Love’s Betrayal (25 page)

Mr. LaTournay had been watching her? Georgette reached for her throat and struggled to swallow. “But Mother, his reputation!”

“I would discount much of the gossip you hear. Every man worth his salt sows a few wild oats before he settles down. You must not hold that against Mr. LaTournay. Is he not exceedingly handsome?”

“I have never met the man, Mummy, and I never wish to.”

Her mother turned with a sweep of her skirts. “Come now. Your father has the carriage waiting.”

Georgette drifted down the steep staircase with her gloved fingers skimming the handrail. Her anticipation of the dance had all but vanished. How often had she seen young women whisper behind their fans, cast fatuous glances at Mr. LaTournay's elegant figure, and burst into giggles?

“Georgette, do hurry!” Her father's call rattled the rafters.

From their vantage point near the punch bowl, Georgette and her friend watched dancers spin and promenade across the floor. “I dislike sounding critical, but I believe the Harrisons invited too many ladies for the number of men tonight.” To Georgette's relief, Mr. LaTournay seemed to be absent. Once when she spotted a tall man amid the throng, her heart had leaped to her throat, but the alarm proved false.

“There are few eligible men in town since this dreadful rebellion.” Marianne Grenville fanned herself. “We must keep praying that the governor will return to the province and set things right. He has been away for months.”

“Politics! I despise them. All this talk about the onset of anarchy. I should think any man of courage would refuse to put up with such nonsense.” Georgette fluffed her skirts. “And as long as gaming tables remain open, my father is unlikely to take Mother and me back home to England. He says it is business that keeps him in town, but I know better. Marianne, if ever I am tempted to wed a gamester, please kick me.”

“Surely it is not so bad as that.”

“Surely it is. You may wish to believe ill of no one, my dear, but in this case thinking the worst is warranted.” Georgette tried to sound indifferent. “My mother prattles about the importance of my making a brilliant match. As though any man would notice me when there are many local beauties of family and fortune for the asking. Such as you, for instance.” She tapped her friend on the arm, smiling lest Marianne take offense.

“You are beautiful, Gigi, though not in the conventional way.”

“So my mother tells me. And what precisely does that mean? Never mind; I think I should rather not know. It is certain that my style of beauty is not one to inspire sonnets and duels.” She paused. “Not that I care for either.”

Marianne blinked and attempted a smile. Dearly though Georgette loved her, Marianne would benefit from a dash more humor and romance amid her charms. “Someday, somewhere, you will meet the man you should marry, Gigi.”

“Oh Marianne, I fear that the man of my dreams does not exist. Is there a man yet living in this world who will love only one woman all his life?” Closing her eyes, Georgette clutched her fan to her chest and inhaled deeply, releasing her breath in a sigh. “I would make that man happier than he could imagine, if only he would love me for myself. Do you never dream of such love?”

Marianne's blue eyes expressed shock. “I try not to dwell on things of that sort, Gigi.”

Georgette's shoulders drooped. “Perhaps it is not beneficial to dream, but at times dreams are my only escape. Reality is distressingly prosaic. Perhaps I should aspire to the stage.”

Marianne glanced away. “I know you grow tired of hearing this, Gigi, but your burdens would seem much lighter if you would share them with God. He cares about your troubles and would help if you—”

“I know.” Georgette crossed her arms over her chest in unladylike fashion. Her whalebone stays pinched. “I do think about what you tell me, Marianne. Truly I do. Sometimes I feel God's presence and I want to believe, but it is all so strange. …”

Marianne touched her arm. “Here comes your father.”

Frederick Talbot strode toward them, appearing strangely pleased. “LaTournay, I have been looking everywhere for you.” His eyes focused beyond the two startled girls. “Have you and Georgette already been introduced?”

“I have not yet had the pleasure.” The calm reply came from directly behind Georgette. Her blood congealed. Uncrossing her arms, she hurriedly looked down to make sure nothing was showing that oughtn't, then met her father's hopeful gaze.

“In that case, Georgette, please allow me to introduce Mr. LaTournay,” he said. “He and I have conducted business for several years, though only recently have we met in person. He and his grandfather before him have been our best suppliers of fine wool. Mr. LaTournay, my daughter Georgette.”

Murmuring something polite and keeping her eyes lowered, Georgette turned and extended her hand. Long fingers squeezed hers. A kiss tickled her hand as the man bowed with continental elegance. Brown hair had been brushed back from his high forehead into a neat pigtail. He spoke quietly. “Miss Talbot, will you honor me with your next dance?”

Georgette glanced at her father, who nodded. “I … yes.” Mr. LaTournay lifted his head and met her gaze. She jerked her hand from his grasp and placed it over her heart. To her horror, his dark eyes followed the motion before he quickly looked away. Even after her father introduced LaTournay to Marianne, Georgette trembled in reaction. Instead of lilting violins, she heard blood pounding in her ears.

The men moved away. Georgette dragged her gaze from the back of LaTournay's emerald velvet coat and stared at the floor, struggling to check her scrambled thoughts and emotions.

“We have actually been introduced to Mr. LaTournay—and he asked you to dance!” Marianne said. “My mother says he is one of the most eligible bachelors in the entire colony. He is acquainted with Governor Tryon and with, oh, everyone of importance.”

Georgette recovered her voice. “I care nothing for his connections. When he looked into my eyes, I felt …” Her vocabulary failed. “He has a huge mole on his face, and he wears a
beard.
Why would Papa wish me to know such a person?”

Marianne waved her fan before Georgette's eyes. “Many pardons, but do we speak of the same man? Mr. LaTournay is far from ugly. It is true that he seldom smiles, and his manners are somewhat stiff, but you could make him smile if anyone could, Gigi. He is a man with a great future, my father says.”

“And a wicked past.” Georgette rubbed her arms. “As if Apollyon himself took the form of a man. I do not wish to dance with him. I would rather stand here all evening than allow that fiend to touch my hand again.” She backed up toward the wall.

Following, Marianne shook her head. “You are allowing imagination to nullify discretion. Just dance, Gigi. You will probably never see him again. Keep in mind that he has honored you with his request, and relax.”

“I wonder how much of our conversation he overheard. He was standing behind us, Marianne, eavesdropping.”

“Did we speak of anything shocking? Gigi—”

A British officer approached Marianne to request a dance. She accepted, fluttering her fan, leaving Georgette alone. With vague thoughts of escape, Georgette turned and bumped into LaTournay's brocaded waistcoat. Heat enflamed her body and face.

“Miss Talbot.” He bowed and extended his arm.

Forcing herself to smile, she placed her hand on his velvet sleeve, and he led her to the dance floor. The musicians struck up a lively country-dance tune. Although her feet performed the dance steps, Georgette's mind went blank. Her careful training in the art of conversation was for naught.

Other couples chatted throughout the dance. Georgette and her partner remained silent. Crazed imaginings flitted through her mind. Sometimes women allowed men to escort them into the gardens. What would she do if Mr. LaTournay suggested such a move? Scream?

“How tragic that I have conducted business with your father these many years and never before met you.”

His comment startled her into missing a step. He guided her back into place. Before she could reply, he continued. “Instead of bemoaning my loss, I should take pleasure in the moment. New York is privileged to have you, Miss Talbot, and I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

She avoided his eyes. “Although my father has traveled to these American colonies numerous times, my mother and I first arrived in this province with the trade ships last April. I know of you by repute.”

“My usual practice is to summer in the country and return to town for trade with foreign merchants,” he said. “Winter will soon be upon us, so I must return north before the river becomes impassable. Alas, I am expected home before November. In these remaining days before my departure, may I call upon you, Miss Talbot?”

Georgette welcomed winter's approach. “We are unlikely to meet again. My family will return to England as soon as my father has completed his business here. We long to see home. Are you native to New York, sir?” She bit her lip, but the question had already escaped. She hoped he would not misconstrue her curiosity as personal interest.

“My mother was born in the Hudson River Valley.”

She smiled cautiously at the nonanswer and tried to imagine this virile Mephistopheles ever having a mother. “Your name is French. You must be descended from the Normans. My mother loves everything about France—except the government. I was tutored in Paris, but since I have the face of a pug dog, nothing succeeded in making me fashionable.”

“Lapdogs are de rigueur in Paris, I hear.” His voice quivered. Was he amused? She dared not meet his eyes to see.

“I once owned a spaniel, but my father refuses to buy me another.”

“You prized this dog?”

“I adore animals,” she said, eyes narrowing.

“I meant no offense, Miss Talbot. I, too, esteem dumb beasts.”

The dance concluded, and he escorted her from the floor. “May I call upon you before I leave town, Miss Talbot?”

Georgette avoided his gaze. “Perhaps.” She curtsied.

Someone bumped her from behind. Unbalanced, she pitched forward and bounced into Mr. LaTournay. The American's gloved hands gripped her bare shoulders and pulled her upright. Overpowering sensations whirled through her mind and body, and something pounded against her palms.

A man's embarrassed voice apologized. Georgette vaguely heard LaTournay give a sharp reply. Then his voice near her ear prompted another shiver. “Are you well, Miss Talbot?”

She felt his breath upon her face. Opening her eyes, she nodded. The hint of a smile curled his mustache. He released her shoulders to grip the hands pressed flat upon his chest—hands Georgette suddenly recognized as her own.

“Oh!” She snatched her hands from his grasp and pressed them to her cheeks. With a whirl of skirts, she hurried blindly away. At last, in the recesses of a drawing room, she paused to wipe tears from her cheeks. “What has come over me? Dear God, hide me from this evil!”

“No sir, the master is out, and I am ordered to tell you that Miss Talbot is ill with the headache and cannot receive callers,” the butler, Montrose, said in a monotone.

“Give these to Miss Talbot along with my best wishes for her return to health.”

Georgette listened from just inside the parlor door, clenching her teeth in guilt. That somber voice held unmistakable disappointment. When would the man give up? For five days in a row, he had attempted to see her.

As soon as the front door closed and Georgette heard Montrose pass the parlor on his way to the kitchen, she peeked around the door. After a late night out, her parents had not yet risen for the day, although it was nearly noon. Padding toward the stairs in her bare feet, she stopped short.

A bouquet of asters lay upon the entry table beside a plain calling card. “‘J. M. A. LaTournay,' ” she read softly. Her fingers brushed the delicate blue petals. Such lovely flowers were difficult to abandon, but one of the maids would surely put them in water soon and carry them up to her “sickroom.” For now, she had better return to bed before anyone suspected the truth.