Love Thine Enemy

by Louise M. Gouge

Brigham marched toward the front door and back again. Frederick sent a questioning grimace toward Corwin, who shrugged and shook his head.

  “How dare you entice my wife off in some corner for who knows what?” Brigham’s cheeks flamed, and his blue eyes sent out an icy glare. “I demand to know what you did.”

  Frederick swallowed hard, praying for the right answer. He forced himself to assume a relaxed pose. “She will be disappointed in my telling you, but since you insist…”

  Lord, give me an answer, please.

  “Well?” Brigham took a step closer, his hand still on his sword.

  “Ah, very well, then.” Frederick studied his fingernails and brushed them against his jacket shoulder. “She asked me to help her arrange a, um, surprise for you.”

  “What? A surprise, you say?” Brigham drew back, and his eyes widened. After several moments, his raging scowl melted into a slow smile. “I see. Well, then, I’ll ask no more questions.” He gazed at his wife tenderly, then frowned again. “But there is another matter which I will not so lightly dispense with.”

  Frederick had difficulty maintaining his composure. Was this a parlor game this couple played? “And whatever might that be?”

  “The very idea,” said Brigham in terse, quiet tones, “that you invited the daughter of an earl into company consisting of nothing more than shopkeepers, sailors and Spaniards, to sit at table with her as if they were her equals, why, it’s preposterous. An affront not to be borne.”

  Frederick struggled to keep the sarcasm from his tone. “I beg your indulgence, sir. I thought it was clear when I invited you and Lady Augusta that you’d have no peer here. No one holds a rank equal to yours outside of St. Augustine, a bit far to go for a simple supper.” He pasted on a smile that had often won over his older brothers in times of conflict.

  Corwin coughed away a laugh.

  Brigham glared at Frederick, and he blustered out a few huffing breaths, as though he was trying to maintain the intensity of his anger. “Humph. A poor excuse for forcing us to mingle with this rabble. Do you have any idea of the scandal it would bring upon my wife if anyone in her London circles found out about this? Why, she would be humiliated, pitied behind her back.” As he looked in her direction, his threatening stance relaxed, and his dark frown softened into an expression of unmitigated affection.

  Frederick also relaxed. After all, the man was merely a gallant knight defending his lady.

  “If I may say so, sir, Lady Augusta appears to be enjoying herself.” Frederick wished he could say the same for Miss Folger. Her posture stiffened noticeably during Brigham’s tirade. He and Brigham spoke softly, but no doubt she heard every cruel word. Would that he could shield her as Brigham now attempted to shield his wife from perceived injury to her reputation.

  “Perhaps she is. Yes, you may be right. The dear, brave girl has put up with much since I dragged her away from her friends and brought her to this beastly wilderness.”

  “And who would tell those friends about this evening’s innocent gathering?” Frederick could see the man relenting. “Not I. Not Corwin here. Not Mrs. Winthrop.”

  Brigham turned a stern face to Corwin. “I suppose not. But—” He stood squarely in front of Frederick and studied him up and down through his quizzing glass, as if inspecting one of his insubordinate dragoons. “There is yet another matter that cannot be easily explained away.”

  “Indeed?” Frederick crossed his arms and tilted his head to feign interest. But in truth, this man was beginning to irritate him. Frederick was His Majesty’s magistrate and, peerage notwithstanding, possessed more authority than Brigham in this part of East Florida.

  “Indeed.” Brigham’s eyes took on a steely glint. “Corwin here tells me you have permitted an Indian village to remain in the southeast corner of your plantation. Is that right?” Again, his anger was too excessive for the matter at hand.

  “Yes, of course. The Timucuan people know the land as no Englishman possibly could. They’re peaceful, and fostering their friendship benefits all of us.”

  “I want them out.” An order, not a request.

  Frederick studied the major while countless responses warred within him. He saw Miss Folger watching over her shoulder, her face solemn. Suddenly he felt like a spineless toady.

  “Major Brigham, I will be responsible for the people living within my domain.” A strange thrill shot down his spine. “All of them.”

  Brigham lifted his chin and sneered. “Do you refuse my orders?”

  How many times in his life had Frederick disarmed such animosity with a joke, a smile, a feigned surrender? But this man would not tell him what to do on his father’s land. This time he would not give way, must not give way. Not in front of Miss Folger.

  “Sir.” He kept his voice low. “You do not have the authority to give me orders. If you have a grievance or question about the manner in which I manage my father’s plantation or St. Johns Settlement, we can take the matter before Governor Tonyn in St. Augustine.”

  Brigham stared hard at him for several moments. “Very well, then. I shall inform His Excellency of your refusal to send those savages to Cuba, where the rest of their kind went when we took possession of these lands.” He snorted. “If I did not know better, I would think you were one of those traitors, like the fools up north who are demanding independence.” The last syllable sizzled with his distaste.

  “Haven’t we Englishmen always been fond of our independence?” Frederick relished the unfamiliar courage surging through him. “You know, the Magna Carta, and so forth?” A renegade grin forced its way to his lips.

  Brigham’s eyes narrowed. “Be careful, Moberly. Lord Bennington may have His Majesty’s ear, but I have my own resources, including my esteemed father-in-law.”

  Frederick offered a genial shrug. “We should not be enemies, my lord. We have too much to gain through friendship.”

  Brigham drew himself up into a stern military stance, as if to forestall any attempt at alliance. “You will excuse Lady Augusta and me. I must take her away from this rabble and convey her safely home before complete darkness.”

  Frederick bowed slightly. “Of course.”

  Courtesy required him to see the couple to their carriage, where mounted, torch-bearing soldiers waited to guard their passage up the darkened road. Facing away from her husband, Lady Augusta gave Frederick a conspiratorial wink that made him shudder. He must keep his promise to her and plead for Brigham’s continued posting in East Florida when his preference would be to see the man sent straightaway to the very location she feared.

  As he walked back into the house, disappointment crowded out the pleasure he had felt over standing up to Major Brigham. He had planned this party to get better acquainted with the lovely Miss Folger but hadn’t had but two separate moments to speak with her. Hardly the way to impress or interest her. But now he inhaled a deep, refreshing breath. He still had time to redeem the evening. He would seek out Miss Folger straightaway.

  Chapter Eight

  While the other guests adjourned to the terrace for dessert, Rachel lingered behind at the pianoforte. She brushed her fingers over the surface of the keys, not making a sound but longing to bring forth music.

  “Aha.” Mr. Moberly appeared and pulled up a chair to sit close beside her. “You play, Miss Folger.” His masculine citrus scent, perhaps his shaving balm, sent a wave of agreeable dizziness through her head.

  “You have discovered me, sir.” Her pulse quickening, Rachel rested her hands in her lap. “I am guilty.”

  He tilted his head. “Why did you not confess earlier? I’ll warrant Cousin Lydie would have gladly surrendered the instrument to you.”

  She studied his well-formed face, and her pulse hammered in her ears. “Everyone enjoyed her playing.”

  “She does play well.”

  The soft light in his eyes proclaimed his affection for his cousin, a sentiment that clearly kept him from seeing her musical shortcomings. But then, Rachel thought it might
be pleasant to be the object of Mr. Moberly’s generous opinions.

  As before, she forced herself to dismiss such foolish thoughts. This gentleman treated everyone with kindness. She must protect her heart or risk the devastation of her soul. Still, her esteem for him grew due to his proper behavior with Lady Augusta and his courage in the face of the woman’s terrible husband. What might it cost Mr. Moberly if Brigham became a true adversary?

  “Well.” He put on a severe expression. “I suppose I should pronounce sentence on you for failing to confess that you play.”

  Heat rushed to her face. “I am at your mercy, sir.”

  His unnerving smile reached all the way to his eyes, and she could not look away. The smile faded, and he seemed to move closer, focusing on her lips. Would he kiss her? Right here and now? She tingled in anticipation, even as she struggled against such impropriety. Yet she could not break free from his invisible hold on her.

  “Rachel.” Papa’s distant voice broke through the fog in her mind.

  Mr. Moberly inhaled sharply and moved back from her. “Forgive me, Miss Folger,” he murmured. “That was most unseemly.”

  Rachel jumped up, knocking over the pianoforte stool.

  “There ye are.” Papa halted at the double doorway across the room. A quizzical look crossed his face, and he looked from Rachel to Mr. Moberly, who was righting the piano stool. He stared again at Rachel. “I wondered what become o’ ye.”

  Rachel edged past her host. “At the piano, of course.” Her voice wavered. “You told me I should offer to play, and now I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  Mr. Moberly stayed her with a light touch on her hand. “Please say you’ll forgive me,” he whispered, his dark gray eyes exuding regret. “Although my actions were unforgivable.”

  “I am not without fault, sir.” She kept her voice low. “But it will not happen again.” She moved beyond Mr. Moberly and joined Papa. “Shall we go to the terrace? I need some of that coffee Mrs. Winthrop offered. I do hope it’s strong.”

  They proceeded to the wide tabby terrace, where a refreshment table awaited. A servant handed her a delicate china cup, and she took a sip. “Mmm. Excellent coffee, Mr. Moberly. Don’t you think so, Papa?” She could hear the strain in her voice. “Are you ready to go home?”

  Papa turned to their host. “Ye’ll excuse us, won’t ye, sir? I’ve promised Reverend Johnson we’ll attend services tomorrow, and Rachel’ll need her rest.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Moberly looked the picture of misery, with his forehead wrinkled in sorrow and his posture slouched. He crossed the terrace and reached out to Papa. “Mr. Folger, it has been my pleasure.”

  “And mine, sir.” Papa pumped his hand with his usual enthusiasm.

  While Papa drove back to town, once again with the musket across his lap, Rachel held a lantern and kept watch for predators. This time as she stared out into the darkness, she wrestled with thoughts very different from her earlier happy anticipations. Not only had she not found the patriot, but Mr. Moberly had behaved most disrespectfully toward her.

  Did he think she was a strumpet to be kissed when they barely knew each other? Mother had warned her about certain types of men, wealthy ones in particular, who regarded less affluent girls as nothing more than casual entertainment.

  Rachel had hoped for, yes, even longed for Mr. Moberly’s attentions. But certainly not in the manner he had delivered them. All the way home, she chided herself for expecting more and for almost permitting the kiss. As the dimly lit inn came into sight, she resolved never to permit her heart to betray good sense, no matter what emotions Mr. Moberly might stir there.

  What’s more, her duty here in East Florida was not to seek a romance but to help Papa with his mercantile. And of course, to discover ways to help the revolution.

  Frederick lounged across a settee in the darkened drawing room, staring at the ceiling and rubbing his forehead. What a muddle he’d made of this evening. Why had he even arranged the event? He’d antagonized Brigham, made a foolish promise to the man’s wife and came far too close to kissing the young lady for whom he’d planned everything. After all his mistakes, he’d not even managed to have a true conversation with Miss Folger. Instead of being drawn by her thick blond curls, delicate lavender scent and those full pink lips, he should have sought to know her mind, her heart, her soul.

  “Freddy?”

  He glanced over the settee back and saw a dark form in the doorway.

  “Come in, Cousin Lydie.” Reassurance swept through him. Throughout his life, quiet, intimate moments with his older cousin had often soothed Frederick’s worst anxieties. He sat up to make room for her.

  Already in her dressing gown, with her hair bound in a long braid, Cousin Lydie settled beside him. “Could you not sleep?”

  “No.”

  “Have you made your rounds?”

  “Corwin offered to do it.”

  She hummed her approval. “Very good. You deserve a rest after your hosting duties.”

  “Thank you for playing tonight.” He reached over to pat her dear, wrinkled hands, which often had chastened and more often calmed him in his boyhood. “I hope it did not cause you pain.”

  “Not excessively.” She gently squeezed his fingers. “Mr. Folger says his daughter also plays, but modesty keeps her from asserting herself. I thought that was charming.”

  Frederick’s pulse quickened. “You found her charming?”

  “Why, yes, of course. Her modest dress and proper deportment are entirely pleasing. And one finds it more than a little surprising to see such refined table manners in a merchant’s daughter living here in the wilderness.” Cousin Lydie gasped softly. “Freddy, have you formed an attachment with the young lady?”

  “No.” He emitted an ironic laugh. His own foolishness had spoiled that effort. Yet he longed for an ally in his endeavors. Perhaps Cousin Lydie would help him. If not, at least she would never betray him to Corwin. “But I would like to.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  With his cousin’s face shadowed, Frederick could only imagine her arched eyebrows and pinched-together lips.

  But she grasped his hand. “Dear boy, have you counted the cost of such a decision?” Distress filled her voice. “Do you know how my entire life has been affected by one such choice I made at nineteen?”

  Guilt shot through him. He’d never inquired about Cousin Lydie’s life, even though she knew every detail of his. “You must tell me about it.”

  “Simply put, I fell in love with a man of no prospects, then compounded the offense by marrying him against my father’s wishes.”

  Frederick’s mind reeled. His cousin’s loving heart had led to her impoverishment. “What happened to Mr. Winthrop?”

  “A fever took him less than a year after our marriage.”

  Frederick would not ask her why she never remarried, for her tone conveyed sorrow even after these many years. How she must have loved him. Such constant love would be a treasure.

  “But…” Her brightened tone, tinged with humor, startled him. “The wealthy man my father wanted me to marry was a dreadful beast who turned out to be dishonest. Father was most pleased not to be connected to him. Of course, he never confessed that to me.”

  He felt her lean against the settee back.

  Soon she continued. “If given the opportunity, I would do exactly as I did, however short-lived my happiness.”

  For a moment, the meaning of her words lingered above him. When at last they flowed into his mind, he nearly sprang to his feet.

  “Cousin Lydie, do you hear what you are saying? What you are suggesting? Do you know what that means to me?”

  She sighed. “I fear I do. That is why I hesitated to tell you. But things will go well for you, dear boy.”

  “Only if you help me.”

  “I?” Her maternal laughter grew more musical. “Oh, what fun we shall have. Now, tell me what to do. Shall I write to Lady Bennington and ask her to influence your father?”

&n
bsp; “There will be a time for that, but it’s a bit too soon.” Guilt once again gripped him. “I must tell you all that happened this evening.” He related his encounters with Major Brigham and Lady Augusta. After a pause to gather his courage, he confessed to almost kissing Miss Folger.

  “I cannot imagine what I was thinking,” he said. “No, I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. After I’d suffered Major Brigham and Lady Augusta’s nonsense, Miss Folger’s presence was entirely refreshing, and thus I almost surrendered to unseemly emotions. I would say I could not help myself, but I should have. Were a man to treat my sister thus, I should have called him out.”

  “Oh, my, I can see we have some repair work to do. I have already promised the young lady I will visit her father’s shop.”

  His enthusiasm renewed, Frederick gently squeezed her hand. “Thank you, dear cousin. I shall arrange for Ben to drive you into the village on Monday.”

  “But I heard Mr. Folger say they would be at church tomorrow.” Her tone turned conspiratorial. “That is not too soon to begin our strategy. Here is what I advise…”

  “Think of it, Papa. Only one more breakfast in this place.” Rachel glanced toward the tearoom door to be certain Sadie was not nearby. “On Tuesday, we will awaken in our own home to Inez’s fine food.” She took a bite of the greasy ham on her plate only because she needed sustenance.

  “And good riddance, if ye ask me.” Papa devoured a large slice of fresh-baked bread dripping with honey. “I’d sooner try to sleep through a storm at sea than in this rickety pile of wood with no decent foundation.”

  Rachel glanced at the broad boards beneath their feet and wondered why the innkeeper had not built on tabby or coquina. Perhaps he had been in a hurry to build it and begin his competition with the settlement’s other tavern.

  “If not for my promise to the reverend,” Papa said, “we could move the last of the furniture in today.” He puffed out an impatient sigh. “Church. Why did I ever agree to go?”

  “We should have attended when we first arrived last month.” Rachel tried to keep a rebuke from her tone. “Reverend Johnson seems to be a godly man. And perhaps his wife will demonstrate more courtesy in church than she did last evening.”