Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) (7 page)

Amelia lifted the steaming aromatic cup to her lips and took a reluctant sip. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she placed the cup on the tray so forcefully it splashed over the side. "Take this away at once, and in the future kindly refrain from trying your concoctions on me."

Lavender picked up the tray and crossed the floor, feeling dejected. She tried so hard to please her aunt, and yet nothing she did seemed to work. Pausing at the door, she turned. "I will bring your dinner later, Aunt Amelia. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

"No, nothing. Did the post come today?"

"Yes, there was just an invitation to a dance at the Eldridges' next month."

"I suppose you will return it with your regrets?"

"Yes, I will." Lavender knew it would not be wise to go to a party where she would be seen by so many people. Besides, it would not be fun to go to a party where she would have to deliberately appear drab.

Her aunt sighed. "I might have guessed you would not want to go. Was there no letter from your brother?"

"No, not today."

Amelia waved her niece away. "Leave me then. I just want to be alone for a while."

"I will return later, Aunt Amelia. If there is anything you wish, you have only to ring the hand bell and 1 will hear you." Amelia again took up her mending, ignoring Lavender, who moved out the door, closing it softly behind her.

Thunder shook the foundation of the house, while lightning streaked across the sky. A heavy rain pelted the roof as Lavender descended the stairs. She walked across the hall, realizing she would get soaked when she went to the kitchen at the back of the house. Hearing the loud rapping on the front door, she placed the tray on the hall table and hurried to answer it. How could she have forgotten that Julian West was arriving this afternoon? She patted her hair into place and opened the door, managing to look startled to see the man standing there. She had to pretend not to know who he was.

Julian stared at the plain young woman who stood in the doorway. "It took you long enough to answer my knock, ma'am. Do you expect me to stand out here all day in the rain?" His voice sounded irritated, and Lavender knew she must play the part of a shy little bird, when inside anger burned at this man's highhanded manner.

"I do not know you, sir. Did you want something?" Her eyes wavered and she dipped into a curtsy, hoping he would see nothing in her that would remind him of the slender youth he had encountered earlier in the afternoon.

Rain ran off the side of his hat and trickled down his shoulder. He was not in the best of moods and was not accustomed to seeing to his own comfort—others had always done that for him. "Were you not expecting me, ma'am?"

"I do not know. Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself, then I might know if you are expected."

With a growl of impatience, Julian pushed the door wider and stepped inside. He paid little heed to the woman as he removed his wet hat and slapped it against his thigh. "I am Julian West. You must have received my letter."

She pretended to be startled. "Oh, yes, Mr. West. I am so sorry. Please forgive me, but you see, since you did not introduce yourself, how could I know who you are?"

Julian stared at the young woman trying to see if she was indeed sorry, or if she were mocking him, as her tone of voice indicated. No, she was a shy creature who probably jumped at shadows. Her hair was parted in the middle and pulled back in a tight little bun. Her eyes appeared dull behind the eyeglasses she wore. "Am I to assume that I am speaking to the mistress of the house, Miss Amelia Daymond?"

"No. Unfortunately she is too ill to receive you at this time. If you will allow it, I will show you to your rooms and see that you are made comfortable."

"I trust Miss Daymond suffers from nothing serious." The words sounded more mechanical than concerned.

"No, she will be up in a few days."

"Since you are obviously in charge, will you see that a bath is prepared? I will take dinner in my room, since I have correspondence to attend to." He was thoughtful for a moment. "I would like pheasant and fruit if available. I have my own stock of wine and brandy, which will be delivered later."

Lavender's eyes flashed like fire. She had to war within herself to beat down her rebellious streak. There was something about this man that put her on the defensive. How arrogant he was. Did he think he could come into this house and demand to be treated like an honored guest? Did he think she was his servant, whose only duty was to do his bidding? She drew in her breath, knowing it was essential that she appear meek and submissive.

"I will see that Jackson prepares the bath for you, and I will ask Phoebe to bring your dinner to you tonight. However, in the future you will take your meals in the dining room. I can manage the fruit, but I fear we have no pheasant—I trust chicken will suffice?" She kept her voice on an even tone and her eyes downcast so he would not see the anger that burned there. "Those are the rules as they have been laid down by the mistress of the house."

Julian looked down at the puddle of water that had dripped from his boots. "Does your mistress instruct you to be discourteous to her paying guests? Does she tolerate such behavior from a servant?"

Lavender raised her eyes against his haughty glare. "I am not a servant, sir," she murmured, knowing she had been disrespectful and her aunt would not approve. "I am Miss Lavender Daymond, niece to your landlady."

Suddenly, to her surprise, his eyes twinkled with humor and his lips twitched. "Forgive me, Miss Daymond, but your black gown and the way you were dressed—I am sorry if I mistook you for the maid."

She was aware that his eyes moved over her from head to foot, with a glance that seemed to see beneath her gown. "Think nothing of it, sir, it was an honest mistake. My black gown is worn in mourning for my father's passing." She thought she would scream if he didn't stop staring at her. "Have you no trunks?" she managed to say.

"I could find no one who would bring me here, so I left my belongings at Campbell's Tavern."

She glanced at his sodden clothing with new understanding. "Do you mean that you walked all the way here in the rain?"

Julian was growing more impatient with the woman by the minute. "I saw no other alternative open to me."

"Please follow me, and I will show you to your rooms. Jackson will fetch your baggage while you bathe."

Lavender was more sure than ever that this man was not what he seemed. By the way he had barked orders at her, she could tell he was accustomed to having everyone jump at his command. She decided to find out what he was doing in Williamsburg.

"It is not often we have travelers from Georgia stopping by. Do you have business in Williamsburg?"

"I am an artist by profession, and have come to paint the landscape."

By now they had reached the rooms he would be using and Lavender opened the door for him to proceed her inside. "An artist? Well, you have come to the right place, Mr. West. Virginia is lovely in the springtime."

She noticed that it had stopped raining, and she moved to the window and opened it a crack to allow the breeze to circulate. "You have three rooms," she pointed out. "Here you have the bedroom and a dressing room. Through the door at the end of the hallway you will find a room perfect for a studio since it catches the morning sunlight."

After testing the feather bed and finding it to his satisfaction, Julian gave Lavender a curt nod of his head, as if he were dismissing her. "I believe all is in order here, Miss Daymond. Will you send your man Jackson to me at once?"

Lavender walked to the door, glad for an excuse to escape. "If there is anything more you desire, I am sure Jackson will be of service to you. Good day to you, sir. I wouldn't stay in those wet clothes if I were you. You wouldn't want to catch the influenza."

Julian nodded at the woman, hardly noticing when she left and closed the door behind her. He did not care for females who were timid little things, afraid of every man who crossed their path. Lavender Daymond had been the most irritating female; no wonder she wasn't married. What man would tolerate her retiring manner? And she was not even of passing good looks.

He looked around the room and found it to be starkly furnished, but clean and well ordered. He stood before the window and stared out at the gray skies. Everything had gone according to plan thus far. If luck was with him, he would soon face the Swallow again-only next time, he would have the upper hand.

Lavender was more certain than ever that this man was not what he would have people believe. He was regal in bearing and arrogant in his manners. "Well, Mr. Julian West," she said beneath her breath. "You think yourself superior, and you think me a fool. Well, I am no more a fool than you are a humble artist!"

5

Julian made his customary stroll through Williamsburg. As always when he spied a pretty young woman, his eyes would scan her face, searching, always searching, for any sign that she might be the Swallow. He was becoming familiar with the locals, who always had a friendly greeting for him as he walked about sketching the scenery.

Julian paused beside a flowering hollyhock to watch a bee plunder the sweet pollen. In spite of the war that raged all around Virginia, there was tranquility here. They were of sturdy stock, these Virginians. Even though there was an ocean between them and England, there was a feeling of Mother England here, which was reflected in the houses, the shops, and, to a lesser degree, the speech of the populace.

With a glance at the gathering clouds overhead, Julian entered a tavern. Here, too, he was a familiar figure. He had chosen the Chowning Tavern over the more imposing King's Arms or the Raleigh. This was where the workingman, the small farmer, the people in trade gathered. Here Julian could question men and women, while sketching them without arousing their suspicions.

Sitting at his usual table by the window, he knew the food served here was outstanding and varied, consisting of oysters, clams, and hearty stews, as well as succulent mutton chops, fresh trout, cherry tarts, spoon breads, and feathery-light cakes. It was apparent that the Virginians wanted for little. They were blessed with rivers filled with fish and soil that provided fruit and vegetables to endow every man's table, be he from the wealthy class, or be he poor.

Julian took a bite of mutton and savored the delicate flavor. He could almost feel the comradeship in the room as several men joined in a patriotic song. With his meal uneaten, he pushed the pewter plate aside and stood up. He was in no mood to listen to speeches on how America would one day be victorious in battle. His mind turned to his dead brother. Julian had come a long way to avenge William's death. Whether it was revenge or justice, he intended to find the woman who was responsible for his brother's disgrace and see her punished to the limit. This was the driving force in his life, and everything else was secondary.

The duke remembered William as he had been the day before he had sailed for America, bubbling with enthusiasm, sure he would distinguish himself by bringing honor to the Westfield name. Julian's eyes narrowed—poor William had not realized his ambitions. He had killed himself at the tender age of twenty-one, without really having lived.

Julian pushed his gloomy thoughts aside and glanced around the room. He had a strong feeling that the Swallow was nearby. He could feel her presence so strongly that he again examined every young lady's face in the tavern. Glancing out the window, he watched Miss Lavender Daymond rush by, no doubt hurrying home ahead of the rain. Tossing a coin on the table, he stood up, feeling discouraged.

It had started to rain by the time Julian left the tavern. A cold drizzle glistened on the cobblestones, reflecting the bright flowering plants and trees. A lone light shone from a kitchen window. Men and women rushed to their homes, their shoulders hunched, trying to avoid the rain. With his sketchpad tucked under his coat, Julian headed homeward. Today had been another fruitless day; he had gleaned no information about the Swallow. It was as though she were only a shadow and did not really exist, except in his own mind.

As the rain gathered on the rim of his hat and dripped down into his face, he was reminded of the soft rains at Mannington. His home would be at the height of its beauty at this time of year. Loneliness stirred in his soul, and he had the urge to abandon his search and return to England. As he neared the Daymond home, sanity returned. No, he could not go—not yet—not until he found the Swallow, either dead or alive.

The candle flickered low in the dimly lit dining room, where Julian had eaten a solitary luncheon. He placed his napkin beside his plate, slid his chair back, and came to his feet. One thing was certain, Amelia Daymond set an elegant table, even though he had come to suspect the niece was responsible for the delicious meals that were served to him.

He had been residing in the Daymond house for a month, and so far, he had not gleaned one scrap of knowledge about the Swallow. Either no one knew who the Swallow was, or it was the closest guarded secret in Williamsburg, if not in the whole of Virginia.

Julian had met his ailing landlady the week before and had found her to be a cold and pious woman who was rigidly religious and uncompromising. It was very apparent that she used her young niece as an unpaid servant in the house. The poor creature was certainly dominated by her aunt, and perhaps even a little dull-witted. She had nothing to recommend her since she was not overly clever and not in the least comely. The girl couldn't even meet his eyes when he spoke to her, and she seemed unable to raise her glance past his cravat.

Julian stepped into the hallway, almost colliding with the poor wench who was on her knees, scrubbing the wooden floor. She was apparently too involved in her task to see him standing in front of her. She only looked up when she heard his angry hiss because she had sloshed soapy water on the toe of his black, shiny boots.

With horror on her face, Lavender nervously dabbed at his boots with a cloth. "I am sorry, sir ... I didn't mean ... I am just a clumsy simpleton."

Julian muttered an oath. "Leave it be, Miss Daymond," he snapped. "Can you not see you are only making matters worse?" In making an attempt to dry his boots, she knocked over the pail, and Julian found himself standing in a puddle of soapy water, his boots soaked.

"Damnation, girl, now see what you have done!" he exclaimed, taking the cloth from her and quickly rubbing it across his boots. When he looked down at the clumsy girl, his anger melted. The poor thing had such a forlorn expression on her face as she knelt in the water, soaked from head to foot. "Do not concern yourself about the matter, it is of no importance." He dropped the cloth on the floor beside her. "In the future, you might want to be more careful."

As Julian walked away, he did not see the mischievous smile that played on Lavender's mouth nor the devilish light that danced in her blue eyes. "Yes, sir, your majesty, sir," she laughed under her breath. "I will be careful."

The crescent moon offered little light, but Lavender knew her aunt's garden so well, she needed no illumination to stay on the path. The night was warm and scented with the sweetness of flowering plants. Lavender paused beneath a magnolia tree to breathe in its fragrant aroma. Reaching over her head, she plucked one of the silky white blossoms, and was painfully reminded that her back ached and her knees were sore from scrubbing the downstairs floors.

Somewhere in the tall branches of the magnolia tree a nightingale sweetly serenaded its mate, making Lavender feel a deep sense of melancholy. For the first time in her young years she was beginning to feel as if life was passing her by. She realized her feelings of loneliness were somehow tied in with Mr. West's arrival in Williamsburg.

She was finding it very difficult to live the lives of two different women. As Lavender Daymond, she pretended to be a shy little mouse leading an uneventful existence. As the Swallow, she was outfitted with the most expensive and alluring gowns, shoes, and hats, but her life was filled with danger and uncertainty, and she hated it each time she was forced to lure a man into her trap. Every time a man touched her and his eyes spoke of desire, she cringed inside. Her life as the Swallow was much like living on the edge of a snake pit; one slip and she would be cast down into infinity.

She was unaware that the form of a man detached itself from the shadows and approached her from behind. "Good evening, Miss Daymond, 1 see that you are enjoying your aunt's garden, as I am."

She whirled around so quickly, she bumped into Julian West. In an act meant to steady herself, she grabbed his arm. He gripped her wrist and put her away from him, as if being in contact with her was distasteful to him.

"It was not my intention to startle you," he said with a note of annoyance in his voice.

She still had not fully regained her balance, and her hand instinctively went out to him. This time her hand slid across his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, and she jerked away as if contact with him had burned her fingers. "I thought I was alone" came her quick reply. She was confused by her strong reaction to this man.

"1 did not know you were in the garden. I hope you do not think I am deliberately intruding on your privacy, Miss Daymond?"

His voice was deep and mellifluous, and she was intrigued by the sound of it. "No, of course not. You are welcome to come into the garden anytime you like."

"You are most gracious." His tone communicated his disinterest.

"Not at all, sir. You pay for that privilege. Have you found that Williamsburg lives up to your expectations, Mr. West?”

"Yes, for the most part, but I wonder if you could help me out with a dilemma?" he asked cautiously. Julian needed an excuse to meet the young ladies of Williamsburg, for he suspected that among their number he would find the Swallow. Julian's brother William had told him that the Swallow was beautiful beyond belief, and Julian knew she would have to be— how else could she entrap so many men, including William?

"1 will help you if I can, Mr. West."

"The undertaking I have in mind will require a young lady to pose for me. I wonder if you could recommend me to several of your friends who might be willing to be my model?"

"I do not understand."

"I have decided to paint Helen of Troy and will need a young lady who is fair of face and form. Do you know of such a person?"

Lavender was thoughtful for a moment. "No one of my acquaintance would pose for money, Mr. West. It would be a most unladylike endeavor."

"I had hoped to find a young woman with a venturesome spirit who would scoff at convention and allow me to capture her likeness."

Lavender decided to play the shocked maiden, and adopted what she thought would be her aunt's attitude toward his proposal. "You may be accustomed to ladies who hold their virtue lightly, sir, but I can assure you they do not number among my acquaintances."

His eyes were unreadable in the darkness, but his voice held a sting. "Believe me, Miss Daymond, no one would ever mistake you for anything other than a chaste maiden. I was neither suggesting that you arrange a surreptitious meeting for me nor was I offering you the position as my model, knowing what your answer would be."

For some reason his analysis of her character wounded Lavender deeply. Evidently the image she wished to project was working only too well. Mr. West thought her dull and colorless. "What do you want of me, sir?" she asked.

"It is my intention to advertise in the
Virginia Gazette
. 1 expect to interview several ladies until I find the right one for my Helen of Troy. Whomever I choose as my model will be well paid."

"I cannot help you, sir, but perhaps you will get a favorable response to your advertisement."

To Lavender's astonishment, he caught her by the shoulders and brought her close to him. "Do you never unbend, Miss Daymond?" Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt as if she couldn't breathe, while her heart thumped against her chest. "Have you taken your aunt's manner of living to heart?"

She tried to pry his fingers away, but he held her firm. "I do not understand why you are saying this to me when you do not even know me."

For some strange reason he felt pity for her. Someone needed to make her see that, if she didn't change, in a few years she would be just like Amelia Daymond. "I know you, or other women just like you. I have met your kind all over the world. You are closed-

96minded and sanctimonious. You judge others by standards that only a saint could measure up to. You are content to watch life pass you by, while you harshly judge others who dare to test life."

Lavender wanted to hit out at him. She wanted to show him that he didn't know her at all. Angry tears rolled down her cheek, and yet at the same time she wanted to bury her face against his broad chest and have him comfort her. "What have I done to earn your contempt, sir?" she managed to say through trembling lips. "Can you judge me so harshly on such a short acquaintance?"

When he released her, she rubbed her arm where his fingers had bitten into the skin. "As I said, I have known many women like you. I wager you have never had a man's lips touch yours, have you?"

She stepped back a pace. "I.. . no . . . that is none of your concern."

His laughter was quick. "Someday I may just show you that you are not safe from living. I imagine if I were of a mind to, I could shake your pious little world to its foundation."

She drew herself up with indignation. "Apparently you think very highly of your skills with women, don't you? I doubt that you are the man who could ever shake my world."

He took a step toward her, and when she flinched away, his amused laughter filled the air. "You may be right. Perhaps you have lived too long in your orderly little world to ever submit to a man—more the pity."

Her heart raced so madly she could not find her voice. If he but knew it, he had already shaken her safe little world merely by entering it. "What concern is it to you?" she managed to ask in a breathless voice.