The Indian Maiden (25 page)

And for all his supposed wit, he had no more idea of how to help her from that state than he had of how to cure himself of the condition he could have sworn he was immune to, but which would now doubtless bring him low.

FOURTEEN

On a sultry August morning in London, a young American girl known to very few members of the
ton
established a record in society that was never to be broken, although it was also never to be known. For on a humid summer’s day, Miss Faith Hamilton, otherwise known as “the Wild Indian,” received three splendid, bonified offers of marriage within as many hours, and although one of them might have only been from another American, he was a nabob, and the other two were from accredited members of the
ton,
and both noblemen, no less.

This successfully bested an achievement of a previous generation, in which a certain Miss Camille Plunket, opera dancer, received four offers from four wealthy, titled gentlemen all in the same day, since two of them were being blackmailed, and the other two had wagered a monkey on which of them could win her, and a case of champagne on which of them had fathered the babe she claimed to carry. But that was in a gaudier generation, and all those offers came during the course of an entire day. And that statistic was also never to be verified by all the gentlemen involved. As was the case two years previous to Miss Hamilton’s triumph, when a Miss Jessica Eastwood also received three worthy offers all in a day, but they too were issued in a time period lasting from morning until dusk and so also would have failed to qualify, even if they had been made known by the lady, who generously kept the tally to herself even after she’d wed the gentleman of her choice. Thus, even Lady Elizabeth Porter’s famous claim of having received four offers in a row at a riotous ball, all refused, still stands as the goal to which young women should aspire, although, as it was a very long evening and a very inebriated company, clearly it does not merit such attention.

But Faith had no idea of how she would be so singularly honored when she opened her eyes too soon to a dank and sullen summer’s morning. Had it been a cooler day perhaps she would have slept longer and so missed her chance at making history, but the clammy touch of the bedclothes and the thick warm air roused her as thoroughly as a bracingly chill wind might have done. It was no pleasure to lie abed on such moist sheets no matter how late she’d laid herself to sleep on them. So she woke and washed herself thoroughly in cool water, despite her country-bred maid’s repeated muttered misgivings about the unhealthiness of such frequent immersions, hot or cold, as the American girl favored. Then she dressed in her lightest, lowest-cut cotton gauze gown, sat at a little table by an open window, and frowned down at her toast as though it had somehow offended her.

She’d had too much new information received, and too little time in which to assimilate it all. It would have been to her advantage, if not to history’s, to sleep this day away. For dreams, and the sleep which brings them, help the mind to digest an overload of information. But she’d woken prematurely and found the same problems on her plate, perhaps only a little smaller than when seen through night’s magnifying eyes, but no less real and no more appealing.

She’d been betrayed by her hostess and her daughter, been made a figure of fun for society to scoff at, and then been compromised by a gentleman who sought her hand and her purse. Though she’d been saved by her own wit and solaced by another gentleman who meant, she discovered, a very great deal to her, she’d confessed the unthinkable to him and no matter how he dressed it up, there could be little question she’d taken herself down in his estimation by it. Add to that the fact that she’d been made to observe unseemly things that had recalled to mind a similar sight which had also changed her life after she’d seen it. And then, multiply her woes by the fact that somehow now in retrospect, quite incredibly, her remembrance at least of the sight of the previous night’s ardent strangers seemed more titillating than terrifying, and the sum of it was one confused and very angry young woman.

But clearly nothing mattered anymore. Not if half the world giggled at the thought of her as a naked wild Indian, and the other half soon would when they heard of her latest exploit. She wasn’t willing, not now, to delve too deeply into the matter of Lord Deal’s charity to her, except for the fact that she knew that she’d keep the memory of their shared secret hours of the past night close to her always, whatever, she thought ruefully, became of her misled, mismanaged, and miserable life in the future.

Thus it was that her first visitor on that historic day quailed at the first sight of her fierce expression. Lady Mary had hoped that the passage of the night had muted her visitor’s rage, but one look at the cold, immobile features and the glittering eye her guest turned coolly upon her when she entered the room caused her words to catch in her throat. She only managed a “good morning,” and then had to sit in shame-faced silence until the maid, all curiosity, as all good maids were, finally found no further excuse to linger and left them alone together.

“I came,” Lady Mary said with supreme bravery, “to apologize.” After a silence greeted this, and since she discovered she still lived, she gathered up a bit more courage and said, “I was against the idea, truly I was, Faith. But Mama said it was all for the best. And since I agreed that the earl is all anyone might wish for in a husband, I went along with Mama. But still I felt dreadful when she hurried me away last night, I actually felt ill when we ran off from you, like thieves in the night.
I
didn’t want to go, but what could I do? Oh Faith, please don’t be cross with me. I meant it all for the best. And there was nothing I could do, even if
I
did not.”

“Nothing you could do?” asked Faith, her voice the only clear and cold thing in the overheated room, since her anger caused her temperature to rise to match the atmosphere. “Nothing you could do?” she repeated caustically, adding the glow of her fiercely burning bridges to the heat of the day. “Nothing you could do only if you were indeed the child they treat you as. But you’re not. Mary, that was a low and dirty trick you played on me, and if that’s how you folks go on in high society, well then, I’m glad I’m halfway on my way home now. Because my mind is made up even if my luggage isn’t.”

Faith fixed her visitor with a direct stare, and shook her head until her silken hair began to slide from its neat knot. “I’ll be honest with you then, Mary, because I reason that I’ve one foot aboard ship right now, and it’s easier to be candid when you know you’ll soon be gone. You’re a pretty enough girl, and friendly too, but all surface, like all the rest of this society you’ve been so pleased to try to get me caught up in. When I’m safe and home again I’ll feel sorry for you, Mary, yes I shall. Because whatever else befalls me in the future, at least I’ll always know that it’s myself I can blame, or myself I can praise for it.

“But you,” Faith said, more in sorrowful appraisal than anger now, looking her white-faced visitor up and down, “why, Mary, you live a life you don’t even own. It’s all on borrow from your mama, and then, no doubt, it will be your husband that orders it. I expect you’ll be exactly like your mama too some day, because I really think the only chance that you’ll ever get to live a life will be when you live your daughters’.

“Well,” Faith said philosophically, standing up and going to the door to let her guest out before she let all the rest of her anger and contempt out into the open as well, “I hope for your sake that you have daughters, then. Or, that is, that your husband lets you have them. But I hope for your children’s sake you have only sons. Because,” she said, as Lady Mary saw her eagerness to be rid of her and obediently rose and moved dazedly toward the door, “it seems to me that the only folks you let choose their own destiny around here are the men. I don’t know if Will knows he’ll be getting a little girl if you take him, and I don’t know if he’ll mind being a papa to his wife, along with his children. But it seems a rotten trick to play on him too, because like me, I expect he thinks a grown-up person is a grown-up person, no matter if she’s a female or not.

“And,” Faith said, just before she closed the door on her erstwhile friend, “I don’t want the earl for a husband, and I think you knew that right enough all the while. So I think if you thought he was such a worthy fellow, you should have had a care for him as well, and not tried to foist an unwilling wife on him. But Mary, I expect you can’t be a good friend to anybody until you’re a good friend to yourself. And that, you’re surely not, because if you were, why then, I think you’d let yourself grow up, and get on with your own life.”

Then, closing the door, having unburdened herself of this excellent advice, Faith quite naturally felt even worse than she had before. Although she was sorely tempted to call her visitor back and take everything she’d said for kindness’s sake, she knew you could never take back truth, since it had a way of sounding so exactly right that any attempt to rescind it always failed, just as attempting to improve on any perfection did.

She decided to pen a quick note summoning Will, for she was sick of this house and more than eager to put her plans into motion at once. There was no place to go but home. But even as she wrote the words she began to realize that having at last achieved the goal she’d set when she’d arrived here, it had become no victory but only an ignominious retreat. And as she wrote the word “home” on the paper, she discovered that it seemed more distant than ever now in both memory and desire, and further from what she really wanted than she would ever have believed possible.

So it was that her second guest of the day saw only deep and abiding sorrow in her large gray eyes, and none of the rage and contempt that it had been Lady Ma
r
y’s lot to observe.

But then the Earl of Methley was more subdued than she’d ever seen him to be himself, and after he bowed over her hand and she seated herself in the salon and waited for him to speak, his voice was so serious she scarcely recognized its deep and somber tones. His long white face was grave, and there was no scintillation in his eyes, they were, this morning, unusually for him, as innocent and gray as the first moment of dawn.

“My behavior last night,” he said straightaway, “was despicable. I know it. Perhaps I even knew it then. But I’d convinced myself it was all for your own good, knowing all the while it was all for my good as well. I wanted very much for you to accept my suit, Faith, and was anxious enough for our union to try anything that might facilitate it. Whatever,” he said dismissively, as though the subject bored him, though from how painfully he spoke it was apparent that was the only thing it did not do, “it was a cur’s trick, and I more than apologize. Whatever satisfaction you wish from me, you may have. Although the only thing
I
have to offer you is myself, and that is precisely what I was attempting to give to you with all my mechanations. I still want very much to marry you, Faith,” he said solemnly.

She remained very still, but when it became plain that he would say no more until he knew her mind, she spoke at last. Her voice was low and thoughtful; all anger having been burned out earlier, she now was capable only of sad reflection.

“No,” she said thoughtfully, looking up at him where he stood awaiting her judgment, “you were not looking ‘to give me yourself,’ my lord. You were wishful of receiving me. It appears to me,” she went on reflectively, “that the duchess and Lady Mary had me all wrapped up like a gift, and you were all ready to unwrap me. But,” she grinned unexpectedly, looking up at him with a cynical expression very much like ironic amusement sitting oddly on her gentle, lovely face, “I do think you wouldn’t have been at all pleased with your present, my lord. Oh no. For I’m not at all what your sort of gentleman expects. Oh, I would have come with all the trimmings, I’m dowered just as lavishly as you’d think. And really, I can’t blame you for being interested in that part of the bargain—I’m aiming to be a merchant, remember. But the rest of me would be no bargain for you.

“I’m not at all the soft and agreeable sort of female you’ve been brought up to look for in a wife, like Lady Mary. Why, I think you’d have to beat me every morning to get me to agree with you every night, and likely you’d have to hang me by my thumbs or starve me out regularly to get me to sit in the shadows and obey your every command, as you’d expect of a good wife.

“And it’s not just that I seem to have been fearful of lovemaking,” she said with a small smile, pausing for a moment, diverted by the discovery that once an unspeakable thing has been said, it becomes increasingly speakable, and that repetition seemed to kill shame as surely as it slew wit, before she went on to muse aloud, “it’s that I guess I can’t seem to understand how all of you gentlemen think of young women as commodities. You mock me for wanting to be a merchant, my lord, but you and the duchess, who both made it clear you wouldn’t stain your hands with trade, why you trade off daughters and wives like we deal in cotton and tobacco at home, seeing the whole matter as one of profit and loss. And I guess,” she said, her accent becoming more pronounced with each revolutionary thought she voiced, “I just don’t think of myself and my future as being part of a business deal. If
I
ever wed, it will be for the pure joy of it, my lord, and dollars and cents just wouldn’t figure in. It doesn’t,” she said at last, summoning up a real smile for him, “add up that way for me.”

The earl looked at her, she thought, as though he were seeing her for the first time, and something in that thought and in his gaze disturbed her, so she rose to her feet and put out her hand. “I wish you luck, my lord. And as for your apology, no need. I think you did me a favor, after all. Because I’ll be going home now, where I belong.”

“The Viking,” said the earl suddenly, as Faith jumped at the name, though she told herself it was only in surprise, “cultivated you at first because you were suspected of being a spy and he was set to find out if you were. My besetting sin is gossip, but sin can give birth to worthier things, you know. At least,” he shrugged, “that’s how I discovered it. But did you know that?”

“Yes,” she said, though she hadn’t, though it made perfect sense.

“He has no interest in marrying,” he went on. “We are old rivals. That may explain his interest now, it may not. I only attempt to make you see that mine is a present, real, and valid offer, and I cannot say that he would ever offer.”

“I know all that,” she said dully, for that too made sense—she’d expected little else.

“Is there no way I can prevail upon you to stay, and perhaps get to know me on your terms?” he asked seriously, taking her hand into his large one and not releasing it at once.

“No,” she said. “No way,” she agreed quietly, withdrawing her hand.

Thus, when Miss Hamilton’s third visitor was announced, he came out to the small economical garden in the back of the house where she sat in the shade of a single plane tree, and he discovered her fanning herself in desultory fashion, looking sad, lost, and languishing, and as regretful as if she were the one that had caused this warm and airless day.

He was all done up in autumn hues, from his brown jacket to his dark brown inexpressionables to his red and brown checked waistcoat, and when she saw him Faith sighed.

“Good heavens, Will,” she said weakly, “you make me warm just looking at you.”

“I can’t let you go home alone,” he said at once, tightly, as though the heat gave him difficulty in speaking.

“Of course, you can,” she sighed, “but if you can’t, it doesn’t matter, because if you know me, Will Rossiter, and it would be passing strange if you didn’t, you’d know I’m going anyway.”

He seated himself next to her on the wicker settle and took her hand in his. She stopped fanning herself and looked at him in some alarm. He looked older and infinitely weary. There were deep shadows beneath his troubled brown eyes and there was a grim cast to his usually laughing mouth.

“When I discovered what happened last night, Faith, I was beside myself,” he said. “I would’ve called Methley out because of it, but Barnabas kept me up for the rest of the night convincing me he had the matter in hand. It
is
his country and in the end, toward dawn, I had to agree he’d know best what to do about it. But do you want me to stand for you in this matter, Faith?”

“Indeed, I do not,” she cried in alarm.

“Then marry me, Faith,” he said with great sincerity, nodding as though she’d confirmed something to him, “and we’ll return together.”

“Don’t be a nodcock,” she said angrily, shaking off his hand and glowering at him.

“I understand,” he persisted, “that you were shocked at what you must have seen last night, and that, of course, you’re probably even more reluctant to wed because of it, but Faith, listen, I of all people wouldn’t expect more from you than friendship in marriage, and we’d make your grandfather very happy, and who knows what time and maturity will bring to us?”

“Only gray hairs and the grave, Will,” she snapped. “For heaven’s sake, stop being such a gapeseed. Methley took me to see the goings-on in a bawdy house, he didn’t employ me there. Oh now just look at you, Will, you’re redder than a beet, you’re a symphony in overheated colors, my boy. You ought to go douse your head in cold water and then change to something nice and cool before you visit Mary.
I
think she can use some cheering up far better than I can use a human sacrifice today, thank you. I
...
” she went on in less confident tones, “was rather cruel to her this morning.”

Upon hearing this, the look upon her companion’s face was so far removed from that which one would expect of a gentleman who had just offered her his life and fortune that despite herself, Faith began laughing. Then, at his aggrieved expression, she giggled, “But Will, you oughtn’t to look like you were going to murder the lady you’d just asked to marry you. It doesn’t speak well for your good intentions. And at that,” she said, sobering, “maybe I did you a good turn. Because I gave her a great deal to think about and if she’s got any kind of head on her pretty white shoulders, she should be thinking about thinking for herself right now.

“Yes,” she said suddenly, eagerly, “if you can get an audience with her alone, and maybe you can,” she said excitedly, “because I believe the duchess has taken herself off on her rounds all day today, she’s that anxious to avoid me. And you know I won’t interrupt you. So go. This would be the perfect time to confront her with the truth of your intentions at last, Will, along with a nicely worded sincere offer.”

And in a very short order, she related the whole of her morning’s conversation with Lady Mary to him, especially the part where nothing was said, but where she’d read volumes into the expression on the other girl’s face as she’d finally crept from the room.

The butler at the Duke of Marchbanks’ townhouse was sorely grieved. It was not for a servant to know better than his betters, but this day no titled one in the establishment seemed to remember what was the thing to do. The American guest, of course, could be expected to know nothing. But no one else appeared to be doing much better. A stream of gentlemen seemed dead set on having audiences with various females in the house, and the duchess wasn’t there to forbid it, the duke had been gone since morning, and even Lady Mary had gently but firmly overruled any hints on propriety given by himself, the housekeeper, or her abigail.

The only good thing about it, the butler sighed as he went to usher yet another gentleman into precincts where a gentleman ought not to be alone with a young lady, was that it was summer, and in the summer in London there were few around to carry gossip through the heat, and so one could do a great many things that might never be heard of again. Or at least, so one could only hope.

The warmth had grown with the day, and so this time Miss Hamilton was to be found sitting alone on a spindly chair in a
corner
of the anteroom. The room was hers by default. The garden had grown too sultry, she knew that Lady Mary was holding an audience in the salon, and she didn’t dare be so bold as to requisition the library or the drawing room or the grand salon for her personal use. The choice of the anteroom had been a happy accident, since she soon discovered that the high ceilings and tiled floor made it one of the few areas in the house that had any claim to coolness.

The gentleman, however, had no place to sit, and the butler, after having shown him to Miss Hamilton, retreated speedily so that he would not be called upon to provide any seating either. The servitor vowed to tell the footmen not to hurry if they were summoned to do the job. It was enough that he must cater to ill-bred whims, he thought righteously as he beat a rapid withdrawal to servants precincts, it would be more than too much if he were asked to pander to them.

But no one sat, or thought to sit, after the gentleman had entered the room. Miss Hamilton rose, and stood and gazed upon her visitor, and the gentleman simply took her hand and appeared to be content to stand, holding it, and looking down at her. She had been neither angry nor sad nor regretful when he’d appeared, as she’d been in turn for each of her other guests this day. She’d thought herself drained of emotion, and had only been surprised to hear his name spoken, and then briefly, delighted to see his face, and now was dismayed at the sudden, unexpected force of her reaction to his touch.

She’d thought herself enormously sophisticated today. She’d handled each of her visitors with wisdom and aplomb. But one look at his tanned face and the warmth in his knowing eyes and she’d found herself tongue-tied and shy. She was so glad to see him, and so overwhelmed with pleasure at the glad welcome evident in his face and in his eager step as he’d come into the room, that she grew angry with herself for being so overjoyed and vulnerable to him. So she blurted, when she could, “I’m going home, my lord. As soon as possible.”

“What a lovely greeting,” he said enthusiastically, holding on to her hand as though he were restraining her from boarding the clipper ship that was about to bear her off, rather than standing with her in a deserted anteroom in a townhouse in London. “You do know how to put a gentleman at his ease. It’s a lucky thing that I’m a monster of conceit or I’d take that remark personally. Or,” he asked, not laughing now but looking at her keenly, “ought I to after all?”

“Oh no,” she gasped, “it’s never you. It’s Mary and the duchess, and the mess I’ve made of things.”

“And what Methley did?” he asked seriously, his eyes searching her face.