“Oh, nothing in particular. My mother’s here getting a fitting. I’m Amanda Vaughan.” She flipped to a sketch, a bronze-colored riding habit.
“Oh, my, that would look stunning on you.”
“Do you think so?” Amanda looked skeptical. “My mother says I look best in pastels.” She gestured at the sleeve of her dress.
Deborah eyed the dress and looked at the bolts of material lining the wall. “Missy, could you pull down that bronze wool over there?” Missy, who’d been staring out the window, hurried to comply. Deborah pulled out a length of the heavy wool from the bolt and draped it around Amanda’s face. “Look in the mirror here.”
“Ohhh!”
“Amanda,” a robust voice demanded, “what are you doing?”
Deborah turned. “Good day, ma’am. We’re just discussing the effect of various colors on Amanda’s skin. It is beautifully pale, and I was expressing the opinion that a bronze like this would set it off most elegantly. Don’t you agree?”
The woman proved as robust as her voice. Deborah remembered Kit speaking of a General Sir John Vaughan. This must be his wife and daughter. Following her, most likely Deborah thought, was Madame Collette.
“Well...,” Amanda’s mother temporized, caught between the evidence in front of her and her own preconceptions.
Deborah turned to the dressmaker. “Madame?”
The woman took a step forward and made a show of examining Amanda’s face. “I must agree with Lady Westridge. This is a most fortunate color for Mistress Vaughan.” The French accent grated on Deborah’s ears, but after an initial wince, she let it go.
“Lady Westridge? That’s impossible. I’m acquainted with Lady Westridge, and she is a much older woman.”
“I assure you most sincerely that I am Lady Westridge. My husband has only recently succeeded to the title on the deaths of his father and brother in a carriage accident. If you are acquainted with Kit, he should be along in a while. I’m sure he’d like to see a familiar face.”
“Hummph, yes, well…yes, I’m certain he would. I shall be delighted to renew the connection. Will you be at the Nesbitt’s soiree on Friday?”
“I plan on it, if I can convince Madame Collette to have a ball gown ready by then.”
Madame Colette nodded most accommodatingly. As she did so, the shop door opened. Deborah caught her scent before she heard Lady Claudia’s voice.
“I’m sure I saw Lady Westridge come into this little establishment. Oh, there you are. I just had to speak to you. I’m so delighted to see you…”
Deborah picked up the fashion baby from a nearby table and examined the miniature of the latest style in walking dresses while Lady Claudia rattled. There was something about being homesick and leaving for England soon.
“…But of course you’re going to the Nesbitt’s soiree and the Glass’s musicale. This must be so exciting for you, being a little country girl. I’m sure a little dressmaker like this is the height of fashion for you. You’ll find London establishments are ever so much finer.”
Lady Claudia’s words were like a stream, Deborah thought. They ran on and on and on.
“…Since you come from what serves as rebel aristocracy, with General Daniel Morgan as your father, I’m sure.”
There’s the point, Deborah thought, but the words kept flowing.
“…Sure I’ll see you there.”
Silence descended as the door closed behind her.
Lady Vaughan, who had not been addressed or even looked at, stood with a vaguely fishy open mouth. Amanda gulped, “How can you be a rebel, you’re a countess?”
Deborah put down the doll and cocked her head as she looked at Amanda, “Everything she said is true, and I’m still a countess. My father is a retired Continental general, my brothers are officers, and I’ve done my part, too.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. She turned to face Lady Vaughan. “If you were in our place, you might well feel the same way. How would you and your family feel if you home county had no voice in Parliament, had troops thrust upon you, had taxes you had no say in nor benefit from, and yet you were Englishmen, just like the chap in London. Where might Amanda’s father be fighting, them? And for whom?”
Lady Vaughan’s mouth closed.
“My origins and sympathies are no secret. I am proud of them. My husband knows them and still loves me. Are they going to interfere with our discussion of this color for your daughter?”
As she finished, a squawk rose from the basket. Missy lifted Timothy and tisked. Both Amanda and Lady Vaughan rushed over to coo.
“Le’me change him and thens yo cans hold him.”
Lady Vaughan turned back to Deborah, obviously having made a decision. “I think this is a marvelous color for Amanda. What else would you suggest?”
By the time Deborah reached the hotel late that afternoon, she felt tired and happy. She had ordered two ball gowns, three day dresses, a riding habit, two morning dresses, various undergarments, some stuff for Missy to make herself some clothes, and two new friends.
**
Deborah’s fingers were itching and she needed something to occupy them. It was rapidly becoming apparent to her that a life of idle luxury promised to have her tearing her hair out. She didn’t expect the dressmaker’s fitting today to occupy her either physically or mentally. A knit shawl, one of the type that fell in a point to the floor, would be a useful project and have the added benefit of keeping her warm in the morning before the fires took the chill off the rooms.
At breakfast, she mentioned her errands to Kit. “I shall be delighted to escort you, my love. Besides, supervising you taking off and putting on garments,” he wiggled his eyebrows in an imitation of a leer, “will allow me to ascertain the quality of the merchandise.”
“If you haven’t figured out the ‘quality of the merchandise’ yet…”
“Maybe we could retire to our chamber, and I could re-inspect it before we leave?”
Deborah glared repressively at him over her shoulder. “Not if we are to get finished before sunset.” She lifted her chin. “However, there will be plenty of time afterwards for me to inspect my merchandise.”
He saluted her with his tea cup. “Indeed there will.”
**
They strolled arm in arm towards the dressmaker’s shop, Scamp on his leash in front of them.
“What will life be like in England?”
He opened his mouth to answer and thought better of it. “What do you want it to be?”
“I don’t know. I only know that an endless round of shopping and parties and gossip will bore me to death. I’ve always been useful. I was raised to be useful. I don’t think I can stop now. Can one be wealthy and useful in England at the same time?” They hesitated a moment to allow Scamp to inspect a tree.
“I suppose one can be useful as easily as one can be frivolous. I know the family estates were in good stewardship when I left, but there’s always…”
“Estates?” She emphasized the “s.”
“Yes, there are, let me…”
“Ah, the soger and his camp follower!” The voice behind them sent shivers down Deborah’s back as she turned to face it. Scamp barked warningly, and she shushed him. Tarleton’s angelic face sneered at the small dog and dismissed him as a possible threat.
**
Kit’s languid turn showed no concern. “Hallo, Ban. I wondered when you’d crawl out of whatever hole you were hiding in.”
“Why you…”
“However,” he crowded Tarleton into the store front, but his tone remained cordial, “if you insist on insulting my countess, I shall be forced to call you out. If I do, I promise you that I will do more damage than the Continental gentleman who took off part of your hand.”
Tarleton pulled his right hand with its three remaining fingers out of sight, but not before Deborah saw the still-angry scar she had stitched and bandaged.
Kit continued, “Don’t think you can take the coward’s way and hide behind your wound, eithe
r.”
Tarleton shouldered his way off the building and straightened his clothes. “Bastard!”
“I think I told you that my mother would disagree. But, in any case, you will be apologizing to the present countess immediately for your boorish behavior. Won’t you?” A small step blocked Tarleton’s immediate escape.
Tarleton glared at him.
“Won’t you?”
Deborah’s stomach turned at Kit’s tone. She knew there were only two possible outcomes of this encounter. Tarleton never struck her as someone who would back down. She held her breath.
Tarleton turned abruptly to her, sketched a mechanical bow, and said, “Your servant, my lady. I apologize of I inadvertently caused offense.” He brushed past Kit and was off.
“Oh my,” Deborah breathed, “I would have hoped he had more sense.”
“Ban? Not likely.”
“Do you think he’ll try it again?” The possibility and its ramifications panicked Deborah.
Kit rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Don’t be too surprised.”
Deborah sucked in air and straightened in alarm.
“Easy, my love,” he soothed. “Ban’s not stupid.”
Deborah saw the muscle clench in his jaw and knew he thought “I hope.”
Chapter 24
Kit sat back in the seat of the carriage he had hired for a season and perused Deborah with appreciative eyes. She smiled while looking out of the corner of her eyes. The low-cut neckline of her Robe à la Anglais filled lushly since she had been nursing Timothy. The peach silk flattered her skin, and Missy’s talented fingers swept her hair high up off her face, with a few ringlets hanging down the back. Madame Collette may not be a true Parisian, but she knew how to produce a most excellent gown.
Kit obviously thought so.
“You will set aside several of the dances for me, will you not?”
“I will set aside two for you, including the one before supper.”
“Only two?” He gave her a teasing look that was half pout and half frown.
“You know it’s not considered the thing to dance more than twice with you spouse.”
He dropped his chin to his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I care if it’s ‘the thing’ or not?”
**
In fact, he looked marvelous to Deborah. Although his uniform made for an incredible figure of a man, formal dress—dark blue satin coat over a snowy white ruffled shirt and silver-buckled breeches that fit like a second skin—created a truly mouth watering sight. She plied her fan more vigorously than fashion and the weather demanded and promised herself a real taste later.
The discussion became moot as the carriage halted at the Nesbitt’s doorway. Robert Nesbitt, a wealthy ship owner, and his wife proved to be amiable hosts. A connection to Viscount Hollings made them socially acceptable in English society, despite being in trade. The ballroom glittered with hundreds of candles and the greenery fitted the winter theme.
Deborah leaned towards Kit and whispered, “She must have purchased all the white lawn in New York for the draping.” Kit snorted and led her out into the next dance forming on the floor.
The movements of the stately saraband moved them apart and together several times when Deborah noticed Lady Claudia standing at the edge of the dance floor. When they next drew close enough for conversation, Deborah mentioned her.
“Yes, I noticed. She’s been trying to catch my eye now for quite a while.”
“Really, I had a most interesting encounter with her in the dressmaker’s shop the other day.” It took three cycles of the dance to relate the bare bones of the story.
“Looks like I’m indebted to the General and his lady.” The dance ended, and he took her arm to lead her from the floor. He moved toward General Sir John Vaughan and his family. “Sir John.”
“Marshall,” the General acknowledged. He looked over Kit’s clothes with a frown. “No uniform?”
“I’ve sold out, sir. Family estates to tend to and all that.”
“Ah!” The General thought for a moment. “That’s right, by Jove. Heard of your father’s death…umm Westridge. Damned sorry about it. Fine man, your father. Lost your brother, too, didn’t you. Condolences.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Understand your lady made the acquaintance of mine recently. Your servant, ma’am.”
He bowed and Deborah curtseyed in return. “It was my pleasure.” She turned to Amanda, attired in her new bronze silk ball gown. “I knew that color would look stunning on you!” Amanda merely blushed, but the smile told Deborah she was pleased.
The door to the ballroom opened and the Nesbitt’s butler strode in. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned. “His Highness Prince William.”
“Met the Prince?” Vaughan asked after they straightened from their bows.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. When I was in London, he was still in short pants. He’s what, seventeen or eighteen now?”
“Humm, seventeen, I believe. Turned out to be quite a handsome young man. Hard worker, too. Always a kind word. Very unlike his older brother. Ahem! Didn’t mean that like it sounded, sir.”
“Mean what, Sir John? I’m sorry, I wasn’t attending.” Kit’s eyes sparkled. “But I’m not disagreeing with whatever you said,” he added in an undertone.
Deborah, who stood closest to them, looked strangely at her husband. “What was…?” He discretely held up his hand. Deborah knew he would explain later.
Sir John turned and saw the Prince making his way generally toward them. “Would you like an introduction?”
Kit nodded, and the group stepped forward..
“Your Highness.”
“General Vaughan,” the fair-haired youth said as he acknowledged the older man’s bow. “It’s been ages since I saw you last. This afternoon at lunch, if memory serves.” The twinkle in his eye made Deborah like him immediately.
“And your charming wife. Lady Vaughan, it is always a pleasure to see you. Lady Amanda, you are looking particularly lovely in that dress. An unusual color, but it looks ravishing on you.”
Amanda blushed again and smiled shyly while she curtseyed.
The General gestured to Kit. “May I present Christopher Marshall, the new Earl of Westridge, and Lady Westridge?”
**
The Prince continued to move through the crowd. Sir John looked at Kit, “Been in New York for a while now. Know of some houses if you’d care to rent ‘em”
Kit thought for a moment. “No thanks, sir. We have a floor at Frounce’s Tavern. I think we’ll be all right for a month or two.”
**
Neither of them saw Lady Claudia listen behind them and then slip away.
**
Another dance set formed on the floor. Kit bowed to Amanda, “May I have the honor…?”
Amanda blushed as usual. Deborah thought she looked for a moment like she would rather crawl into a small, dark closet. Nods from her parents and a smile from Deborah convinced her to take his arm.
“She does look lovely,” Deborah remarked to Lady Vaughan. “I must say she certainly out shown me during our conversations with the Prince. I thought my knees were going to buckle.”
“Nonsense, my dear, he was enchanted with you. Anyone who is able to persuade a royal to laugh like he did has made a conquest. With so many people fawning over them it is not easy to be noticed, and to be noticed means you have enchanted them.”
“I didn’t think it was that funny. It’s just an old saying of my mother’s. And its true, marriage is like an attempt to turn a night owl into a homing pigeon.”
“Well, in any case, you have certainly succeeded in both goals: you have a delightful homing pigeon in your house and a social success in your hand.”
“Lady Westridge, may I have this dance?”
Deborah stood motionless for a long moment. She could hardly believe her ears. Banastre Tarleton was requesting a dance. He didn’t look foxed, but with Tarleton, a body somet
imes couldn’t tell. Doubtless he had already consumed a significant quantity of liquor.
“Thank you, Colonel, but I don’t think that would be wise, under the circumstances.”
“Pray allow me to make amends for my foolish words, my lady.” His angelic smile in that angelic face would have melted the heart of a stronger woman than Lady Vaughan.
“Go on, Lady Westridge. The Colonel is well known to all of us. He even served with your husband, you know. Surely a dance with him would be unexceptional.”
He reached out and grabbed Deborah’s hand. She could not refuse without looking boorish. Couples set up for a quadrille. Kit and Amanda were across the floor with their backs to her. Deborah prayed for divine providence.
The music started right after they took their places. For the first few figures, Tarleton was all smiles and polite small talk. He looked over at Kit several times All of a sudden Deborah had a very bad feeling. The next moment, it came to fruition.
“Well, Lady Westridge,” he bellowed in his best battlefield voice, “have you sent any interesting intelligence back to General Washington yet?”
Every head lifted, the dancing stopped, and the music petered out. For several heartbeats, not a sound could be heard. Deborah lifted her head and stared coldly at her tormenter. Hard steps broke the silence.
“Col. Tarleton, my sympathies are no secret. Nor is my family. But what you will understand here and now is that my loyalty to my husband is absolute.” She held up her hand to stay Kit. “Unless you have some knowledge that no one else, including I, know about, I expect an apology immediately”
Tarleton simply stood there, an ugly smirk marring his beautiful face. Deborah waited a moment, lifted an eyebrow, and tilted her head. She then stepped up to him and slapped him as hard as she could across the face. His head whipped around.
Another moment of silence thundered. It was broken by a single pair of hands clapping. Deborah looked for the sound and saw Prince William. In short order, he was joined by every other person, save one.
“Well done, my love,” Kit smiled at her as he began stripping off his glove. “Now it is my turn. Your Highness, with your permission?” The Prince nodded. “Mistress Nesbitt, forgive me.” The lady gulped visibly, but made no objection.