfortable among all the other regally clad women. The rich burgundy colour put her pale complexion to advantage, while the shape of the dress flattered her figure.
She felt herself blushing yet again as another couple approached them, but the pink that had tinted her cheeks drained away instantly.
She was suddenly confronted by Gregory, whom she hadn't expected to see ever again. She had thought herself invulnerable until that instant. He was leering at her with a lop-sided smile. Sneering wouldn't be too strong a word to describe his look.
Alistair immediately sensed her discomfort and drew nearer to her.
“Well if it isn't Miss Baxter, all turned out in her best dress, hoping to attract a little attention,” Gregory said speaking directly at Bathsheba with little regard to Alistair or his own companion.
His scathing approach suddenly made Bathsheba stronger rather than intimidating her. He was a bully, and now that she'd understood that, she was more capable of combating him.
The thought that Peggy would certainly find sharp words to cast him off gave her the incentive she needed.
“Mr. Hutton,” she said turning towards Alistair, “it would seem that this is someone I used to know. Unfortunately, I cannot introduce him to you as I have forgotten his name.”
“Come, Miss Baxter. I have just spotted my sister over by the window. I wanted to be sure that we sat together.” Whereby, he gently took her elbow and guided her away without so much of a word or acknowledgement to Gregory or the woman with him.
Bathsheba's cheeks were warm again now that the encounter with Gregory was over. As they headed towards the windows, they were soon separated from the scene by all the other guests.
“Thank you, Mr. Hutton,” she whispered.
“The pleasure was mine, believe me. I know of the man.” He said no more.
Finally, as he didn't approach anyone near the windows she finally asked, “Which lady is your sister?”
“Did I not tell you that I am an only child?” He chuckled seeing how startled she looked.
“It was a white lie. They are permitted – sometimes,” he justified the untruth.
Bathsheba grinned. A man had come to her rescue! She was twenty-six-years old and yet a handsome, charming man had defended her. She was on a cloud.
Mrs. Pemberton had made it clear that the soirée was about to commence. Those who had been conversing in small groups found places to sit. When Mrs. Pemberton wanted something done, it was done. Invitations to her evenings were much sought after so no one wished to risk displeasing her. In a matter of five minutes, everyone was seated and she stood at the front of the rostrum, ready to announce the programme.
The room itself was dazzling with the hundreds of candles reflected in the mirrors lining the walls. Mrs. Pemberton might be a widow, but she was a wealthy one. She never gave a second thought to the cost of candles used throughout her house for one of her 'soirées.'
Bathsheba had been taken aback at seeing herself in the mirrors. She hadn't immediately recognised the person she was looking at, but a thrill ran through her when she realised that she was that elegant woman next to Mr. Hutton. She breathed easier; no longer worried that she would embarrass him. They looked a fine pair, which gave her pleasure while at the same time making her sad. After the unpleasantness with Gregory, she wondered if he would still want to pursue their acquaintance. She hadn't noticed any change in his attitude, but then, being a gentleman, he wouldn't spoil her evening regardless of what he thought.
She decided that she would put that consideration aside and enjoy the music. There was no point in delving into future complications or repercussions now. Nights in bed were made for that.
Chapter 6
Once the music had begun, Bathsheba had no difficulty in letting herself be drawn into it. Her whole being was enveloped by harmonies, high notes and low. Mrs. Frank's deep melodious voice struck a chord in Bathsheba's chest which brought her very near to crying. She would remember Mrs. Pemberton's 'do' for a long time to come.
At the interval, she excused herself from Mr. Hutton's company. Her headdress needed re-adjusting and she wanted to take advantage of the break to relieve herself. When the second half of the musical ended, it would immediately be followed by supper, and it was not a good time to go off to the ladies' room. A lot of people would be bustling to be served at dinner and Bathsheba did not relish the idea of being separated from her cavalier.
A servant indicated the direction to the reposing room for ladies, which she found without any problem. A maidservant was able to remove the headdress, re-coif Bathsheba satisfactorily before returning it to her head and pinning it. The whole process had taken a little more time than she had anticipated, though, as she'd had to wait her turn for assistance. She hoped that Mr. Hutton was a patient man.
On her way back along the corridor, she was completely taken by surprise when an arm snaked around her waist and grabbed her. The action so startled her that she didn't have time to cry out before a hand covered her mouth, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged backwards into a room off the passageway. The door slammed shut behind them.
She knew who it was before he'd released his hold and pinned her against the wall with his body, wrists held tightly each side of her
.
Gregory.
“No one slights me and gets away with it,” he seethed inches away from her face.
And then he covered her mouth with his own.
*
The kiss was a violation of all her senses.
*
She struggled futilely. His fury gave him strength to which hers was no match.
The dimly lit room began to fade as she was unable to breathe, stifled by his unleashed passion.
And then he was gone. She slipped down the wall unable to remain on her shaking legs. She was aware of a ripping sound and all she could think was that she would never wear this dress again. Now sitting on the carpet, back against the wall, she looked at her hands resting in her lap; very white against the burgundy. Nicely shaped hands.
“Bathsheba, Bathsheba, dear. Please look at me.”
She could hear a man's voice penetrating her incoherent thoughts.
The room was still dim but she saw that the man leaning down to her had changed. His voice had changed as well. It was Mr. Hutton.
He had come to defend her yet again.
A sob caught in her throat as she whispered his name.
“Mr. Hutton? You have saved me. Thank you.”
And then she couldn't stop from crying as the enormity of the evening overflowed.
He took her up in his arms as best he could and carried her to a sofa. He sat and, instead of releasing her, kept her snug in his arms.
“Please don't cry, my dear. It is over and I won't let it happen again,” he promised.
“Where did he go?” she managed to say in between sobs. Her cheek was pressed against his chest and she felt contented and safe.
The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters Page 12
