“Thank you, Samantha, for all you’ve done. You know how grateful I am for this chance to show my gowns. Now tell me, how is the evening to proceed?”
“Nothing elaborate. After dinner, all of us will retire to don our costumes, and then descend to the ballroom for the masque. What disguise have you chosen?”
“I shan’t tell,” Selena replied, thinking of her Scottish peasant girl’s costume. Sean already knew how she would appear, having come into the room where Traudl was working on the costume. Sean himself had kept secret his own disguise, wagering that she would not be able to know him even if they were dancing with each other. That was a challenge, and she was eager to prove him wrong. She saw him now, handsome and elegant in formal dress, the white of his shirt collar matching the gleam of his teeth as he laughed at something that had been said. He was standing near the sideboard, holding a glass of spicy wine punch, talking with a mixed group. Several women whom Selena did not know were eyeing Sean quite frankly and appraisingly; Selena felt both proud and jealous. But the pride held sway. Samantha begged to be excused to make a last-minute check on the readiness of the serving staff, and Gilbertus Penrod joined her.
“Well, Selena, tonight we begin to rake in the profits, eh?” He was in an exuberant mood, resplendent in evening dress and a silk cravat. “By tomorrow morning, half the women in New York ought to be knocking on the door of La Marinda.”
Selena continued to watch the guests as they arrived, and took a deep breath, trying to subdue, at least a little, the exhilaration that was causing her heart to race. Already her designs had shown every sign of success and acceptance, and that meant she would enter New York society in her own right, not merely as a friend of the Penrods, kind as they had been, important as their support was and would continue to be. And she would be the full partner she had told Sean she wanted to be. Her confidence continued to grow as she studied the gowns worn by the women. Except for her own creations, the best seemed to be in the English style of two or three seasons past, with here and there a newer gown—possibly French—that made the English ones look dowdy indeed. Her own designs had scarcely any competition.
Then the orchestra began to play quietly in the background, and guests began to move toward their places at the many tables. Selena let her glance sweep the crowd one final time before going to join Sean and make their way to the head table. Suddenly, incredulously, she froze on the spot. Entering through the main doorway, chin lifted and eyes bright, as casual and arrogant as any man possessed of money and power and a fine woman, was Alexander Hamilton. Selena’s eyes were drawn to the woman. She was startlingly beautiful, raven-haired, ineffably self-possessed, with just the hint of a smile at the corners of her tempting mouth, a smile that mixed amusement and boredom, mockery and the promise of delight. Veronica Blakemore. Selena recalled her feelings on that long ago evening at the Christmas Ball in Edinburgh, when she’d seen Royce with Veronica.
She still has the same smile, Selena thought, not liking, either, the fact that Veronica was with Hamilton tonight. She did not have time to dwell on her displeasure, however, because Hamilton’s presence led to an entirely new—and dangerous—train of thought. If Hamilton could arrive here openly, with little or no fear of being identified, then this gathering must be…
She remembered what Samantha had said about the guest list: Glancing quickly around the room, she saw that Lord Howe was not here, nor his brother, the admiral. Lord Ludford was not here, nor any of the other luminaries she had come to know as the backbone of British presence in the city. And, come to think of it—she shot the group a reconnoitering glance—even the men talking to Sean did not look especially familiar. Except for Dick Weddington, who was studying the crowd, too, with pleasure and satisfaction. She soon discovered why.
“All set?” Gilbertus Penrod asked. “Come, let’s go over and have a drink with your husband before we’re seated. Isn’t this a splendid group? We’ll raise a lot of money tonight.”
“A lot of money? Certainly, if my gowns…”
“Of course. Of course, your gowns will have great success. But I meant the fund raising.”
This time she did not even ask a question. He responded instead to the perplexity in her expression.
“Didn’t Dick tell you?” he asked. “No, he must have thought that you already knew. This is a fund raiser for the Continental Army. Hamilton is here to take the proceeds back to General Washington. These ninety-day enlistment periods are brutal, and the spring plowing is coming near. If the general doesn’t pay off his troops, he won’t have any.”
“A fund raiser?” she managed. True, no loyalists appeared to be here, but there had to be spies. There were always spies. Or stones, and rumors, and reports.
Now Sean was involved, whether he knew it or not. His avoidance of politics had succeeded all too well; both sides regarded him as neutral.
Selena thought her luck could get no worse, but she and Sean were seated at table with Hamilton and Veronica Blakemore. It was as if a tightrope had been stretched the length of the dining room, and Selena was bade to march it with her arms tied behind her back.
Trouble began immediately.
“You seem vaguely familiar,” Veronica Blakemore said, yawning delicately and flashing a hand cold with jewels. “Didn’t I see you once in the provinces somewhere?”
She smiled—a smile for Selena. Hamilton caught it, however, and sensed what was happening. Female byplay. The prospect amused him.
“Now, Veronica,” he said, feigning displeasure, “let’s not spoil the evening.”
“Far from it.” She put her hand on his arm, to display her intimate intentions toward him—which Selena guessed had already been long established—and gave Selena another smile, this time one of cold challenge.
See the man I have? You could never take him from me, not in a million years.
“I don’t believe I caught your name,” Sean was saying to Hamilton. “You’re in trade?”
The look in Selena’s eyes must have been one of pure, raw warning. Hamilton saw it, but his own expression betrayed nothing. Whether he had read the situation, she could not tell, but he decided on a prudent course.
“Alexander,” he said, extending his hand. “No, not trade, I’m afraid. Not yet. I’m still at my…ah…formative education. Public administration, you might say. I have, however, every intention of entering lucrative fields when the chance arises.”
Sean was pleased. “Mr. Alexander, I wish you all the success in the world. This is just the country for realizing such an aim.”
“And it’s going to get better,” Hamilton said, spooning soup.
“It’s very good already,” Veronica said in her honeyed voice, eyeing Sean suggestively. Her very manner was an invitation.
Hamilton saw this, too, and could not restrain a laugh.
“I beg your pardon?” Sean asked, looking up.
“Forgive me, sir. I was just thinking of that foolish man, Jefferson. You have mentioned the wealth of the country’s future, and I agree with you. But we shall have to stave off the idealists and lunatics represented by Mad Tom.”
“Isn’t he the one who wrote that declaration?” Selena asked, trying not to look at Blakemore.
Servants came and removed the soup bowls; more servants were bringing the fish course, fresh river trout grilled over charcoal, seasoned with pepper and a white wine sauce.
“The same,” Hamilton said. “Skilled with a pen, but crazy as a loon when it comes to providing a blueprint for society.”
Sean was interested now, probably believing himself to be in the company of a staunch and clever young loyalist. Selena, in fact, was beginning to wonder just what was going on. Mr. Hamilton did not seem at all a rebel now.
“Must you go on about these things?” Veronica pouted prettily. “I find them so dreadfully boring.”
“We’ll have enough time later for your kind of diversion,” he told her bluntly. Then, once again to Sean and Selena: “Do you b
elieve that Jefferson truly advocates the right to vote for people who don’t own property?”
“The very idea is preposterous!” Sean exclaimed, putting down his knife and fork at the sheer enormity of the concept.
“And a nation based on agriculture,” Hamilton added. “Ridiculous! We are a nation on the cutting edge of history. All about us the world becomes more industrial. Wealth lies in the hands of business, and those with wealth must run the affairs of the nation. The rabble must not be permitted to share power. After all, they will be sufficiently blessed as their share of the wealth trickles down to them.”
Suddenly, rakishly, he winked at Selena.
“Don’t you believe what you’ve just said?” she blurted.
“Of course. Certainly I do,” he said. Then he laughed and changed the subject. “Would the two of you care to join us after the dance? I’m having a quiet little party at a place on Long Island.” He spoke to both Sean and Selena, but looked directly at Selena.
Selena saw the alarm and anger that Veronica could not hold back. Then she recovered. “Now, dearest. We had plans for tonight, if you remember?”
“All plans are subject to change,” Hamilton said, looking at Selena still more boldly than before. Even Sean, occupied with analyzing what Hamilton had said, did not miss the intent.
“Success sometimes requires that one’s more troublesome appetites be controlled,” he said pointedly. “It was you who just spoke of the excesses of the rabble.”
Hamilton studied Sean for a moment, and there was a new respect in his voice when he apologized.
“Sir, you are right. I am often quiet senseless in the presence of beauty. I offer my apologies for any offense I might have given either of you.”
“No offense was taken,” Selena said.
“I quite agree,” Sean said quietly.
“Beauty, indeed!” Veronica protested.
Selena felt a twinge of sharp, spiteful satisfaction. The cold, haughty beauty was just the least bit off balance now. Having won Hamilton, now she had to hold him. Hold him under the constant strain of his obvious attraction to beautiful women. Sean, seated beside her, knew what was going on. But he did not take it seriously. She knew him well enough to know what he would be thinking: This Alexander fellow shows a lot of promise, but he’d better get this wench chasing out of his system or it’ll be the ruin of him one day. He would be thinking that Hamilton was still a boy, really. But, if that was true, why were Selena’s juices flowing again? And why were the nerves of her body taut for pleasure and surrender? But she must not let it show, lest Veronica know, and, with such knowledge, regain the upper hand.
At the same time, Selena tried with all her might not simply to forget but not to remember at all the vision that tried to move into her mind, the vision of Veronica seated next to Royce Campbell on that terrible night in Scotland. She was trying to do precisely that, when Blakemore returned to the attack, this time with a sensitive—might she have known how sensitive?—ploy?
“I know,” she exclaimed suddenly. “It was Scotland. I saw you in Scotland!”
Her voice seemed deliberately loud, and people at nearby tables broke off their conversations and turned momentarily toward them.
“That’s where it was,” Veronica repeated. “Yes, both of you were there, and…” She turned to Hamilton. “At the time they were rather in the position you enjoy today, Alex. Indeed, you might take a lesson from…”
Hamilton retained his self-possession, but Selena could guess at the effort by the tiny purple vein that was throbbing over his left temple.
“Why, Veronica, you haven’t touched your wine,” he interrupted.
He reached for the glass and handed it to her. “It delights the palate. It also does wonders for the mouth,” he added, with the faintest glimmer of wry admonishment.
It worked, if only because Veronica was so surprised. Most of the time, Selena guessed, Hamilton gave her free rein, for the amusement it would give him. But her question still lingered, and Sean, with his usual cautious discretion, put it to rest.
“Yes,” he said, “I remember well. We met in Edinburgh, over the Christmas of 1774. Since then, my wife and I have done rather well in India. We expect to do as well here, and return home at some time. Have you been back to Scotland?”
Veronica merely shook her head, still smarting from the humiliation Hamilton had handed her. And now Hamilton himself had heard something of interest.
“You’d go back to Scotland, when our nation is at the forefront of…”
Once again, Selena tried to head him off. She was almost fast enough.
“Of what nation do you speak?” Sean demanded. He was no longer just curious; he was suspicious. Selena saw him glancing around the room. Not having gone to many large New York social gatherings or parties before this one, he might thus far have overlooked the fact that the main loyalists were absent from this dinner-cum-masque. But it would not be long before, with his innate shrewdness, he would put two and two together, and turn to her to supply the “four.”
“Why…the British Empire, of course,” Hamilton said.
This time Veronica laughed, and she did not bother to conceal her derision.
“More wine, dear?” Hamilton asked.
The waiters were now taking away the fish course, and bringing on the meat, a succulent dish of duckling stuffed with rice and basted in a port-and-honey sauce. Sean leaned to her and whispered.
“Something’s wrong here.”
Selena shook her head.
“Alexander seems to know you well enough,” he said, giving her a hard glance. She saw all his hurt, all his old suspicion, flowing back. That damn Dick Weddington. And yet—she had to admit it—she did not believe Dick to be bad at all, nor even duplicitous. True, he had gotten her into some scrapes. But that was because he had thought she shared his beliefs, his rebel nature.
As she did!
That was the terrible part. She had made vows and had tried to keep them. The marital vow, to Sean, she had kept inviolate. But the other promise, to keep to herself the anti-British feeling…why, that seemed to go against her very nature…
“Is this man a friend of Gilbertus?” Sean asked sharply. “Perhaps Gilbertus doesn’t quite know what kinds of people come to an affair this large. Perhaps, by mistake, Samantha invited a few who are untrustworthy…”
When the waiters left the table, Sean took a glass of red wine, which had been poured for all of them.
“To the British Empire,” he called, standing at his place. His voice carried very well. All eyes turned toward him. “To England,” he cried, his tone resonant and sincere. “To all she has been. To all she will yet be. And to victory in this war!”
For an immeasurable portion of a minute, it was as if time and life had fled that dining room. Selena saw Hamilton move back slightly in his chair, and saw in his eyes the spark of realization. Something was drastically wrong. A mistake—possibly deadly—had been made. Selena also saw Veronica’s smile as she looked up at Sean and put her own two and two together. Danger. And she saw Sean himself, commanding, fervent, and sincere, with the glass of red wine lifted in the air.
The toast was answered with an ardor equaled only by its falseness.
“And to victory in this war!” they proclaimed.
Gilbertus Penrod was white as a sheet.
The chatter as the dinner drew to its conclusion was as bright and animated and frenetic as any Selena had ever heard, and the undercurrent was electric enough to deliver a shock.
Even Hamilton was subdued, and said nothing of consequence. Blakemore looked complacent, not oblivious to, but rather not particularly caring about, the political statement that had just been made. In her eyes, Selena’s husband—hence Selena—had looked a fool. And that was enough for her. Almost enough.
“I guess I put this Alexander fellow’s nose back in joint,” Sean confided to her, as the waiters were bringing the sweet, which was apple pie with cheese, and coff
ee strong enough to send a cloud of aroma into the air. “He’s not saying much now, you’ll notice.”
And that was true. But, Selena thought, I suspect he’s thinking fast.
The guests’ withdrawal to change into their costumes provided an interval necessary to restore equilibrium to the gathering. Selena was delayed on her way to the changing rooms by numerous congratulations on her designs. Samantha Penrod intercepted her before Selena was able to get into her costume.
“Gilbertus has just informed me that Sean doesn’t seem to be here,” she said. “Do you know if he planned to leave after the dinner?”
“No, of course not.” Maybe it had something to do with his disguise.
“Gilbertus was worried about the toast. We did not know that Sean felt so strongly…”
Selena herself was more than a little concerned about the ramifications of this party, and she could not see how Sean could help but draw the correct conclusions as to its nature. She was attempting to reassure her hostess, however, when Dick Weddington joined them.
“Do you know where Sean might be?”
“I thought he was changing into his costume.”
Weddington shook his head. “That toast…”
“I told you many times,” she said, “that Sean will not yield on the issue of his support for Great Britain.”
“I had hoped that, after a time…”
“You must never take Sean Bloodwell for granted,” Selena warned him. “He may be immersed in his affairs, and thus he may seem quite above politics. That is, in a sense, true. But he has been badly wounded by politics in the past…” and badly wounded by love, too, she thought “…and he has no intention of suffering again.”
Flames of Desire Page 51
