“Eli, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Morgan demanded as he limped forward.
Kit regained his balance and rubbed his jaw. God, that man could hit! But no Marshall had ever backed down in a fight, and he wasn’t going to be the first, especially with something so important at stake. “General, your son has a right to his opinion, even if his facts come from a disreputable source. Personally, I wouldn’t trust one of Ban’s men to give me the time of day, but that’s just my opinion.”
The General nodded and stepped back.
“I’d much rather talk to Eli, here,” Kit continued, “but if he wants to be a pig-headed idiot about things…”
Eli bent and charged, intending to hit him with his shoulder. Kit sidestepped him with a push to the back, and it was Eli’s turn to plow into the onlookers. Eli’s roar of rage echoed in the buzz of the gathering crowd of men. A contest between two giants always provided entertainment, and a fair proportion of the audience obviously would not mind another American victory.
**
Deborah felt miserable all day. She did not want to be here; there was so much she had to do at home to get ready for the baby. Jeb White’s barn did not rank high on her list of priorities. Besides, her back hurt, her legs hurt, her belly hurt, her skin hurt, Lordy, even her hair hurt. Even Scamp’s comfort was denied her. He’d been left at home with strict orders to the cook. Deborah wanted to go home, but that wasn’t possible. So she put on as cheerful a face as she could manage and sliced pies.
She watched the unfolding events from the house’s rise where the tables were set up for food preparation and meals. At first she was delighted to see her brother, but it soon turned to trepidation and then down-right fury. “What the blazes does that big lunk think he’s doing? I’m going to murder him!”
“Darling, let them solve it their own way,” her mother advised.
“Not his time. Kit was put through the grinder once. He shouldn’t have to do it again.” She waddled off down the slope, her maximum speed somewhere in the neighborhood of a slow stroll.
“I’m going to kill those two,’ she muttered, “if I get there before they do it to each other.” She finally got within earshot. “Stop this instantly! Stop it, I say!” The crowd of men and a few women had closed in around the combatants, but no one could hear her over the yelling and cheering.
The man in front of her at the edge of the crowd didn’t respond to her demand that he move, so she pushed him in the back. That got his attention, she thought. He moved aside for her. Just like a stubborn Georgia mule—hit it about its ears with a board and it becomes very reasonable. She used the same technique several more times until she got to the inner ring.
Obviously, they had both struck a number of telling blows. Kit’s forehead bled and red trickled from Eli’s mouth. Currently locked together, they punched at each other’s sides.
“Stop, you two! Stop!” Nobody noticed her, not her husband, her brother, or her father who cheered and swore with the rest of the lunatics.
How could she break them up? In other times she might have stepped into the fray herself and pulled some hair or landed some punches herself to get their attention. That wasn’t an option now. She looked frantically around, trying to find a reasonable person to help her. No one came remotely close to that description. However, a young water boy stood a quarter of the way around the circle from her. Kit and Eli were near him. Without thinking of the consequences, she “darted” for the pitcher of water. The roiling ball of fighters shifted just before she gained the boy. In an instant, they engulfed her.
She trod on her skirt as they pushed her into the crowd. Something hit the side of her belly. She began to fall. A strong arm caught her and gave her a chance to regain her footing. Unfortunately, it drove her into the crowd. Turning, she fought back to the water boy. “Give me that!” His attention focused on the fray, he didn’t even notice her taking the jug
She found her quarry, still locked in combat. Stepping into the circle, she threw the water at them, and then the jug for good measure. “Stop it right now!” The giants unlocked.
“What the bloody hell!” Kit roared.
“Damn your eyes!” Eli bellowed in harmony.
They separated enough that she could step in and move between them, pushing them further apart with her palms. “That’s enough! You’re a couple of quarreling children! I won’t have it!”
Groans and catcalls erupted from the crowd.
Deborah glared at the two men, eyes narrowed and ready to throw a few more punches herself. “I will not have…ahhh!” She bent double with the cramp in her belly. Kit grabbed her before she fell.
Chapter 23
Kit bent over the cradle to watch his new baby boy sleep. The baby fascinated him with the way he puckered his lips as he breathed; entranced him when he yawned; captivated him when he wiggled his swaddled bottom.
Kit adjusted the quilt then ran his hand along the lace lining of the cradle. It had held the brothers, then Deborah, now Timothy. He thought of the family cradle at Westwood. His mother was over the moon at the thought of filling it. Unfortunately, by the time Deborah would be able to travel, and they made the three month sea voyage, little Timothy might not be so little any more. He didn’t think his mother would complain too much. A grandbaby, any baby, was her goal in life ever since he and his brother had reached their majority. The fact that it was an heir was just icing on the cake.
“If you wake him,” a sleepy voice threatened, “I’ll have your head.”
He turned, smiling. “How are you feeling? I couldn’t resist coming in to see him. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s all right. I’m just tired and sore.” She reached up to gently touch the purpling bruise on is cheek. “You don’t look that great, either.”
“You should see Eli,” he smirked. Silently, she raised her eyebrows.
He took her hand and gingerly sat on the side of the feather bed, rearranging himself a few times before he was satisfied she wouldn’t roll with his weight on the mattress. “We need to talk.”
Sensing that he already plotted this discussion, she waited.
“We’re going to have to leave for England shortly after you’re churched.”
The days of her lying-in, formally ended by her return to church services, suddenly seemed to collapse around her. Even though she knew that they would have to go to England, that day had always been a far-off thundercloud. She swallowed, the rainstorm of tears looming over her cheeks.
“I understand,” he smiled crookedly, “Leaving your family is hell’s own pitchfork. But, we need to be in New York to catch the spring sailings. I’ll have some business to attend to there, and we have to take into account traveling with a small baby. If I send a messenger up there to purchase the tickets now, we can probably wait to travel until around the first of the year. How does that sound?”
He was giving her as much time as he could, and she loved him for the thought. With her chin up, she smiled and nodded.
**
Christmas time promised to be significantly more peaceful than in prior years, Deborah thought. While the guard on Morgan House still kept a careful eye for marauding Loyalists, the holiday preparations seemed joyful and carefree. The usual problems, a ferocious winter storm, straying animals, a deserter skulking around, a distempered bitch and her puppies that had to be destroyed, and innumerable colds couldn’t dampen the holiday spirits.
Eli and her husband even managed to talk out their differences without killing each other. A stint repairing fences, ordered by her father, literally and figuratively, did the trick. Deborah used the time to work on Kit’s Christmas present, a beautifully worked shirt and stock. With two weeks to go, she had plenty of time, but there were other things to do, too. Even though it wouldn’t be in the first stare of London fashion, it would give him something to wear with the jacket and knee-breeches he had cajoled/bullied/bribed the Charles Town tailor to produce in the middle of his h
oliday rush. Just the change of clothes seemed to ease the tensions of having a British officer in the Morgan household. Anything she could do to aid and abet that goal was a good thing.
**
The General gave Kit and Eli their assignment for the day: cut pine branches to decorate the banisters and mantle. Kit felt reasonably satisfied with the truce between the two of them.
By mid-morning a large pile of branches graced the sled. They even had a clump of mistletoe Eli spotted. The two men tossed the lead ropes of the sled over their shoulders and started home.
A little apprehensively, Kit cleared his throat. “I need to go into town. Would you have the time to escort me?”
Eli snorted. “Can’t make your own way?”
Kit looked over with exasperation. “I consider your father’s instructions not to leave the estate without an escort to be eminently sensible. British soldiers, even those on parole, are not universally appreciated in these parts. Besides, I would appreciate your advice.”
“Advice?”
“Humm. Unlike the members of your family, I do not have any talents for, shall we say, creating things. Given that and my time constraints, I will need to purchase gifts. Since I am not all that familiar with the family customs, I could stand some advice.”
Eli stopped, forcing Kit to halt, too. “Why me?”
The question surprised Kit, but he nodded, acknowledging the validity of it. “We’re of an age. If circumstances were different, we might have been friends. While I don’t expect you to be my bosom bow now, I would like to be on cordial terms with my brother-in-law. Since Deborah, Timothy, and I are going to be leaving shortly after the holidays, I figure as I’d best get started, especially as we didn’t exactly both mount that horse from the left.”
Eli looked at him for a moment. “After lunch, then?”
**
Kit privately thought that it was a modest bauble for the new Countess of Westridge, but his wife had to have something This looked to be the best available. He was, however, wise enough not to speak any of those thoughts aloud. Eli graciously gave him ideas of the personal tastes of most of the members of the family, so they accomplished their tasks in good order. Only Eli, himself, was left.
A young lady approached them with a shy smile on her face. One brief look at Eli told Kit where the wind blew. After all, he should know. He knew he frequently walked around with the same look.
“Mistress Ashland, how won...ah nice to see you.” Eli swept his hat off in a deep bow. “May I present Christopher Marshall, Earl of Westridge, Deborah’s new husband?” He looked from one to the other. “Margery, ah Mistress Ashland is a long-time friend of Deborah’s.” He gazed at the young woman. “I’m hoping you’ll be at the Christmas party.”
Kit bowed. “It is my great pleasure to meet you, Mistress Ashland. May I prevail upon you to circumvent that mouthful and call me Kit, as do the Morgan family and friends?”
Margery Ashland blushed prettily and curtsied. “Pleased to meet you. I heard Deborah had had her baby. I planned to visit when she was stronger, but time got away from me. I will be at the party, though.”
Kit smiled. “Eli, I’m going in here for a moment.” He motioned to the glover’s in back of them.
Eli nodded, but his attention obviously lay elsewhere. He didn’t see the elegantly dressed lady who followed Kit into the shop.
Kit smiled to himself as he perused the leather goods. Mistress Margery was a tender little mouthful, and Eli looked only a hands breath from sweet surrender. Ah, to work. Doubtless the glover had the Morgan family’s measurements.
“Kit, what a surprise!”
He turned as though he’d been stung by the hand gently laid on his jacket sleeve. “Claudia, what are you doing here?”
“I stopped in town for a few days.” Her head tilted most seductively, and her eyes flirted. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” The hand remained on his sleeve.
“Quite frankly, madam, no.” He pushed her hand off his sleeve. Its presence there offended him. “You are in the past. I am happily married now and fully intend to stay so.”
“That doesn’t matter. We could…”
“I said no. Please leave.” He wanted this to stop here and now. The very thought of a “we” made his skin crawl. A fleeting thought noted the about-face in his feelings.
“Is there a problem, Kit?” Eli strolled up.
“Not at all.” Kit never took his eyes off Lady Claudia. “Just an old acquaintance that is leaving town almost immediately.”
“Madam.” Eli bowed, but nowhere as deeply as to Mistress Ashland.
Claudia’s mouth hardened for a moment then she smiled archly. “Adieu, gentlemen. I’m sure I’ll see you later, Kit.” She whirled and walked out in a swirl of velvet.
“Now that is a wagonload of trouble.”
“I couldn’t agree more, my friend. Your timing is impeccable.” Kit leaned against the display case and folded his arms. “My thanks. Now, would you be so kind as to go back and enjoy the fine winter sunshine for a few more minutes, even if Mistress Ashland has left.”
Eli’s laugh barked, and he slapped Kit on the shoulder. “I’ll be on guard duty out here.”
**
In Kit’s humble opinion, the holiday festivities had been a smashing success. The Christmas party was a crush. Abigail’s renown as a hostess rested secure for another year. Eli and Mistress Ashland announced their engagement just before dinner. Kit felt this was a good thing because the leash around Eli’s neck grew tighter and shorter by the day. If only he could find it in himself to feel sorry for his new friend.
Life was good. Everyone took advantage of the mistletoe. Kit found it useful several times. He even caught the General kissing his lady under it. A mighty good kiss it was.
Timothy was passed from cooing woman to cooing woman and behaved like the true English gentleman that he was. Deborah shone in the silver necklace set with topazes and crystal. Even the General’s rheumatism subsided with the dry weather.
It all faded into memory now. 1782 was still an infant, but he needed to get his small family to New York. Frounce’s Tavern awaited them. There was his military commission to sell, bankers to deal with, clothes to purchase, a prince to present his new wife to, and a ship to board before the hurricane season.
Mr. Thomson agreed to remain in his service, and Deborah’s maid Missy would accompany her. Missy was going to have her hands full for a while. Although assisted by a nurse, Missy insisted on caring for Deborah and Timothy herself. She’d be caring for Thomson, too, in a little while, unless Kit missed his guess. The old soldier had that now-familiar gleam in his eye. Damn me, Kit thought, marriage must be contagious! He and Deborah had agreed that Missy’s freedom would be one of their wedding presents to the new couple.
First, he had to get past the tears and farewells. That part was going to be hard on all of them.
**
Frounce’s cost decidedly more than the 5 shillings a night charged by most of the inns they stayed at on the road. Prince William, King George’s third son, occupied the most impressive suite at the hotel. At least, Deborah assumed that it was most impressive. Their own suite occupied an entire floor. The main chamber and sitting room were flanked by rooms for servants. The bed boasted curtains of dark green velvet, echoed in the print of the painted wall cloth. In the garden outside their window, a huge tree brushed up against the building.
A gilt-framed mirror rose above the vanity. The moment Missy saw it, she raised her hands in awe and worship. “Lordy me, Miz Deborah, Ahse means Mah Lady. Think on all Ahse can do wif yer hair, here!”
Deborah saw the facilities and thought of all the hours she would sit there being tortured. There was a price to pay for being Countess of Westridge. Princes and the like were going to be a large part of her life now, whether she liked it or not.
But, first, Deborah had an appointment with Madame Collette, the most celebrated modiste in New York. Missy’s fawn-colored
fingers worked their magic in Deborah’s hair in preparation for the event. “Da other maids say’ze M’am Collette she’s da bes,” Missy chatted away at her captive audience, “but one uh ‘em sayze she’s uppity ‘n came from Paree by way oh da East End, wherever tha’ be.”
Deborah nearly tore the lock of hair Missy was curling out by the roots as she lurched forward laughing. She knew the name of the infamous London slum, if Missy didn’t. “Ow!”
“Have ah care, Miz, Ahse mean Mah Lady.”
“Indeed.”
Kit and Mr. Thomson escorted them to Madame Collette’s. Missy held Timothy in a snug basket, and Deborah took Scamp’s leash. Even though he displayed the manners of a perfect gentleman, Deborah could see the energy of days cooped up in a carriage and hotel room begged to be exercised. As they parted company, she gave the leash to Mr. Thomson. Incongruous as the pair seemed, tall, cadaverous man and tiny dog, they were fast friends. Deborah watched the three gentlemen for a moment as they continued down the block to the tailor. Deborah wasn’t the only one who needed new garments.
Madame Collette’s establishment only had one customer, a rather plain young lady crowned with bright red hair and a milky complexion to match. She looked up from her desultory perusal of a fashion plate book to smile at Deborah.
“Good morning,” Deborah offered, “Is that the latest book? I’m afraid I’m going to need several of everything.” She laughed and the girl giggled with her. Deborah privately hoped the girl’s new dress would be in something other than the pale blue she wore.
“Yes it is. Would you like to look at it with me?”
“I’d be delighted.”
A shop girl scurried up to Deborah and curtsied. “May I help you madame?”
“I’m Deborah Marshall. I have an appointment with Madame Collette.” The girl curtsied back the way she came. “What patterns are you looking at?” she asked the red-head.