“Sally told me we have new servants,” Molly said.
“Yes, I’ve decided that Sally needs some help with the washing and the pressing. Annie can help with that, and Pearl, when she’s well, can help cook.”
Molly nodded in an absent fashion, and Bethlyn realized that she probably hadn’t even heard her.
“You seem rather glum considering that in a few hours this house will be filled with guests.” Bethlyn reached for Molly’s hand. “Is something wrong?” she asked in concern.
Molly’s eyes clouded with tears. ‘‘I’m so unhappy, and I don’t know what to do. Hans may be transferred to New York, and I’ll never seem him again. I couldn’t bear to be separated from him.” Her voice caught, and she gave a tiny sob.
Bethlyn didn’t know what to say. She’d never met Hans, but somehow she knew he was a decent man despite his German mercenary status. Molly loved him and that was reason enough to believe the man was honorable. However, she thought his transfer might be the best for all of them. Ian would never accept Hans as Molly’s choice. Perhaps the separation would be a blessing for Molly, Her face always possessed a faraway look, her eyes dreamy with thoughts of Hans. Luckily Ian had been too busy with business matters lately to notice his sister’s preoccupation. Once Hans departed Philadelphia then Molly would be forced to socialize more and maybe she’d meet someone else.
“Molly, you’re very young. I know this hurts you, and I feel for you, truly I do, but you’ve hardly had the chance to try your wings with other young men, to flirt. I can tell you from experience that flirting can be very nice.” Bethlyn smiled at her.
Molly shook her head in disgust. “I’m not a flirt like that horrid Peggy Shippen, nor do I want to be. I want to marry Hans and have his children. I … want … to be a wife. Can you understand?”
Bethlyn understood very well, and her heart went out to Molly. “Yes, I know how you feel.”
Molly nodded, her curls bouncing atop her head. “Good, so you can smooth things over tonight with Ian before the guests begin to arrive. I’ve invited Hans to the party to meet him. Once Ian sees how much we love each other, he’ll approve of Hans and not believe me to be a child who needs coddling.”
Bethlyn suppressed a groan at this news and gave Molly a considering look. “I hope you don’t intend to do anything ill-advised if Ian and Hans don’t get along.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Molly asked innocently.
Bethlyn meant an elopement, but since Molly apparently hadn’t thought of the idea, she wouldn’t mention it, either. “Never mind,” she said, and stood up. “I’m certain Ian and Hans will like each other very much.”
Heading towards the kitchen, Bethlyn didn’t think they would.
~
Shortly before the guests arrived, Bethlyn was already dressed in a royal blue velvet gown, her hair atop her head, and a long, swirling curl hung enticingly over her milky white shoulders. She quickly informed Ian about Molly and Hans while he dressed, not missing the arch of his brow or the subsequent frown which followed. He didn’t say a word to her when she’d finished; he couldn’t, in fact, because the first of their guests began arriving. But she could tell he was displeased and a bit uneasy at the idea that his sister wanted to marry a Hessian officer, and she knew the reasons why. Politics and Captain Hawk.
Splendidly attired people milled about the festively decorated rooms, laughing and talking. The scarlet uniforms of many British soldiers were very visible in the throng, and soon General Howe arrived with John Andre by his side. The general made glowing comments about Bethlyn’s loveliness, and Andre was only too quick to agree. Ian stood beside her, the polite host, the seemingly loyal subject of the king, as Howe commented on the sudden inactivity of Captain Hawk.
“The bounder must have come to his senses and realized he’ll never win, just as Washington will after this winter is over and his ragtag band is reduced from the cold and starvation,” Howe commented and proposed a toast to a British victory.
Ian agreed and lifted his glass with what Bethlyn perceived as perverted pleasure in his eyes.
Soon Peggy Shippen swept Bethlyn away to discuss the latest fashions, to play the coquette with John Andre. The whole time, Bethlyn watched the doorway for Molly’s beloved, sensing Molly’s impatience. The girl was so much in love that Bethlyn hurt for her, fearing the outcome of the meeting between Ian and Hans.
Her thoughts didn’t dwell on this much longer when Marc and Mavis arrived. She delighted in seeing her childhood friend, not having seen her in weeks, surprised at how fast she progressed in her pregnancy. Envy pricked at Bethlyn, She wanted a child so much, but again this month she’d been disappointed. Ian had been so gentle and understanding when a tear slipped from her eye as she told him that this month she again hadn’t conceived. “Next month,” he had said, and she wanted desperately to believe him.
Cynthia, however, arrived in a swath of silk and lace, her British officer, who was now her husband, by her side. Her face glowed with love and true happiness, and Bethlyn decided that she was glad Ian had had Cynthia’s companionship, no longer jealous of a woman whom she considered her friend.
Still, Hans hadn’t arrived. Molly paced the foyer, forgetting everyone else. Bethlyn tried to persuade her to give up her vigil and join the party, but Molly refused. As she was about to rejoin her guests in the parlor, a knock sounded on the door. Molly waited expectantly as a servant opened it, but her face fell in disappointment while Bethlyn’s mouth dropped open in mute surprise when Della entered her home.
Into the foyer stepped Lieutenant Holmes, the rake who’d attacked her in the garden at the Shippen House, and on his arm hung Della, attired in a flowing black velvet cape trimmed in red fox, which she removed to expose her ample bosom, covered by her fashionable red satin gown. She fingered the double strand of expensive pearls at her neck, exceedingly pleased at Bethlyn’s reaction to see her again.
Holmes had the grace to flush as he introduced his companion to Bethlyn and Molly, the humiliating incident with Ian in the garden still vivid in his memory.
Bethlyn composed herself and gritted her teeth. She and Ian had invited Holmes, as much as they disliked him, and all the staff, to bring an escort. But Della?
“How do you do?” Bethlyn inquired in cold civility.
“I do very well, thank you. Now, don’t pretend you don’t recognize me, Mrs. Briston.”
“I didn’t know you and Mrs. Briston were acquainted,” Holmes said.
“We met a while ago,” Della told him, a malicious smile splitting her lips.
Retaining her composure, Bethlyn managed to tell them to enjoy themselves, making her way into the parlor on unsteady feet. Della in her house! Dear God! She searched for Ian, finding him standing by the fireplace with General Howe, and she smothered a groan. What if the woman mentioned that Ian Briston’s wife had been on Nightingale as Hawk’s lover. Heaven help all of them if she did.
Bethlyn rushed to Ian’s side, hoping to warn him of the potential danger that Della posed. Her eyes implored him. “I should like to speak with you alone,” she whispered when Howe turned to take a glass of champagne from a servant.
Ian started to excuse himself from the general, but suddenly Lieutenant Holmes and Della approached them. The only indication Bethlyn had that Ian might be concerned by the woman’s presence was the slight arch of an eyebrow.
Holmes introduced Della to Howe and then to Ian.
Bethlyn held her breath as Ian took her hand and inquired how she fared. Did she recognize his voice? Bethlyn decided that she didn’t, the soft gravelly voice of Captain Hawk quite unlike the melodious, deep tones of Ian Briston,
“Trammel,” Howe said to Della. “Did Holmes say your last name was Trammel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you be related to the Trammels from Bath? Sir Nigel Trammel? A fine fellow, has a huge house there with indoor plumbing.”
“No — no, sir.”
“Then you mus
t be related to Lord Pinckney Trammel from Manchester.”
High spots of color suffused Della’s cheeks. “I ain’t, I mean I’m not a relation.”
Bethlyn almost felt sorry for Della’s discomfort. She wondered if Della even knew who her own father had been, much less if she might be related to the aristocracy. Howe let the matter slip after casting a probing eye at Della. Bethlyn’s sympathy for Della quickly evaporated when she began to openly flirt with Ian, forgetting Lieutenant Holmes who stood uneasily beside her.
Finally Howe suggested Ian and Holmes join him in a game of whist in the library. Ian’s parting glance to her contained confidence and sparked her courage a bit, but moments later when she’d have abandoned the woman to see to the needs of her guests, Della purposely blocked her path.
“It seems you’ve done real well for yourself, Beth. Married to such a handsome and rich man.” Her eyes approved Bethlyn’s attire and glanced around the room in admiration. “Real well.”
“You’ve lifted yourself up quite a bit, too,” Bethlyn noted. “Lieutenant Holmes must be very generous. I assume you are his kept woman.”
Della shrugged a naked shoulder. “For now, but he don’t make much money.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Della giggled, but her eyes contained no warmth. “I’m going to live in a house like this one day.”
“I wish you great success, but now I really must see to my other guests.”
“What’s your hurry? You seem nervous. Are you afraid I’m going to tell your husband about Captain Hawk?”
“Quiet!” Bethlyn demanded in a hoarse whisper, hoping no one overheard,
A sly smile ringed Della’s lips. “We’ve got some talking to do, Mrs. Briston. May I call on you day after tomorrow to discuss this distressing situation? I’m certain we can come to some sort of an agreement, make an arrangement which will be beneficial to both of us.”
Bethlyn had no doubt Della intended to blackmail her.
She knew she could tell her that Ian already knew about Captain Hawk, but then she couldn’t be certain Della wouldn’t go to General Howe. She must let her think that Ian knew nothing. Money was a small price to pay for Ian’s safety.
“I shall receive you at three o’clock.” Bethlyn started to move away, but she stopped for a second and smiled. “Really, I must compliment you on your manners, Della, Even your speech is much improved. Holmes has done an admirable job of polishing you. Too bad you’re still a trollop underneath the surface. Good evening.” Fluttering her fan, Bethlyn left a red-faced Della, not missing the look of intense hatred mingled with outrage.
“Who is that strumpet?” Cynthia inquired, and took Bethlyn’s arm.
“A friend of Lieutenant Holmes, but I don’t want to discuss her. Have you seen Molly?”
“She was in the foyer a few minutes ago. I saw her speaking to a private in the Hessian Army. I haven’t seen her since.”
Bethlyn excused herself from Cynthia and went upstairs to see if Molly was in her room. Perhaps the soldier was sent by Hans to tell her that he’d be unable to attend the party. Poor Molly must be so disappointed.
As expected, she found Molly in her room, sitting on the window seat, gazing down at the garden. At Bethlyn’s hand on her shoulder, Molly turned a wet face to her.
“Hans is unable to attend the party?” Bethlyn asked gently, noting how Molly trembled.
The girl’s voice sounded choked with tears when she started to speak. “Worse than that, Bethlyn. Hans is gone to New York. He received his orders this afternoon and didn’t have time to tell me good-bye. He didn’t have time to write to me. I … shall die … without … him.”
“I’m so sorry.” Bethlyn sat beside her, holding out her arms to Molly, who broke into a gale of sobs.
When Molly’s tears were spent, she drew away and huddled against the wall. “I’ll never see him again. He’ll probably meet some simpering little fool and fall in love, forgetting all about me. I can’t bear it. My heart is broken.” A fire suddenly blazed in her eyes. “Damn this blasted war!”
Bethlyn almost told her that if not for the war, she wouldn’t have met Hans, but she didn’t. Things would work out for Molly in time, though now she most certainly wouldn’t believe that. Evidently Hans wasn’t meant for Molly, and one day Molly would find someone else.
Standing up, Bethlyn bent and kissed the top of Molly’s head. “Ian and I love you very much,” she reminded her. “If you need us, know that you can always count on us.”
Molly nodded solemnly, turning her tearstained face to the window.
By the time all of the guests had departed Bethlyn felt that she had aged five years. Undressing and dismissing the servants, she collapsed on the bed. Her mind whirled with memories of all that had happened that night. She felt uneasy about Della’s visit. Of course the woman would want money, but she was eager to discuss the situation with Ian, and also to tell him about Molly’s heartbreak.
She crawled beneath the covers, hoping Ian would come upstairs shortly. He’d barely spoken to her all night, and she craved his arms around her, the security of his love. Perhaps tonight would be the night she conceived their child. She couldn’t think of a more perfect way to spend the early hours of Christmas morning than making a baby. She smiled happily into the darkness.
But when nearly half an hour passed, and Ian didn’t come upstairs, Bethlyn went in search of him. Pulling her robe tightly around her body, she headed down the stairs and into the parlor and dining room where the servants cleaned up the remains from the party. She inquired if anyone had seen her husband, but no one had.
Finally, on a whim, she went into the kitchen and out of the back door. The night was bitterly cold. A brisk wind stung her cheeks and flapped the edges of the robe around her legs. In the heavens stars twinkled and the moon cast its sheen upon the snow-laden ground.
Her slippers were thin, and her feet felt cold and wet as the snow seeped in. Shivering, she almost turned to go back into the house, but a low murmur of voices from behind a carriage parked nearby drew her attention. She moved closer, and in the still night air, she recognized one of the voices as Ian’s; and the other voice belonged to a man she couldn’t name.
She stopped and listened.
“When is the meeting to be?” came Ian’s voice.
“Day after tomorrow at the old Simpson House, outside of the city. We can’t meet at our regular place in town any longer. Too many noses snooping around, if you know what I mean,” the other man said.
“Where is the girl staying?”
“With the Babcocks until the meeting. Fine little lady she is. So brave and a real patriot.”
“I’ll be there.”
A long pause followed, then the other man asked, “Will your wife give you any trouble? Its common knowledge she’s as English as a rose garden, and being an earl’s daughter and all, well, we’ve all been rather worried.”
“Don’t be,” Ian quickly assured the man. “My wife’s loyalties aren’t my own. Besides, I intend to keep her well occupied with the business.”
Their voices lowered conspiratorially, and Bethlyn couldn’t hear anything else. She didn’t want to hear anything else.
Hurrying inside, she almost flew up to the bedroom and buried herself under the covers, cold but seething with fury. Ian still didn’t trust her. Would he never stop seeing her as British, the daughter of the man he hated? If he had, she felt certain he would have confided in her about his secretive activities. She guessed that on all of those nights he left supposedly on business, he was really attending some sort of a meeting. Evidently Captain Hawk had exchanged the sea for dry land.
What galled her the most was his attitude that she could be kept busy at Briston Shipping and not realize when he disappeared. Did he believe her to be a stupid, unobservant child?
Her hands clenched into fists. Arrogant man to think she could be put off so easily. And who was this girl Ian and the other man mentioned? Bethlyn’s c
uriosity piqued.
The man had said the old Simpson House outside of town would be the meeting place. She didn’t know where that was, but by the day of the meeting she would. However, she must be careful not to arouse suspicion with her question. She comforted herself that Molly would know where the house was and not think a thing about it.
Closing her eyes, she fell asleep in a surprisingly short time, not aware when Ian slipped beneath the sheets to enfold her in his arms.
18
Despite the early morning hour the docks bustled with life. A weak sun colored the sky with tentative golden fingers above the Delaware River when Bethlyn and Ian alighted from the carriage in front of Briston Shipping. Instead of going inside the office to escape the cold morning, he took her by the arm and walked to the harbor. Inclining his head towards a large ship, he said, “What do you think of her?”
Bethlyn huddled beside Ian, placing a gloved hand over her chilled nose. “That ship? She’s superb, a very nice hull.”
‘‘I’m surprised at you, Bethlyn. After all of my tutoring the last month on ships, explaining how Briston Shipping builds and outfits our ships, you don’t recognize that one.”
“Should I?”
“It’s Nightingale, or rather used to be.” He leaned back on the balls of his feet, pleased with himself. “No one can tell the ship was ever damaged, or that she was ever a ship of your father’s line. Thomas Eversley will just have to take a loss on her.”
Ian was right. Bethlyn had learned a great deal about ships the last few weeks, but she’d never have recognized this ship as Nightingale. Even its color was different. But she had learned to observe, and a bright smile expressed her surprise and pleasure to find her own name in large golden letters on the side. “Bethlyn B,” she said softly, a warmth flowing through her chilled body.
Ian kissed the tip of her nose. “A beautiful ship must bear the name of a beautiful lady.”
Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) Page 27
