Love’s Betrayal (31 page)

“As a colony of His Royal Majesty, George III,” her father added.

Georgette sneaked a look at her fiancé across the table. He met her gaze as though he had been waiting for her notice. “I am deeply committed to country and family. My wife will have no cause for fear or complaint.”

Despite a strong desire to roll her eyes, Georgette faked a smile and returned her attention to her filet of cod. Hearing a whimper, she noticed that Caramel was not in his usual begging spot beside her chair.

He sat beside Mr. LaTournay.

Mr. LaTournay stayed for only a short time after the meal ended. Her parents retired to the parlor; Georgette could hear them arguing as she climbed the stairs. In her room, she bathed and prepared for bed, then lavished extra attention on Caramel, throwing a ball until even he tired of the game. The little dog scrambled up on the bed and flopped to his side, panting with lolling tongue. “At least Mr. LaTournay likes you, my precious puppy. Some men do not care for lap dogs.” Circling the pug with her arms, she rested her forehead on his heaving side. “Why must he be so attractive, Caramel? I despise him, yet I crave his attention.”

Biddy rapped at the door for the second time that day and held out a folded paper. “Sorry to disturb you, missy, but a man asked me to give this to you.”

“A man?” Georgette hopped to her feet and broke the seal. “Did you recognize him?”

“I should say 'twas the same man what brought that dog, miss. He wore a cloak and spoke quietlike, but I heard the foreign in his voice.”

Georgette sucked in a deep breath as she read. “Biddy, do not tell a soul, but I am to meet him in the garden.”

Biddy's watery eyes widened. “A rondyvoo, miss? I'll be quiet as the dead.”

Not even the morbid simile could diminish Georgette's excitement. With Biddy's help, she dressed and hurried downstairs. Her father dozed over a book in his study. Georgette tiptoed past the door and rushed along the hallway.

Moonlight silvered the rose trellis and threw stark shadows on the stone walkway. Shivering, Georgette tightened her grip on her knitted shawl. Would he come? She peered through the wrought iron gate, but no cloaked figure waited outside.

“Georgette.”

With a startled cry, she spun around. A shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows near the wall. “Hello.” Her voice quavered.

“You came.”

“You thought I would not?”

“I know of your betrothal to Mr. LaTournay.” He stepped closer, a looming specter. “You no longer believe him to be evil?”

She studied her own linked fingers. “I have no choice but to marry him.”

“You have many choices,
petite grenouille.
Does he know of your father's coercion? What man would wish to marry a woman by force? Have you no affection in your heart for the poor wretch?” His voice held a caressing note.

“Lady Forester called upon me today.” The words poured out before she thought them through.

A pause. “Indeed.” Cracking ice sounded warm in comparison to his tone.

“She told me that Mr. LaTournay would not keep his marriage vows to me, that I could never satisfy him.” Aghast, Georgette lifted her hand to her mouth. This was an unknown man, not a father confessor.

He turned with a swirl of his cloak and walked the length of the garden path, spun about, and returned. “Her words contain no truth. You heard the vengeance of a resentful woman,
bien-aimée
.”

“And how would you know?”

“I know much about women and their devious ways. I also attest that any man of sense would be more than satisfied to have you as wife. LaTournay, for all his faults, is generally accepted as a sensible man.”

“You are acquainted with him?”

“I am.”

“You say ‘any man of sense.' Does this mean that I appeal only to a man's brain?”

He murmured something in French. “You play with fire,
ma belle
Georgette.”

“Yes, I feel that fire within each time you speak my name.” She pressed her hands over her heart. “I do not understand myself! Why is it that my heart responds to a man even while my mind doubts him? My mind knows Mr. LaTournay to be an immoral and ungodly man, yet my heart yearns within me when he is near. And you—I know so little of you, not even your name, and yet …”

“Pray do not leave me suspended thus.” His long arm reached out, and his warm hand clasped hers. She wrapped her other hand around his.

“And yet you …” She struggled for words. “You seem like one to whom I may safely bare my soul.”

His grasp tightened, and she heard him sigh. “Georgette, this charade must—”

“Marianne, my friend, tells me that I must pray not only for Mr. LaTournay's salvation from sin, but also that God will teach me to love him. You and I must never again meet alone, kind benefactor, for I am pledged to another. From this time on, my loyalty and love must belong to Mr. LaTournay alone.”

His hooded head bowed low, and silence stretched between them. Rousing, he lifted her hand, turned it, and touched his forehead to her wrist. “I am your slave and your footstool. Be merciful, I adjure you,
belle grenouille
.”

Before she recovered her equilibrium, he disappeared into the shadows once more.

If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?

M
ATTHEW
7:11

G
eorgette dutifully prayed to love Mr. LaTournay. Although her fiancé's moral code still disturbed her, she began to appreciate the possible benefits of marriage to such an intelligent man. As spring passed into summer, listening in on LaTournay's conversations with her father stimulated Georgette's thoughts and broadened her understanding of the turbulent political conflicts engulfing the city of New York.

She depended upon her betrothed for protection from an uncertain future. Not only did he always possess the latest news about the fluctuation of power between Whigs and Loyalists, he also seemed undaunted by it. More than once, Georgette heard her father quote Mr. LaTournay's remarks or advice to associates, citing the younger man as a reliable authority.

One rainy afternoon, Georgette spread the Thursday edition of the
Gazetteer
on the library floor, scanning it for conversational material that might impress her fiancé. Most of the news centered on politics. Everything in life seemed to revolve around politics, since the Provincial Congress now prohibited most social activities. The possibility of war was no longer whispered behind hands in drawing rooms. Now it was shouted in the streets—insults to Mother England, threats to her loyal subjects.

Although the Talbots showed carefree faces to the world, Georgette observed her father's tension in his constant smoking and recognized her mother's fear in her strident tones. For the first time, Georgette saw her parents as frail beings seeking security in every possible place—except the one place they might find it. Her attempts to discuss God and the meaning of life with her mother met with sighs and rolling eyes of rejection. The one time Georgette spoke in her father's presence of seeing God's guiding hand in their present circumstances, she feared he might do her physical violence.

Would life be different with Mr. LaTournay? Despite Marianne's assurances that a godly wife might influence her husband to seek the Lord, Georgette knew such change was unlikely. Not that Mr. LaTournay was unkind—but then, he was not yet her husband. A man would reveal only his best side before the wedding. Georgette's probable fate would be a marriage of mutual toleration, as exemplified by her parents.

Mr. LaTournay spent much of his time away from the city, never offering explanation for his absence. Georgette had not seen him for more than a week. She feared he might be visiting Lady Forester, although the latest gossip, according to her mother, testified that the two had parted ways. Georgette did not have the nerve to ask if he had other female friends. If he did, she thought she would rather not know. But then again, she did want to know.

Of all things, she feared unrequited love. The torture of loving a man who cared for other women! Already Georgette suffered. If he never loved her in return, she would want to die.

Scowling, she attempted to concentrate on the news. Utterly ridiculous, how her thoughts could wander from war to love. As if the topics connected. No reasonable woman expected love in her marriage anyway. To become an interesting companion to Mr. LaTournay, able to support her end of a conversation—now that was a sensible goal. Hence the newspaper.

But Georgette's thoughts and gaze soon wandered off the page again. “
When I wed, my heart will belong to my wife alone for as long as I live.
” The memory of that beautifully accented voice echoed in her dreams night and day.

Since the night she sent her mysterious visitor away, she had heard nothing from him. Although he spoke no overt words of love—at least, not in English—Georgette nevertheless knew that he cared for her. Would she ever see him again? Pressing her wrist to her lips, she recalled the warmth of his touch.

She flopped back on the rug, wrapped both arms over her head, propped her bare feet on the seat of a chair, and studied the ceiling's plaster moldings.

But Mr. LaTournay could not die. Even in her imagination Georgette could not bear the thought of him suffering injury. Yet unless her husband died, it would be evil to leave him for another man.

She decided the cloaked hero should be wounded instead, and the confrontation must take place before, not after, the wedding ceremony.

The library door creaked. “I am so pleased you came by. We were beginning to wonder what had become of you. I have many questions. Georgette, are you in here? She was here a moment ago. I cannot imagine where she has disap—Georgette?” Her mother gasped at the sight of Georgette scrambling to her feet.

Mr. LaTournay stood at her mother's side.

Georgette brushed her skirts, feeling guilty heat pour into her face. She had not bothered to don a hoop and stays that morning, and the pink-flowered gown was one of her oldest. Her hair must be a sight after her gyrations on the rug. “I was … I was reading this week's
Gazetteer.
Good day, sir.”

He bowed. “Good day, Miss Talbot. Do not apologize, madam; your daughter had no warning of my arrival. It is not to be expected that she would sit in readiness at all hours. Today's news must make interesting reading. Did you learn of our governor's return?”

Although his manner remained stilted, his tone was kind. Georgette felt short of breath, knowing how ridiculous had been her imaginings. “I had not heard of it.”

“I asked Biddy to bring us tea in the parlor,” her mother said. “Please join us, Georgette.” In a whispered aside, she added, “And fix your hair!”

When Georgette entered the parlor a few minutes later, the conversation broke off and Mr. LaTournay rose to seat her at the tiny table. Smoothing her skirts, she smiled in his direction as he settled into the chair across from her mother. Caramel plopped between Georgette's skirts and Mr. LaTournay's boots. Her father remained in his favorite chair across the room.

Georgette's mother lifted the teapot. “It is growing difficult to find tea. I fear our cook purchased this on the black market. Do you take cream and sugar, sir?”

“Both, thank you.” Mr. LaTournay handled the fragile teacup with practiced ease. His tanned hands were clean, even to the fingernails. He seemed cool and neat, as always. Georgette never needed to pardon an unpleasant odor while in his presence. Even his teeth were nearly perfect. She studied his mouth as he conversed with her father.

Her parents faded away.