Love’s Betrayal (44 page)

“Because I am happy,” she confessed. He stroked her head, dislodging her nightcap. She felt a deep sigh expand his chest.

Snow dusted the gloves holding the reins—Georgette could not think of those numb hands as hers. The roached mane of her roan horse held an extra frost, though the snow melted on contact with the beast's sweating shoulders. To her befuddled brain, the animal appeared to breathe like a dragon—twin jets of smoke emerged from its nostrils.

Georgette ached in every bone and muscle. A sleepless night followed by a day of riding, all coming at the end of a most uncomfortable journey—she could hardly remain upright in the sidesaddle.

“Not long now,” Jean-Maurice encouraged her.

“How many times have you visited Grenville Grange?” she asked, nudging her horse alongside her husband's.

“Once or twice. Beautiful countryside here.” He scanned the rolling farmland. “Pleasant villages, scenic vistas.”

Georgette squinted at her surroundings. Even with its frosted, winter-bare trees and fields, the island held a lush beauty. “I like our home better. I hope my father is well enough to travel, for I wish to remain not a day longer than necessary. How I long for our cozy fireside and snug featherbeds!” The scarf she had wrapped around her nose and mouth felt stiff with the frozen condensation of her breath.

Jean-Maurice reached across to squeeze her hand. The pressure hurt, but at least she knew her extremities were still alive. “I, too.” He winked at her, and his eyes crinkled above his knitted muffler.

Grenville Grange sat back from the main road, surrounded by a sweep of snowy turf. Towering trees framed its black, gabled roofline. Multiple outbuildings indicated Grenville's prosperity.

The powdery snow had not yet accumulated on the circular drive. Mr. LaTournay tied his horse to a ring before lifting Georgette from the sidesaddle. Her right leg gave way as soon as it touched the ground. “I cannot bear weight on it,” she groaned, clutching her husband's forearm.

“The feeling will soon return.” He walked her slowly in a circle. The skirts of her riding habit swept frost from the lawn.

Two young black men approached to take the horses. When Mr. LaTournay thanked them, they gave him wary looks of surprise and said nothing.

“Slaves,” he said flatly. “And Grenville claims to be a Christian.”

While Georgette's thoughts flurried, a door clicked open behind them. “Gigi! Is it really you?”

Turning, Georgette laughed. “I wish I could say yes, but at the moment I am uncertain even of my own identity.”

“Mr. Pringle told us you were coming—he returned this morning—but Papa thought this weather would delay your arrival. I imagine the ferry ride was miserable.” Marianne picked up her skirts and stepped over muddy ruts to greet her friend. After bestowing a kiss upon Georgette's cheek, she stood back to look her up and down. “Come in and warm yourselves. It is also good to see you again, Mr. LaTournay.”

“My pleasure, Miss Grenville.” He bowed.

“Your parents will be delighted to see you, Gigi. Your father is still ailing, but his color is better and his hair begins to grow back.” Marianne gripped Georgette's hand and led her inside. Mr. LaTournay followed.

“A servant is bringing our things, although we do not expect to remain long,” Georgette said. “We must hurry home, for the Hudson will soon be impossible to navigate.”

Marianne said nothing, but her expression gave Georgette an uneasy twinge. She escorted them into a large sitting room with a roaring fire upon the hearth. Three shawl-wrapped figures huddled in chairs around the hearth. “Mother? Mr. and Mrs. Talbot? Gigi and Mr. LaTournay are here.”

Georgette's mother dropped her knitting and leaped up to greet her. Georgette clung to her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mummy, I thought never to see you again!”

“Darling girl, you look wonderful! So rosy and elegant. You are happy?”

“I could not be more so,” Georgette said. “Mr. LaTournay is good to me, and our home is lovely. We plan to take you there. Papa should recover quickly in the fresh country air.” She cast an apprehensive glance at her father, who had not yet lifted his gaze from the fire.

“And dear Mr. LaTournay.” Her mother extended a hand to her son-in-law and accepted his dutiful kiss.

“Welcome to our home, Georgette.” Marianne's mother spoke stiffly. “Welcome, Mr. LaTournay,” she added with more warmth. “I shall retire at present to give you privacy, but we shall meet at dinner. Would you like chocolate brought to your chambers?”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Grenville. We are eternally indebted for your provision of a haven for my parents during their time of need.” Georgette took the woman's offered hand and curtsied. Her legs cramped, but she managed to rise without grimacing. Mrs. Grenville swept from the room, chin held high.

“Let me show you to your chambers so you can freshen up.” Marianne sounded too bright and cheery.

“Hello, Father,” Georgette said. “I hope you are feeling better.”

Her father gave her a cursory glance and focused on her husband. “You heard what they did to me?” He described his tormentors in profane terms. The three ladies exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“We were deeply disturbed to hear of it,” Mr. LaTournay said. “Only the lowest individuals would perpetrate such abuse upon their fellow man. No excuse can be tendered for this dishonorable offense. If you please, I shall join you here by the fire so that you may relate details of the experience without further distressing the ladies.”

“Come then.” Her father indicated an empty chair.

Mr. LaTournay first took Georgette's elbow and bent to speak quietly. “Go ahead; enjoy your time with Marianne. Your father needs to vent his outrage to someone other than ladies.”

Although her father's rebuff hurt, Georgette tried to feel sympathy. “He has endured great pain and indignity,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

A faint smile softened his expression, and he gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

Marianne chattered as she led the way up two flights of stairs. “I am sorry we have only third-floor chambers left for you and Mr. LaTournay, but your parents occupy our best guest rooms. You have windows overlooking our little valley, and the rooms should be warm, since I ordered Trixie to light fires in them this morning.”

“I am certain we shall be comfortable. I cannot begin to express my gratitude to your family, Marianne. What would my parents have done without your care?” Georgette's legs wobbled as she neared the third-floor landing. “Exactly how long have they been here?”

“Papa found them in late October. Their ship put them off and sailed to Jamaica.”

“Without refunding their passage. Is that not criminal? Can we not report this to the shipping company and receive their refund?”

Marianne pushed open a door near the end of the upper hallway. “Here is your chamber. Mr. LaTournay's is adjoining.” She stepped inside before responding to Georgette's question. “Gigi, your father says they did not refund the passage, but your mother says otherwise. They lived on the money until my father found them. They might have purchased passage on another ship. …”

“Except that my father gambled much of it away first, I imagine.” Georgette completed the sentence with a sigh. “This is a fine room.” She smoothed the counterpane on a large four-poster bed.

“Gigi, are you happily married? Please tell me the truth.” Marianne looked grave. “Mr. Pringle has told me terrible things. …”

“I am content, Marianne. My husband is good to me, and we love each other. We have our disagreements, naturally, and there is much I still must learn about him, but on the whole I would say we are well matched. What can Mr. Pringle have said that is so terrible?” Georgette untied her bonnet and dropped it upon the bed. Until her trunk arrived, she would have to remain in her riding habit.

“I am thankful to hear of your contentment,” Marianne said. She strolled about the small room, tugging at the curtain, poking the fire, straightening a candlestick. “Ah, here is Trixie with your chocolate.” Marianne relieved the slave woman of the tray. “You may go.”

Trixie bowed her turbaned head and slipped into the hall. Georgette could not help comparing her with effervescent Yvonne.

Marianne poured a cup of the steaming beverage. “Do you take sugar?”

“Two spoonfuls, please. When is your wedding date?” Georgette asked as she accepted the cup, cradling its warmth in her hands.

“We have set no date. I am uncertain the wedding will ever take place, Gigi. Mr. Pringle is busy with prepar—” She broke off, gave Georgette a nervous glance, and continued. “He is so busy these days with business that we never speak of love.” Her blue eyes held deep sadness.

“I am sorry.” Georgette did not know what to say.

Marianne hurried to the door. “Dinner is served at six; we dine early in the country.” She paused. “Oh Gigi, had I not promised secrecy, I would warn you of what is to come. Your father is so angry—yet I am certain it cannot be true. No, do not importune me to tell you, for I cannot. Pray for wisdom and courage, my dearest Gigi. I shall be praying for you.”

She slipped into the hallway, leaving Georgette to wrack her brain for an explanation.

Les Pringle bounded in during the meat course, apologizing profusely as he seated himself at the table. He had not even bothered to change out of his riding clothes. “An eventful, auspicious day. Good evening to you all. Ah, Mrs. LaTournay.”

He rose from his seat again and approached Georgette to bow. “Welcome to Grenville Grange. As you see, we have given your worthy parents the best of care. I had not the pleasure of congratulating you upon your marriage before Mr. LaTournay swept you off north. Allow me now to express my sincere wish that your future brings the amount of happiness you deserve.” He kissed her hand with moist lips. The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice disturbed Georgette.

When Pringle returned to his seat, Georgette glanced across the table at her husband. Mr. LaTournay looked as baffled as she felt. Forks and knives rattled against porcelain dishes. Mr. Grenville sent the veal back to the kitchen, complaining that it was overcooked. The pungent aromas of heavily spiced mutton and broiled oysters competed for precedence. Georgette picked at her vegetables, longing for the moment she and her husband could retire for the night. A wave of homesickness struck her.

Dinner conversation revolved around farming and the shipping business. Mr. Pringle spoke with brilliance and animation, drawing the ladies into the discussion whenever possible. Mr. and Mrs. Grenville seemed enamored of him, but Georgette noticed a decided coolness on Marianne's part. She could not help feeling relieved. Marianne must finally have seen through the man's handsome mask to the scoundrel he truly was.

During the sweetmeat and cheese course, Pringle raised a hand to draw attention to himself. “Before another moment passes, we must clear the air and place all our cards upon the table.”

A hush followed the announcement. Pringle's face expressed unaccustomed dignity and remorse. “It grieves me to cause pain to anyone, let alone to a good friend, but it must be done for the good of all. Mr. LaTournay, I have the grim obligation of informing you that your wife is untrue. While pledged to you, she entertained and gave comfort to another man. She is traitor both to you and to England.”

Georgette choked on a bite of almond tart, coughed into her napkin, and took a quick sip of perry. The sparkling pear juice burned in her stomach.

In the deathly silence following her coughing attack, Mr. LaTournay turned to Georgette. “Is this true?” His eyes held a watchful calm.

“I—I—yes, I did see another man, but only to tell him that I could no longer receive him.” Her tired mind spun in circles of conjecture. “If I betrayed England in any way, it was unwittingly done.”

Pringle tossed a few raisins into his mouth and emitted a sharp laugh, talking while he chewed. “The man must have been slow to understand, for you saw him several times last summer. Is it not true that your dog was a gift from this man and that you once entertained him while clad only in your nightclothes?”