Shanghaied

by K'Anne Meinel

  “That man is well known for putting nettles in feed for horses,” Abigail whispered a few days later to Mel as they looked at the many horses presented to Victor at one of the farms they were visiting for viewing potential purchases.

  Startled, Mel looked down at the petite girl, and she nodded sagely.

  “He isn’t to be trusted.”

  Mel, unable to tell her father while he conducted business, watched the groom, who held the lead ropes on several horses. He appeared innocent. You would never have suspected him of such behavior, but she believed her friend implicitly. Later, Abigail would confide that the man simply moved on when he had been found to be behaving improperly back in England. No one knew where he had gone. “Do you think he recognized you?” Mel worried as they ate dinner in their hotel room while waiting for her father to return. Mrs. Jessup was already dozing on the settee, her own ample dinner finished.

  “No, he wouldn’t. I was too young, but as you know, children have big ears.” She grinned, the dimples in her cheeks framing a well-formed and aristocratic face.

  Mel couldn’t help but return the impish smile. “Yes, I overheard many things I shouldn’t have over the years.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed, nearly spilling her soup from her spoon as she used it to gesture.

  “Careful there.”

  “I’m being so unladylike,” Abigail admitted, quickly bringing the spoon to her mouth, so she wouldn’t spill it on the tablecloth.

  “No, being unladylike would be riding astride,” Mel teased her, knowing no one in the ton would be so bold as to ride like that, at least, not publicly. It annoyed her since she had to follow this edict, and she’d nearly been unseated when she went riding in London. Men patronizingly suggested that she ride a less spirited horse, if she couldn’t handle it. It had angered her as she was an accomplished rider and certainly could handle the horse. It was just the damned sidesaddle riding that made her appear inept.

  “Oh, wouldn’t it though,” she agreed, delighting in her friend. She was so refreshing, not at all like her old fuddy-duddy friends, who must be proper at all times. Several of them had stopped riding since they felt it was unladylike. One had confided that she heard riding was bad for the woman’s body, if she intended to have children. Abigail put that down as an old wives’ tale and hoped it wasn’t true since she adored her twice-daily rides.

  Mel waited up for her father after her friend and her friend’s chaperone had retired, wanting to tell him what Abigail had confided. He nodded thoughtfully, sure he had sensed something too. The man had been recommended to him as a groom for the stable, mostly because he was English, but now, he wouldn’t be offering the man a position. In fact, he had been about to offer the man the opportunity to escort the purchased horses to England for him, but he would find someone more trustworthy.

  The next day, Abigail once again proved useful, pointing out how one of the stallions Victor was so keen on would occasionally hold his leg oddly. That had been overlooked, and when he inspected the hoof to see if there was gravel in it, the horse had shied away, nearly kicking the American due to the pain in its hoof. The large sum of money Victor had offered for the stud was rescinded.

  Victor arranged invitations for the young women to attend a local party, insisting they both have new gowns for the occasion.

  “Oh, how fun!” Abigail exclaimed, thrilled for the opportunity.

  “You don’t go to many parties back in England?” her friend asked as the seamstress came to measure them. Mel watched the woman knowingly as the hand that measured her hips, waist, and then bodice touched her more often than was necessary. Surprised, Mel was also pleased to see an answering look in the modiste’s eye. She nodded imperceptibly and turned back to the younger girl being measured by the woman’s assistants.

  “Of course, but so far, I’ve had to wear Mama’s hand-me-downs as Father won’t expend unnecessary monies for fripperies.”

  Mel was annoyed on her friend’s behalf. After all, the man spent hundreds of pounds on the horses and had been quite successful in his bets from what she could see. Their estate was well taken care of and prospering, but his gambling could easily turn on him. He apparently didn’t lose very often from what she had seen.

  “A whole new dress though,” she clapped her hands together joyfully.

  “There you are, Miss,” the Belgium seamstress said in French, as she finished measuring Mel, her hand lingering for only a second longer than necessary on her bosom as they shared a look. “This will look trés magnifique when I finish it for you.”

  “I will not wear a corset, and you must make it so I can remove it myself. I do not travel with a maid,” she told the woman meaningfully as they exchanged looks.

  Mel stepped down from the stool she had stood on for her measurements. She felt it was quite unnecessary with her height, but the woman had insisted. Now, she realized it was so the modiste could touch and measure. “We will want to see your selection of fabrics. Do you have samples or bolts with you?” she asked the woman.

  “Oh, no, Miss. You will have to choose at my shop. I’m sorry, but I didn’t bring any with me,” she answered, sounding sincere.

  Mel knew she lied. The assistants exchanged startled looks, and she herself had seen them from the window carrying in some bolts of fabric as they entered the hotel. Still, she knew the game afoot and would accommodate the woman. She nodded once and said, “I’ll be by on the morrow then.” Her own French the product of one of her tutors and the time she had spent in New Orleans.

  “We could ride,” Abigail stated, showing she understood a little of the quick French they had been speaking as the assistant hurried to finish her measurements.

  “Oh, you need not come. I am certain Miss Lawrence can choose for both of you?” the seamstress tried to sound offhand, as though she was doing Abigail a favor.

  “I would love to see what fabrics you have,” Abigail responded, sounding enthused at the idea and not willing to miss out on the opportunity for her new dress, something she hadn’t had back home too often.

  That was how they found themselves riding some borrowed horses when Mrs. Jessup would have much preferred a nice carriage. The groom accompanying them had a hard time keeping the older woman on her sidesaddle. Both younger women laughed boisterously at the dilemma, keeping far enough ahead that she couldn’t admonish them for their behavior but well in sight, so she could honestly say she was chaperoning the women. Arriving at the modiste’s establishment, they waited for the groom to help them down from the large horses, sliding into his arms as he caught them, steadied them, and immediately released them.

  “In the future, we will rent a carriage,” Mrs. Jessup harrumphed indignantly, straightening her clothing.

  “We thought you would enjoy the outing,” Abigail said innocently, her eyes sparkling mischievously up at Mel, who grinned in return. Mel wasn’t answerable to the woman but understand how trying it must be to keep up with this little vixen.

  “Perhaps it isn’t as easy when you are older–” began Mel and realized her mistake instantly. Mrs. Jessup was not pleased to be referred to as older. She had agreed to chaperone Abigail as a favor to the earl and his lady. She was being paid well for her services, but she didn’t need insults. “Yes, perhaps a carriage would have been a better idea,” Mel amended, going into the establishment before the unhappy atmosphere around the older woman could escalate. Abigail followed her eagerly.

  The fabrics on display were quite lovely, and the assistants brought out several more. Mel was able to choose instantly but hesitated, and the modiste insisted she come in the back while her assistants showed Abigail and her chaperone the fabrics and allowed them to make their choices.

  Instantly, the woman pulled Mel into an embrace, and Mel responded immediately. She explored the older woman’s lips, feeling her lithe body against her own riding clothes and enjoying the feel. She was young and healthy, and it had been months since she had made love to a woman, so of cours
e, she responded. The modiste loved the feel of this sturdy young woman against her and wrapped herself around the taller woman. Neither of them spotted Abigail, who had innocently followed Mel.

  Abigail, initially shocked to see the two women kissing, quickly backed away from the scene. Only when she was certain they couldn’t see or hear her; did she turn around and return to where Mrs. Jessup was enviously feeling the more expensive fabrics. Abigail, her cheeks aflame at what she had witnessed, was now feeling an emotion she had never expected to feel…jealousy. She had other friends but had never made a friend like the American. Was the jealousy over friendship? It was then she realized that no, it wasn’t. She may be young and innocent, but she knew it was because she wished she could be in Melissa’s arms like that. She hadn’t ever thought of it before, but suddenly having it in a tableau before her, she instantly realized what she felt for Melissa went beyond friendship. Her hands went to her burning cheeks as she gazed out the shop windows. What in the world was the matter with her? This wasn’t natural. She should be looking for a beau, one that could better her situation and perhaps help her family. She knew her duty. Her friends and her family would be shocked if they learned her thoughts.

  “I’m quite warm. I’m going to stand outside and wait,” she announced to a startled Mrs. Jessup, who immediately went with her.

  “Are you ailing?” she inquired solicitously, suddenly worried that her charge was coming down with something. Sir Baxter would never forgive her if something happened to his daughter.

  “Weren’t you warm in there?” she asked as she closed the shop door behind her firmly, wondering at what she had seen. Had Melissa known the woman before, or was this how someone who was that way behaved? She had been envious of the arms around the seamstress. What did that make her? She wanted to be with Melissa and kiss her like that. She had a lot to think about, and her cheeks continued to flush as her thoughts raced. She waved the air around her face, hoping to cool it.

  “Maybe we should head back to the hotel?” Mrs. Jessup fretted. She glanced at the groom still holding their horses and ready to assist them. She looked back as the door opened behind them and Melissa joined them.

  “Ready to go? Have you chosen your fabrics?”

  “Oh, yes. Her selection was quite wonderful,” Mrs. Jessup answered cheerfully. “I think we should be getting back?” she hinted broadly.

  “Absolutely,” Mel said, obviously in a good mood and not seeing Abigail’s flushed cheeks as she went to spring up into her saddle, annoyed there was no pommel as the groom quickly kneeled, so she had a step. She reached down to hold the reins of the other horses, so he could assist Abigail and then Mrs. Jessup into their saddles. It took much longer to get the older woman settled in her sidesaddle.

  Abigail didn’t participate in the conversation as they rode their horses back to the hotel, listening as Mrs. Jessup and Mel discussed the various colors and fabrics available to them and how the dresses would look. “She promised they would have a fitting in a few days, and the dresses would be ready a day or so after that, in time for the party,” Mel told them. Abigail watched her friend to see if there was anything different about her. Other than what she perceived as slightly swollen lips, there was nothing about the woman to indicate she had been passionately kissing the seamstress. She wanted to ask her questions and yet…didn’t want to know.

  That night at dinner, Victor discussed his day and the horses he had seen. Mel participated, not realizing how quiet Abigail was. Mrs. Jessup, certain that her charge was ill since she picked at her dinner, insisted the young girl go to bed early. Tired, both Abigail and her chaperone left the table early as the father and daughter continued their conversation.

  Listening to Mrs. Jessup soundly asleep on the trundle bed in their suite, Abigail got up to use the water closet in their luxurious rooms and was alarmed to see Melissa sneaking the seamstress into her room. Startled, she could only stare from her place in the shadows as the two women hushed each other’s giggles while touching each other and quickly closed the door. The younger girl didn’t get much sleep as she thought about what the two women might be doing. She couldn’t quite understand what two women would do together besides kissing, but she wanted to find out. As a result of her sleepless night, she looked haggard the next morning, confirming her chaperone’s worst fears that she was ailing.

  “I’ll keep her company while you go down and get a meal. Have them send up something light for her,” Melissa offered generously.

  Abigail, pleased to still be abed when she desperately wanted some more sleep, was surprised to find herself alone with her friend. She wondered if the modiste had snuck out the previous night or early this morn?

  “So, what is really wrong with you?” Mel asked knowingly, looking at her friend in polite concern.

  “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well,” she told her honestly, refusing to look up at her. She wanted to ask so much, her curiosity was piqued but something kept her from speaking. She suddenly felt uncomfortable around Melissa.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sitting down at the end of the bed. “We have the party to look forward to, and of course, Father has more horses to look at. Won’t that be fun?”

  Abigail enjoyed the idea of the party and the first dress that would be made just for her, but now that she knew what the seamstress was and possibly what she and Melissa had done, it made her uncomfortable. She figured conversing about horses was a safe bet.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As they dressed for the party, Abigail was grateful to have Mrs. Jessup help her with the dress. Admiring herself in the full-length mirror in their suite, she was pleased to see how grown-up she looked. She wondered if Melissa would notice her. She also wondered if the seamstress had been back to their suite. She had gotten up at every sound the past few nights but had seen nothing.

  As Abigail put her shawl around her shoulders and Mrs. Jessup hurried to fetch her own, she stopped in the living room of the suite to see Melissa in a dark blue velvet gown. She looked stunning in her own way, the dark color not at all like the pastel colors Abigail had chosen for her own dress. Melissa was so grown up, but at over twenty-one, she supposed the young woman could choose her own colors. Girls of Abigail’s age always wore pastels. She couldn’t wait to get married someday or become old enough to choose rich colors such as the blue velvet that looked so fine.

  “Wow, you look stunning,” Mel said to her friend with a smile.

  “I do?” she asked, looking down at her dress as though searching for a stain. She wondered what Melissa saw in that seamstress and what she saw when she looked at Abigail. She probably thought her a child.

  “You do indeed,” Mr. Lawrence assured her, coming out of his room and trying to fasten his cufflinks. “Melissa, would you help me here?” he asked in a grouchy, teasing sort of voice.

  Mel laughed at her father’s attempts to dress himself. “You should have brought a man servant.”

  “I told you, I don’t need–” he began but caught the twinkle in her dark brown eyes and laughed with her. He did indeed need a man servant, and she should probably have a lady’s maid, but she was far too independent and insisted she didn’t need one hanging about and doing things she could do herself. He watched as she attached the cufflinks that had been a gift from his wife, her mother, and marveled that this was his daughter. Her gown was fabulous, but she looked…odd in it. He almost felt as though she should be wearing the suit he was wearing. Still, it wasn’t her fault she looked like his side of the family, not her genteel mother. He smiled fondly at her as she finished attaching the jewel at his cuff.

  “There you go, Father. Hurry and get your jacket on, so we can go,” she urged him.

  He saluted her and they both laughed as he went back in his bedroom to fetch the required item.

  “Are we ready to go?” Mrs. Jessup asked as she came out of the bedroom she shared with Abigail.

  “Just,” Mel told her; glad she didn�
�t wear old ladies’ clothes as this matron did. Mrs. Jessup looked frumpy and had far too much lace in her old-fashioned frock. Mel loved the blue of her velvet gown but knew it didn’t quite suit her. The style was fashionable, and she looked nice, but it just wasn’t quite…her.

  “Ready, ladies?” Victor asked as he surveyed the three women he would be escorting to the party. Glancing at Mel again, he wished he had given her some of her mother’s jewelry, thinking maybe that would help the overall appearance, then he stopped himself. There was nothing wrong with Mel’s appearance. She stood proudly next to him, and to his surprise, she almost matched him in height and girth. The petite Lady Abigail looked positively delicate next to his robust daughter. Mrs. Jessup looked fine in her own way, and he shared a smile with her over their charges’ heads as he escorted them out. Four men-at-arms had been hired for the evening to escort them to the party. They would be riding along at the sides of their carriage, their swords and pistols at the ready to defend the family should it become necessary.

  The party, a small gathering of merely one hundred people, was set in a distinctly French Colonial home. Shaped in a C pattern, its yellow gold outside looked wonderful in the setting sun, setting it off almost as though it were a painting against the green hills. Their hosts, Count and Countess de Croӱ, were pleased to see the American, his daughter, and Lady Baxter. The count was always looking to expand his business contacts, finding it fascinating how others controlled their wealth. The American, while holding no title, was rumored to be enormously wealthy. Seeing the American’s daughter again, he was surprised at her beautiful gown, but he had heard his wife talk about the girl, who was twenty-one and not married, and he could see why. Still, there were those who would marry her for her father’s rumored enormous fortune, which it was understood she would inherit someday as his only heir.