Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (38 page)

“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 tear-stained 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 curiosity 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.”

“Thank you, Ian. Such a touching gift might be rather hard to repay.”

“I can think of a very pleasant way to express your gratitude, but after last night I’m forced to accept your repayment at another time.” He grinned at her and took her hand, leading her to the front door of the office.

The rest of the morning passed surprisingly fast. Ian was in and out of the office at least a dozen times. Making an unsatisfactory attempt at estimating the cost of refurbishing a ship, Bethlyn finally admitted defeat and laid aside her paperwork. The thought of meeting Della that afternoon filled her with dread.

She didn’t mind paying the money if Ian’s safety was assured. Yesterday afternoon Ian had visited an ill employee to wish him Christmas cheer. Bethlyn had sneaked away from Edgecomb and entered the office. Feeling like the thief she thought herself to be, she opened the large money box Ian kept hidden in a locked cabinet, taking a small fortune in gold. She intended to replace the money before Ian realized it was gone. The transfer of funds from her London bank would soon be complete, but she needed the money now. Without Ian the wiser, she returned home and placed the gold in the bottom drawer of the large desk in the library.

When Ian returned to the office, he gave her more work to do. Bethlyn realized he wanted to keep her so busy that she’d be too exhausted that night to comment on his comings and goings. She smiled smugly to herself, on to his game.

“What’s so amusing?” he asked.

“I’m quite happy. I wish Molly could be as happy.” Molly had spent all Christmas Day in her room, brooding.

“She’ll be fine,” he said brusquely, but his tone softened. “I love her but can’t forget that she’s in love with an enemy.” Bethlyn worried that he still considered her his enemy. Maybe he needed to believe he loved her to make their marriage bearable. She shivered at the thought.

Arriving home that afternoon a servant told her that Miss Della Trammel waited in the library for her. Della was early, no doubt eager for the money she’d collect. Let her wait, Bethlyn thought and went upstairs, taking her time in freshening up. When the grandfather clock chimed three, Bethlyn entered the library.

Della rose from a chair by the fireplace, clutching a velvet reticule. Her pretty face contorted into a sneer. “You kept me waiting on purpose. I heard you come in more than thirty minutes ago,” Della complained.

“My, what a little timekeeper you are. Perhaps I should hire you on at Briston Shipping, but knowing you, Della, you’re not cut out for work. I distinctly told you three o’clock. You were early, I wasn’t late.” Bethlyn gestured to her to sit while she purposely sat in the large chair behind Ian’s desk, which took up almost half of the room, hoping to intimidate Della.

Her ploy worked. Della licked her lips, the anger left her eyes, and she almost timidly sat down. Toying with the black collar on her ruby-colored gown, she waited.

Bethlyn leaned forward in her chair, placing her hands together on top of the desk. “I believe you wanted to speak to me.”

“That I did.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Mrs. Briston, You may pretend to be an uppity lady, but I know what you are. You ain’t no better than me.”