Sweet Deception Regency 07 - The Divided Hearts (16 page)

“Good evening, sir.” The unflappable Evers
flung open the doors at his approach.

“N’evening,” Nate slurred as he stumbled
toward the stairway.

Jimbo followed in the wake of his drunken
master. His scrawny arms snatched at the cloak, gloves and hat that
were thrown in his direction. With a final boisterous chorus, Nate
reached the safety of his room and Jimbo, tsking loudly, closed the
door behind him.

“One wonders if all this subterfuge is
necessary,” Nate said in his normal voice.

“Some know and some don’t,” his valet
answered succinctly. Then wrinkling his nose as he helped Nate off
with his redolent clothing, he asked cheekily, “Would you be
preferring a snifter now?”

Easing himself into a brocade dressing gown,
Nate frowned at the old man, but there was a twinkle of
appreciation in his eyes as he accepted the brandy. He lowered his
large frame into the comfortable wingchair and crossed one
slippered foot over the other on top of the ottoman. He inhaled the
pungent fumes, letting them fill his head before he took a sip of
the sharp biting liquor. Jimbo bustled around, arranging his
wardrobe and clucking over the sodden clothing. He pursed his lips
at the condition of the tall leather boots, vowing to remind Nate
to be more careful in the future. Then, bundling the used clothes
into the cloak, he bid his master a good evening.

Nate leaned his head against the chair back,
listening to the night sounds through the open window. An
occasional screech of some night predator broke the peaceful
cricket song. He took another sip of the brandy, rolling the liquid
on his tongue. He raised a hand to smooth the tension away from his
forehead, then pushed his fingers up through his hair. Despite the
amount of information he had picked up this night, he felt
discontented. There were times, like tonight, when he hated the
role he played. Even knowing how important the information was, he
disliked the dishonesty of his part.

Golden hazel eyes flashed in his mind’s eye
and Nate wondered how much of his dissatisfaction was due to his
acquaintance with Judith Hallowell. He hated dissembling. There
were times that he caught a strange light in her eyes. There was
puzzlement, disapproval and a waiting look, as though she wanted
something more from him. Then her hazel eyes would change to a
shuttered look of disappointment. He suspected that pride was the
culprit, causing his present sense of pique. He wanted to be
himself in front of the woman, but he did not dare.

Judith was English. No matter how much Simon
might try to convince him that her sympathies would be for America,
she was definitely a danger. The man spoke with a father’s
indulgence. Nate had talked to Judith and, yes, there had been
times when he felt she understood and approved of his country, but
there were other times when he sensed her withdrawal.

He held the brandy snifter against his
mouth, enjoying the coolness of the glass against his lower lip.
His eyes were unfocused, his thoughts inward. He was hardly a
callow youth, yet for all his London bronze, he felt like the
greenest of yokels whenever he came in contact with Judith’s golden
beauty. He smiled as he remembered her radiant face after the
purchase of the grey filly. He thought back over the day he had
spent with her, picturing the Whitney child snuggled on her lap. He
would have given much to lay his head on her soft bosom, stoking
her hair and whispering….

“Damn!” Nate swore, jerking himself upright
in the chair. He was appalled at his instant arousal as his mind
wandered over Judith’s charms. He needed no lustful complications
to his life.

He bolted the remainder of his brandy and
flung his dressing gown over the chair. He stretched and sighed as
he blew out the candle and lay down on the bed. Hands behind his
head, he stared up at the plaster ceiling. This would be a good
time for a trip to Boston and his meeting with Olney. Being away
from the beauteous Judith would exorcize her bewitching presence
from his thoughts.

He would rise early and transcribe his notes
for his meeting with Captain Olney. Then he would send around an
apology to Simon. He had agreed to accompany Simon, Judith and
Patrick on an excursion to Goat Island but would now have the
perfect excuse to avoid Simon’s enticing daughter. That’s really
all it would take to break free from the magic spell of those hazel
eyes. He could extend the Boston trip to a week. Well, perhaps a
week was a little long. After all he had enough responsibilities at
Tregonwell so that he could not afford to be gone too long.

When he returned he would just have to avoid
any more contact with Judith Hallowell. He smiled grimly in
satisfaction on that decision. Of course it would not always be
easy. They traveled in the same social set and of course Newport
was a small town. He would have to cross her path sometime. Next
week in fact they were both invited to a party at Dr. Case’s farm.
He could hardly cry off without some valid excuse. He wondered what
Judith would wear. He could just see her in an antique gold fabric
that would set off her eyes.

“Damn and blast!” Nate swore again, furious
at his own traitorous thoughts.

“Watch your back, Father,” Judith admonished
as she followed Simon down the path leading to the shore.

“Don’t fuss, girl,” he growled over his
shoulder. “Sound just like a mother hen. I’ll be fine.”

Judith grinned at his acerbic tone which
indicated that he was back to his usual temperament. After they
returned from Tregonwell, Simon had submitted to one more day of
bed rest before he had declared, quite vocally, that he was done
with resting. He still moved with a slight stiffness, Judith noted,
but all in all he appeared to have suffered no permanent injury
from his fall. Since she had no hope of keeping him confined, she
had agreed to an outing to Goat Island on the condition that she go
along to see that he did not overdo.

As Judith crested the last hill, she sighed
with pleasure at the vista of sky and water that met her eyes. She
struggled for a moment as the breeze tugged at her straw bonnet,
then in exasperation untied the ribbons and let the wind blow
through her hair. Then she strolled to the water’s edge where a
glum Patrick stared longingly at the gentle waves lapping at the
shore.

“You certainly are dressed fine as six pence
for this picnic, Patrick,” she said, scrutinizing the boy’s unhappy
face.

“Aye, Judith. Mr. Baker said these clothes
were just the ticket,” came the grudging answer.

“You’ve quite a shine to those new boots. I
imagine Mr. Baker would be none too pleased to see them dull and
water spotted.”

Patrick’s gaze flew to Judith’s twitching
lips. A gamin grin transformed the little face until he controlled
his expression and stared up at his friend. “T’were good you
mentioned it, Judith. I mighta forgot and then I’d surely be in for
a scold.”

At Judith’s laughter, the boy threw himself
on the shore and in a flash had removed boots and woolen stockings.
Conscientiously he carried them to the blanket that Simon had
spread, then removed his jacket and folded it carefully before
placing it on top of his boots. As expected, the boy could only
contain his excitement for a brief period. Spinning around, he
raced toward the water, rolling his shirtsleeves up as he ran.

Judith grinned at her father as she seated
herself on the blanket. Simon had already shed his jacket and
reclined on the sand, looking as comfortable as if he were in his
own drawing room. Judith had forgotten that, as a merchant and a
shipowner, the sea represented a major portion of Simon’s life. As
a gently raised daughter, this was a segment of his life she would
never be able to share. In England she had seen her father against
the backdrop of London. He had been at home in the city, but since
her arrival in America, she realized that he was far more a part of
this brash new country than the more civilized cities of
Europe.

“It’s good to see the change in the lad,”
Simon said, his eyes intent on the capering boy in the surf. “He’s
lost that pinch-faced look he had when you arrived.”

“I’ve noticed.” Judith giggled at Patrick’s
shout as one of the waves almost swamped him. “He’s absolutely
blossoming. Having the ramshackle Roger Finney for a companion
gives him a good idea what life can be like here. Besides, Roger is
disgustingly normal.”

“Joanne Finney is a good mother. She and
Colin had little or nothing when they married, but they’ve worked
hard and their farm is able to sustain that rambunctious passel of
kids.” Simon covered the bowl of his pipe with his hand, pointing
the stem at the boy in the water. “If Patrick and Roger aren’t hung
for highwaymen or some other egregious crime before they reach
manhood, they’ll be a credit to Newport. They’ve all the makings of
fine young men.”

“Methinks the addition of the pony might aid
them in their lawless endeavors,” Judith said.

She stretched, reveling in the feel of the
sunshine through her clothes. Due to the secluded nature of the
beach, she felt it would not be breaking any of society’s more
stringent rules if she joined Patrick in his romp. Rolling down her
stockings and discarding her shoes, she pulled up her skirts and
gingerly crossed the coarse sand to the boy’s side.

“Look what I found, Judith,” Patrick said
excitedly. “Do you think it’s gold?”

Nestled in the palm of his chubby hand was a
dark rock, streaked with goldish lines. The boy dipped down,
wetting the stone that glistened even stronger. Judith picked it
up, turning it and twisting it in the light.

“I’ve never seen gold, Patrick, so I
couldn’t say. You should ask Simon. He might know.”

Patrick streaked across the sand, hunkering
down beside her father. Judith smiled as the two heads bent over
the prize. Turning, she walked along the shoreline, gasping as the
cold waves brushed against her toes. She could imagine the
expression on the fashionable Nathanael Bellingham’s face if he
could see the London deb walking the beach like a veritable hoyden.
It was lucky for her that he had chosen to send his regrets. She
had enjoyed portions of her visit at Tregonwell but her own
puzzlement at his changeable behavior made her glad that he was not
able to come with them to Goat Island. He would have put a crimp in
her feeling of freedom.

It was a wonderful day. They explored Goat
Island with special attention to the fort. Badgered with questions,
Simon told Patrick of the battles that had been fought in the bay.
They gorged themselves on the picnic basket Mrs. Baker had sent
along. Judith enjoyed it all, contented to wade along the beach.
She refused to care that the hem of her skirt was stained with
seawater and that her nose would be covered with freckles. Under
the hot sun she felt free and alive. It would be wonderful if every
day could be just like today, she mused.

She stopped, arrested by the thought. She
must remember she was only here for a visit. There would not be
many more days like this. Soon she would be on a ship, returning to
England and the life that was expected of her. This was a holiday;
a halcyon time in her life that would probably never be repeated.
And of course, once she thought about it, she realized that she
would be happy to go back to her life in England. Here she was a
visitor. She belonged in London. On her return, she would have to
seriously consider marrying and taking on the responsibilities of
her station in life. She could not drift as she had done before or
soon her friends would take her for an antidote.

The sun ducked behind a cloud and Judith
felt chilled. She returned to the blanket, staring accusingly at
her shoes and stockings as though they represented all the
restrictions of her life. She sat down, pulling her knees to her
chest and resting her head on her arms. Patrick and Simon were deep
in a discussion of pirate treasure and other swashbuckling tales.
She closed her eyes, listening to their voices as she breathed in
the moist, salty air.

“I should have brought my spyglass,
Patrick,” Simon said, annoyed at his omission. “On the top of yon
hill, there’s a spot where you can see the other islands with the
glass. I doubt if it would reach as far as Block Island but next
time we’ll bring it and give it a go.”

“Roger said that Block Island was where the
Palatine was headed,” Patrick said in a hoarse whisper.

Judith came to attention at the mention of
the hero patriot that her father had told her about. As Simon
caught her interested glance, he shook his head in negation.

“The ship, not the man, my dear.” Simon drew
on his pipe, watching as the smoke drifted up, then was snatched
away and dispersed by the wind. “There’s many a tale woven around
the legend of the Palatine. It’s a name that’s known up and down
the coast. In times of trouble, the ship is supposed to appear to
warn those on shore of danger. Perhaps that’s why our friend chose
the name.”

“Roger says it’s a ghost ship, Judith,”
Patrick said, thrilled with the idea. “The crew mutinied and killed
everyone aboard.”

“Whoa, there,” Simon said, grinning at the
bloodthirsty tone of the boy’s voice. “Best you get the story
right.”

Judith had always loved Simon’s stories and
she relaxed, waiting for him to begin. Patrick nestled against
Judith’s raised knees and occasionally she reached out to smooth
his hair, tousled by the wind into soft black curls. Simon took his
time, fiddling with his pipe and staring out over the water until
he had stretched their patience to the limit.

“The Palatine left Holland bound for
Philadelphia. Aboard were wealthy Dutch who planned to build in the
new country. It was a trip doomed from the start as storms delayed
them and eventually drove them off course. Soon the food supplies
diminished and things began to go from bad to worse. The crew was a
rum lot. Not much above pirates. They mutinied and probably killed
the captain, although that’s not known for sure. At any rate once
they took control of the ship, they forced the Hollanders to pay
for every biscuit or mug of water. The passengers had little
choice. Payment or death by starvation. Withal, many were emaciated
and diseased.”