Tuesday's Child

by Jeanette Baker

Harrington's face was grim. "Apparently Major General Robert Ross is to command troops who are veterans of Wellington," he said. "Do you know anything about him?"

  "He's one of Wellington's most brilliant brigadiers," answered Devereaux.

  Harrington nodded. "So I've heard. Cochrane has replaced Warren and, for a long time now, we have dealt with the scourge of the Chesapeake, Admiral Cockburn."

  James pulled up his horse and faced Tess's father. "I'm sorry to tell you this sir, but both men are harsh officers with bitter grudges against Americans. They will sack Washington. I would feel much better if we were there with Tess and her sister."

  "Surely, they won't bother with Washington," Harrington protested. "Except for the federal buildings, it has less than eight thousand people. It is a capital half-finished."

  "That won't matter," replied Devereaux, urging his horse forward. "Taking its capital city demoralizes a country. If we hurry, we can be there by nightfall."

  Putting the spurs to his horse, Nathanial hurried to catch up.

  * * *

  Tess watched from behind the shuttered windows of her sister's brick house in the capital. Pale, terrified citizens packed their belongings on travel coaches and wagons, mules and horses, anything they could get their hands on, and fled toward Virginia. Rumor had it that Washington was defenseless, having no regular troops of its own and none could be mustered in Maryland and Virginia.

  Unable to keep up the pretense of optimism any longer, Tess had left the bedroom where her sister, Kate, had just given birth. Despair plagued her. Despair and anger. The British had a force of over forty thousand. Madison and his generals, faced with the might of the royal forces, had ordered their battalions to retreat. It was humiliating to know that James had been right. Now that Bonaparte was defeated, the British could turn their might on America. Thousands of battle-trained soldiers were making their way up the Potomac toward Washington. The ill-trained American forces would be cut to ribbons.

  Tess thought of her sister's newborn daughter, a small bundle of life and hope in the midst of this terror. She prayed they would survive this night. Closing the shutters she checked to see if the doors were bolted before climbing the stairs to her sister's bedchamber. Mother and child were asleep. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope.

  Back in the drawing room, Tess stared at the elegant wheat-colored furnishings and silken hangings. She whispered a quick prayer for her brother-in-law. Kate's husband was with the Virginia militia. They hadn't heard from him since yesterday morning. He'd warned Tess to take Kate and his children to the safety of his mother's home in Norfolk if the news was bad. Tess had sent the children ahead with the servants, but Kate's time had run out. Her labor pains had begun late last night and the child was born at the exact moment the first British troops entered Washington.

  Suddenly Tess realized the noise was gone. The silence was eerie and terrifying. She stood up and again peeked through the shutter. Were they the only ones left in the entire city? Staring down the empty street, she noticed a movement then a bright crimson color. Her fists clenched. A fierce hatred welled up within her. British troops marched forward, looking neither right nor left, their precise movements and red coats strangely out of place in the small peaceful town of Washington.

  Hours later the city was alive with British troops. The sky was stained a brilliant red as they torched the Capitol, the Arsenal, the Treasury and the War Office. The President's House and the Naval Yards went up in flames and the bridge over the Potomac was a charred cinder. The enemy ordered everyone to stay inside, promising that no private property would be confiscated if Americans followed orders.

  "Do you think they mean what they say?" Kate, still in her nightgown, her hair a golden tangle over her shoulders, clung to the railing at the bottom of the stairs.

  "What are you doing?" Tess rushed to her sister's side, forgetting briefly the drama in the streets. "You're not well. Why aren't you in bed?"

  "I heard shouting outside." She sat down on the step. "I hoped it would be news of John."

  Tess's throat ached with the effort to hold back tears. Her voice was husky when she spoke. "John won't thank me when he returns to find you ill with fever." She slipped her arm around her sister's waist. "Let me help you upstairs."

  Laying her head on Tess's shoulder, Kate allowed herself to be half-carried to her bed.

  "It's so hot," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, Tess."

  "For what?" Tess tucked the sheet around her sister's slight form.

  "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be here."

  "Hush," Tess placed a finger to her lips. "Soldiers are everywhere, Katie. If I were home, it would be no different. Sleep now. The baby will be hungry soon. It should be cooler in the morning. I smell a storm coming on."

  The night passed and most of the next day. By late afternoon the sky darkened and the sweltering heat was replaced by a brisk wind. It was a furious, glorious storm. Torrents of lashing rain and roaring winds swept through the city. Lightning flashed, striking trees and toppling signs with humbling ferocity.

  Tess, determined to not succumb to panic, ventured into the kitchen, to prepare dinner.

  Suddenly there was a loud pounding on the door. Her mouth went dry. With trembling hands, she removed her apron and walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, she flung it open.

  There on the threshold, rain dripping from his greatcoat, stood Nathanial Harrington.

  "Papa," she shrieked, throwing herself into his arms. "Oh, Papa, thank God it's you."

  His arms tightened around her for a brief moment and then he put her from him. "There is someone who has traveled a great distance to see you. Won't you bid him welcome?"

  Tess stood on her tiptoes to look over her father's shoulder. Her eyes widened in shock. Impeccably dressed, blue eyes inscrutable as ever, James Devereaux stared back at her. She noticed that he didn't smile. Her heart thudding against her ribs, she turned away.

  "Kate had her baby," she said, her voice sounding not at all like herself. "It's a girl."

  Nathanial frowned. "How is she?"

  "Mother and daughter are both fine, although Kate is terribly worried about John." Tess looked at her father. "Is there anything you can do, Papa?"

  "I'll make inquiries in the morning," he answered. "Now, I want to see my daughter. See that we get some food. It's been a miserable ride." Without another word he strode purposely up the stairs.

  She looked down at her hands, searching for words, the tension thick inside the room. "Why are you here, m'lord?" she asked at last. His eyes were bluer than she remembered, and very direct. The tiny flames in their depths was the only sign that she had angered him.

  "I think you know the answer to that."

  James had never used that tone with her before. A cold sense of dread enveloped her, slowing her thoughts. "I don't understand."

  "I think you do." He spoke deliberately wanting her to feel the pain she had caused him. "When I leave it will be with my son."

  She gasped. He noticed with grim satisfaction, the sudden grayness of her skin and the way her hands balled into fists at her side.

  "How did you know?" she whispered.

  "Your father was good enough to write. It seems that he had enough honor to realize I might have some interest in the matter."

  She winced at the cold, angry words. They bit into her consciousness like a whiplash against tender flesh. "Don't," she begged, lifting beseeching eyes to his face. "I am so dreadfully sorry, James. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to go back and change what I did."

  Taken aback by her unexpected apology, he frowned. For days he had rehearsed exactly what he would say to her. First, he would shame her into admitting the immorality of keeping his son from him. Then, when she was suitably chastened, he would demand the child. She would beg to come with him and he would reluctantly agree. Later, when they were far away from Washington and Annapolis, he would rekindle what they once had together.

>   "Damn it, Tess," his voice was a mixture of anger and exasperation. "How could you keep such a thing from me? You knew aboard Waverly's ship. I know you did."

  Her eyes, revealing as mirrored glass, denied nothing. "Daniel was so terribly unhappy," she explained. "You wouldn't have let me go and I couldn't hurt him more than I already had."

  A slow, jealous burn began deep in his chest. With concentrated effort he controlled himself. "It is of no consequence any longer," he said. "We shall go back to Harrington House for the child and soon as transportation can be arranged, leave for England."

  Tess's smile was tinged with regret. He was still so arrogant, so very much the duke of Langley. He would never understand what this night had meant for her and all Americans. James was strong and assured and incredibly handsome, but he was an Englishman and therefore an enemy.

  "I'm not going with you, James," she said softly. "Surely, after seeing this, you realize how impossible it would be."

  To her surprise, he did not attempt to argue with her. He looked grim and unapproachable standing there in Katherine's dainty parlor, a man not easily turned from his purpose.

  "Very well," the crisp voice agreed. "I sympathize with your feelings, even if I don't understand them." He leaned against the mantel, his boot propped against the grate. "Stay here if you wish, in the name of your misplaced loyalty, but understand this. My son is a Devereaux. No law on earth, not even an American law, would deny a father his only son. The child comes with me."

  "You wouldn't!"

  Her horrified gasp squeezed his heart, but he showed no mercy. "You may stay or go as you please," he repeated, his face like stone, "but the child comes with me."

  "You would take a babe not even a year old away from his mother?" she demanded, hoping to shame him.

  James looked down at the hand clutching his sleeve. He met her gaze with his own deliberate, unforgiving stare.

  "That is a strange question to be asking of me, Lady Devereaux," he said coldly. Removing her hand from his arm, he stepped back. "I find I've no longer any interest in food. Tell me which room is to be mine for the night. I'll expect your answer in the morning."

  Chapter 28

  Nathanial Harrington wasn't comfortable with the unusual calm that hung over the city, but he was more uneasy with his daughter's brooding silence. Despite his efforts at conversation, she stoically picked her way through the excellent meal, answering him in the briefest of monosyllables.

  When Devereaux first presented himself at Harrington House, Nathanial had experienced a surge of relief. This man loved his daughter. That, Harrington was sure of. One look at the fire in those flashing blue eyes convinced him that the angry young Englishman was also worthy of her. Tess would be well cared for in the capable hands of the duke of Langley. He frowned, determined to ferret out the reason for her troubled expression.

  "What's bothering you, lass?"

  She smiled, the wounded expression in her eyes disappearing for a moment. "Nothing, Papa," she answered.

  "Nonsense!" Nathanial's bracing voice brushed away her reply. "Tell me it's none of my business, but tell me the truth!"

  The bread she had reached for moments before was a mass of crumbs on her plate. Bewildered, she glanced down at the inedible mess, and then looked back to her father.

  "Very well," she said, her voice expressionless, "it's none of your business."

  "I believe I know what it is anyway." Nathanial speared a morsel of hen with his fork. "You never could keep anything from me."

  "Well then," Tess snapped, at the end of her patience, "if you know what it is, we need not discuss it."

  Her father put down his fork and looked at her, sternly. "I'm beginning to believe you are more of a fool than most women."

  "Please, Papa," Tess protested, "I can't talk about this now."

  "You will listen to me, Tess." Harrington's blustery voice silenced her. "It appears I must explain a few unpleasant truths to you. You are not entirely innocent here, my girl."

  "I know," she agreed desperately, anything to stop the logical words from pouring from his throat.

  "Take your head from the sand, lass. You knew we were at war when you married him." He leaned his elbows on the table, his thick, working-class hands knotted into fists. "It's not like you to be dishonest with yourself." He reached over and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Would you have wanted him if he were any different than he is? Would you have loved him?"

  "I hate him. I hate all the British," she said fiercely.

  Nathanial Harrington sighed and dropped his hand. "No more than I. But this will be over one day. The decision you make will affect the rest of your life. Think on it. That is all I ask." He pushed his chair away from the table and stood, a giant looming above her.

  "Papa," she said, a strange look on her face. "Do you want me to go back with him?"

  Harrington's face gentled. He reached out a calloused hand to touch his daughter's cheek. "I want you to follow your heart, lass. You've got good red American blood in your veins. Don't forget that. He's an English duke and a prideful one as well. But for all that, he's a sensible man and he has the good sense to love you."

  "What if he doesn't want me anymore?" she whispered.

  "Don't be an idiot. A man doesn't travel across an ocean, in the middle of a war, for a woman he doesn't want."

  "He came for Justin," she reminded him.

  "Justin is at Harrington House. Devereaux is here with you." He stretched his arms over his head. "I'm off to bed, now." He stooped to kiss her cheek. "It's a lonely life without a mate, Tess. Remember that."

  After reassuring herself that Kate and the baby were sleeping, Tess opened the door to her bedchamber with a grateful sigh. She was tired, with a weariness of spirit that seeped past her aching muscles into the very marrow of her bones. Slipping into her nightgown, she pulled the pins from her hair. Without bothering to brush it out, she turned down the lamp and sank back into the pillows.

  Several hours later, sleep still eluded her. She tossed and turned on her hot pillow, disturbing images flashing through her consciousness. James, as she had first seen him in London, handsome and arrogant, his blue eyes warm with appreciation as he bent over her hand. Again, in the library at Langley, when he first kissed her, his mouth and hands awakening a response she'd never known a human body was capable of, the desperate fear on his face when Lizzie was hurt, and the compassion and strength in his arms when she had learned of Daniel's death.

  Her cheeks burned when she recalled her shameless flight down the stairs and into his arms after their long months of separation and the brilliant light in his eyes when she agreed to marry him. She remembered the blinding passion as they came together after weeks of coldness when he'd battled his own demons and found that despite their differences, she was the only woman in the world for him.

  Tess sat up in bed. How could she have overlooked the most important thing of all? They shared something much more significant than memories. Justin Devereaux, the future duke of Langley, lay in his cradle at Harrington House. She thought of the downy head nestled against her heart and the sweet baby scent of him. A fierce surge of protectiveness welled up inside her. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her child.

  Quelling the small voice inside her that deplored using a baby as an excuse for her own desires, she pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. There was no need for a candle. Bright moonlight streamed through the windows and lit the long hallway.

  Ghostlike, in a long white gown, her pale hair hanging unbound to her waist, she moved on silent feet to the door of the room where James Devereaux slept. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and pushed. Without a sound, the door swung open and she stepped inside.

  Quick as a cat, Devereaux shot out of bed, the pistol in his hand leveled at the door. When he saw who it was, he lowered his arm.

  "Are you mad?" he asked, a grim expression on his face. "You could have been killed."

  "
I didn't expect you to sleep with a loaded pistol by your side," she retorted.

  "I'm an Englishman in an enemy nation. It isn't wise to be unprepared."

  "Did you expect an assault in my sister's house?" Tess demanded, indignantly.

  A lock of Indian black hair fell across his forehead. Impatiently, he flung back his head. "What are you doing here, Tess?" He sounded annoyed, as if dealing with a troublesome child who must be appeased.

  Her voice failing her, she could only stare at him with troubled eyes. The rise and fall of his bare chest distracted her. He was still lean and muscled, but the skin on his shoulder, once smoothly bronzed, was puckered and drawn into a jagged scar.

  He followed the direction of her eyes. "A souvenir from Burgos," he said. "Does it bother you?"

  "Of course it bothers me," she answered, "but not in the way you mean. I had no idea you were wounded."

  He shrugged. "I learned my lesson. Napoleon is no longer a threat and I am too old for heroics."

  "I would hardly call you old, m'lord," she teased, hoping to coax a smile from him.

  He did not oblige her. "You never answered my question. Why are you here?"

  Tess swallowed. She should have known he would be difficult. Tess had tried to forget him and move forward with all the resolve she could gather. A year ago, in her anger and humiliation, with an ocean between them it seemed possible, but now, confronted with the reality of his presence, it was another thing altogether.

  The silence was agonizing, the space between them infinitely larger than the floor she must cross to reach his side. If she hesitated much longer, he would walk out of her life tomorrow and she would have nothing but memories for the rest of her days.

  She remembered the look in Emily Castlereagh's eyes when she spoke of her husband. She thought of the fear on her sister's face as each hour passed with still no word of her husband. Again, she heard her father's words, "It's a lonely life without a mate."

  Lifting her chin, Tess took one step toward him and stopped. "England is a great distance away," she said. "I hope you know that a woman and a nine-month-old child will be a tiresome burden."