The Indian Maiden (8 page)

But as he hadn’t one as yet to take up his time, it pleased him in these uneasy times to serve his country as best he could. Patriotism, he often thought, was not only as Mr. Johnson said, the last refuge of a scoundrel, it was the last refuge of a bored and disillusioned gentleman as well. Although, he just as often thought wryly, that might be just another way of saying exactly the same thing.

At any rate, patriotism provided enthralling sport. Things had gotten very dull since the little Emperor had been given that new distant rocky little island to rule. Despite his groans and protests, he’d not been displeased when his midnight visitor had asked him to investigate the young Americans. In this case, Miss Hamilton had already intrigued him. He’d tried to warn her about gossip and its victims from the moment he’d observed her so recklessly inviting social disaster. That day he’d come upon her unbidden she’d seemed lovely, bright, and spirited, and he’d felt concern for her rise in himself unbidden. Perhaps he’d have sought her out on his own again even if he’d not been asked to, for the sake of her vulnerability. He didn’t think she was a spy. And if she weren’t, she’d not only have nothing to fear from him, but a great deal to gain.

Since he was self-admittedly some strange sort of missionary, he’d already tried to save her some pain and give her good advice for negotiating society’s slippery paths to acceptance, if that was what she was after. Even if it weren’t and she was going to stay in England long enough to be wounded, he would not hesitate to do so again.

Remembering her and his mission, he kneed his mount to greater speed so that he’d have time to prepare for the coming evening. He doubted she was a spy, he didn’t believe she was deeply involved with Methley, but since she was, however alien, only a human female, he scarcely thought her serious about her lack of interest in acquiring a husband. Since she was also undeniably beautiful, he doubted that she had been unable to find one on her side of the Atlantic as well. So whatever her motives, she was at least the best that he ever expected of any female: she was interesting.

FIVE

T
he dance party
at Marchbanks was not slated to begin for an hour. Not all of the hired musicians had arrived as yet, and the household staff was still in a frenzy, with the cook shrilling that his assistants were ruining him and the footmen practically panting in their haste to get all the vases of flowers, extra chairs, dishes, and tables in their places. One young skivvy was being dosed by Nurse after her bout of hysteria brought on by the housekeeper’s berating, while her sister sufferers were dashing through the house answering all the bells that all the ladies were ringing for them.

A great many ladies, of course, were involved in the furor as well. There were mamas insisting on higher or lower necklines for their defiant daughters’ frocks, and wrangling with them over the question of more or less powdering, or the advisability of a dash-on, or a wipe-off, of rouge from their hostile faces. There were maids frowning over their mistresses’ hairstyles that would not do their bidding, threaten as they would with combs and hot curling tongs, and sudden difficulties with slippers that seemed to have shrunken in their wrappings, since they were grown too tight for dancing, and discoveries of cracked fans and vanished ribbands and various other last-minute crises of fashion.

The gentlemen had far less to do, of course. Their valets shaved and dressed them and they now either dozed or read the papers or gossiped with each other in their rooms. Except, of course, for those fellows whose desire to cut a dash far exceeded nature’s expectations. Like Lord Oglivy, whose valet struggled to wedge him into his new jacket, and Mr. Perkins, whose full cravat would not come right about his thin neck after ten tries, and Charlie Bryant,
whose valet was busily padding so many parts of his wardrobe for this night that when he was finally ready to step from his room an hour later, as the exhausted valet later confided to his steady lass, my lord could have fallen from a horse and bounced for a full five minutes before he felt any pain.

Miss Faith Hamilton, however, simply bathed, dabbed on a bit of cologne water, and put on her clothes. Then she allowed her maid to brush out her hair and fasten it up with a green ribband to match her frock. She did pinch her cheeks rather severely, and it must be admitted that she bit her lips fairly often to bring their color up, and patted on a dash of powder to finish off everything to a nicety. But then she was done.

The glass showed the dress fit well; it might be a bit low in front to be sure, but though she didn’t seek to attach a gentleman, Miss Hamilton was no prude and liked a compliment as well as the next person. Looking at her reflection, she thought it would do, but she wished she had someone else that she could ask. The frock, long-sleeved and high-waisted and done in figured apple green silk, would suit an evening in New York perfectly. But though she loved her home and felt no shame for it, she knew there was no comparison as to what might be acceptable in a small city like New York and what was considered fashionable to persons used to a metropolis such as London.

If Molly were here, of course, she would have known immediately. Although Molly herself always dressed simply, she had a sure eye for fashion and never guided one wrong. Perhaps, Faith thought on a sigh for her absent companion, that was precisely why she herself never dressed spectacularly. But Mrs. Molly Cabal, widow, Faith’s companion for the past seven years, had taken one wrong step down from the family carriage on a shopping expedition just a week before she was to set sail for England with her charge. And though she pleaded her hardihood and begged leave to come anyway, both Faith and Grandfather had refused to allow her to cross the ocean with her poor leg in splints. She’d been writing regularly, vowing in each letter that she’d join Faith soon, even as Faith wrote back each time and told her that she’d likely be home by the time the splints were off.

But Molly, good sensible Molly, was an ocean away, and young Meggie, though an excellent maid and devoted enough to venture across the sea with her mistress, was no
arbiter
of fashion, being too fond of glitter and too fearful of giving insult. She liked every frock Faith put on, and if pressed to the limit, only spoke hesitantly and a bit wistfully about perhaps a feather here or a sequin just there. No, Faith needed an informed opinion so that the American girl wouldn’t be considered a dowd and a disgrace to the sophistication of her country. So, catching up her fan and her wrap, she gave Meggie good evening and made her way to her new friend Lady Mary’s room.

She’d been afraid of imposing, but when she was admitted to the lady’s rooms, she saw several other young women guests clustered around her hostess. And since they all greeted her enthusiastically and complimented her on her high good looks immediately, she soon joined them in laughter and gossip, relieved to see that she wasn’t the only one to seek reassurance from her hostess. But she was.

The only other female seeking confirmation about her appearance had been that accredited beauty, the Honorable Miss Merriman. She had been in the room not ten minutes previously. But she’d already gone, having discovered an invisible spot on her fawn silk gown after having seen what her hostess was wearing. She’d returned to her own rooms immediately to change to a dazzling white frock to take the shine out of her hostess’s light blue one.

The ladies remaining in the room did not have to resort to such paltry subterfuges. Though Faith could not know it, these young females, the most amiable of those she’d met, were also the most secure. They dressed and came to see their hostess out of no desire save that for amusement. They had no more need for compliments than the ocean did for water. But by no means did this mean that these were all the most lovely and admired among the company.

Miss Fontaine was the wealthiest, and though, just as some of the crueler gentlemen said, her face had to be memorized to be remembered, even by her mother, she never worried about what she wore, since as they also put it, she could afford not to. Lady Harriet might be too tall, those same rattles whispered, but she was far too titled to care. And. the Washburn twins were the quipsters’ delight, in fact, it was often said the wits declared it an absolute holiday the day the two were introduced to the
ton.

The two young ladies were identical in looks and temperament. They were jolly, easy-going creatures with not an evil thought in their heads. In fact, it was entirely possible that they would have even forgiven the jesters for what they said about them. For how precocious the pair were, one clever fellow had sighed happily, why only see how they, at the tender age of eighteen, had already managed to acquire middle-aged bodies. Oh no, another wag had called out in horror, that was wrong, it was only that the pair had originally been triplets, but from their ample conformations it was apparent that they must at some time have devoured their other unfortunate sibling.

The only daughters of an honored duke, even their friends conceded the pair were unlucky in their appearance. They were heavily built, shaped like a pair of brass doorknobs, just as the wits had it. Their hair was naturally frizzed to a fare-thee-well, and above their plump cheeks they had identically small blue eyes that peered out at their privileged world from behind their grand, imposing bulbous noses.

They were commonly known as “the oath-breakers” because, the tale was told, on the day of their presentation, a notorious rake had seen one of them cross the room in front of him and was said to have whispered, shuddering, “Gad! I’ll swear I’ll never see an uglier chit.” And then her sister came in and proved him a liar.

But had either twin heard any of this, and it was so widespread a tale that it was entirely possible that they had, they would have put it down to
raillery
, or gentle funning. For to the eternal credit of their family, the pair knew with an absolute certainty and a faith that few priests enjoyed, that they were entirely beautiful. Made much over since birth, treated with love and warmth, the two returned those two admirable qualities to the world in full measure, and so were, despite their looks, quite popular young ladies. They made a fellow feel at home, and knowing them for any length of time, as one chap had said in amazement, one quite forgot what they looked like and began to believe they were just as pretty as they thought they were.

They knew they were lovely, wealthy, and much sought
-
after, and their only aim was to wed close to each other. But being no more wise than they were beautiful, they meant this quite literally. Neither would consider any beau who was not geographically near to another gentleman who could be available to her sister. Marry they would, for marry they must, but they were determined not to let a simple thing like that separate them.

And so soon as they had done with telling Faith how nicely she looked, they returned to the discussion of their primary woe this evening.

“Mama was in alt at Lord Deal’s coming this evening, and how lucky we were that he’s returning to society the very Season we came out,” Lady Barbara said sadly. “But though he’s quite a catch and exceedingly handsome, the thing of it is that Bunny and I thought it out and there’s no escaping the fact that he lives leagues away from everyone, excepting for you, of course, dear Mary.”

“And we can’t marry you,” Lady Be
rn
ice giggled.

“Still, as Mama says, he has some land in Kent, and quite a nice holding in Scotland, as well as his London townhouse,” Lady Barbara said, brightening.

“But Babs,” her twin insisted, frowning, “Stonecrop is his principal seat.
”

“There’s that,” Lady Barbara sighed, and in their matching moods of dejection, the pair looked like a mirror image of despondency, despite their blush-pink gowns.

“He’s got a handsome fortune too,” Miss Fontaine put in, not because she was a mercenary girl, but because it was her second Season, and she had learned to look at a man’s bank balance before she gazed into his eyes, so that she would know sincerity when she saw it.

“But he’s half Scots,” Lady Harriet put in consideringly.

“What’s that to say to anything?” Miss Fontaine asked, since, unlike the other geneologically involved lady, financial matters, not familial ones, were her major concerns.

“It’s not quite English,” Lady Harriet said, “although, I suppose it hardly matters, not with that smile he has.”

“But Harry,” Lady Barbara said pettishly, “Scottish is English enough, and I tell you if he had anyone decent living nearby, we’d snap him up, it isn’t as if he were ineligible because of it, it isn’t as if he was
foreign
or anything, or, ah
...
” she said, pausing as she heard her hostess’s intake of breath and then realizing her gaffe and looking guiltily at Faith, she said, in an attempt at a recover, “not as though there’s anything wrong with foreign, there are a great many very nice foreign people about
...”

“And if Scottish is not precisely foreign,” her sister said, in a madly merry tone, which was meant as hearty reassurance, “America is not either, even though it’s far, but it’s English, or was, like Scotland, do you see? And anyone might marry an American if they wished to, I suppose,” she ended triumphantly, as everyone else in the room except her sister looked embarrassed.

“I do believe,” Miss Fontaine said suddenly, “that I’ll go to my room to get my wrap,” and quite forgetting that she had it over her arm, she rose and, smiling at everyone, though most especially warmly at Faith, she left, and was soon followed by Lady Harriet. The twins, in a pelter of explanations which each one began only to have the other one hush, soon followed as well, trailing excuses and such outsize admiration for the continent of North America that it seemed to Faith that one would not be surprised if they were leaving to emigrate instead of to prepare for the party, as they’d said.

Once they had gone, there was only Lady Mary and her maid and Faith left to stare at each other. And then, to that abigail’s surprise, the American girl began to smile, and her mistress began to giggle, and then the two went off into whoops of laughter.

“I suppose anyone could marry an American,” Mary laughed, and then in a bit more sober tone, she asked, “Do you mind very much, Faith? It isn’t as though they meant to offend, or they wouldn’t have said it, for they’re good-hearted girls. But they don’t think very much.”

“I don’t mind in the least,” Faith said seriously, “because I think that if they thought me very different, they’d have been more careful in my presence. It’s because they forget how alien I am that they mentioned it.”

“It’s not that you’re alien,” her hostess replied in some consternation, “it’s only because you’re not English.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Faith asked, with an admi
rably
straight face.

“Why yes, why no,” Lady Mary stammered. “But,” she insisted as Faith laughed, and even the maid had to turn her head away to bite her lip, “I certainly wouldn’t mind marrying an American and I don’t know anyone who would, except for Harriet, and she’s not likely to say yes to anyone but a royal prince.”

“Well, that’s quite all right,” Faith said, smiling, “because I wasn’t planning on asking her.”

And then even Lady Mary’s maid forgot to hide her grins.

“You’re in luck, lad,” Faith whispered to Will Rossiter as she came up to him where he stood at the edge of the dance floor and watched the guests as they arrived.

“And why is that?” he asked, bowing over her hand just as he would to any of the other lady guests he’d met this night.

“Because,” Faith said, noting with approval how very fine her old friend looked in his formal dress, “I have it
firsthand
that the Lady Mary wouldn’t mind marrying an American in the least.”

Will stopped midway in his bow and looked up at her, his brown eyes so alight with sudden hope and interest that Faith said at once, feeling very small for having gotten his hopes up for the sake of a jest, “But not
which
American precisely. I’m sorry, Will, but it’s only that I discovered she has no prejudice against former Colonials.”

“At least that’s something,” he said straightening. And patting her hand before he released it he said softly, “So if you don’t mind, I’ll just go and make sure my name is on her dance card. And for good measure,” he added, “not that I mistrust your ears, Mischief, but I think I’ll just slip in a word about how I am actually English, since if you’ve forgotten, my Indian maiden, I have not.”

Faith smiled her encouragement to him, and watched him make his way to where his hostess stood with her parents near the door to the ballroom as they received new arrivals. Then she looked about herself with interest. The duke and duchess had invited new faces to this ball. There were several new houseguests who’d arrived in the afternoon, as well as a few dozen local lights who’d been invited for the night. So though the ballroom had only been embellished by some tall vases filled with flowers and the arbor of fresh leaves concealing the musicians that Lady Mary had spoken of, still it had begun to take on a festive appearance, if only from the number of the guests arriving, and the fine clothes they all wore.

Faith had begun to wonder again at the appropriateness of her relatively simple gown when a familiar voice cut into her doubts.

“Lovely. You look fresh and original, very much a creature of the New World. Now why is it, I wonder,” the earl asked as he loomed up over her and took her hand, “that you hover here at the sidelines? Is it that you are too polite to cast the other ladies in the shade?”

But as this was said in the same languid drawl that the earl affected for all his statements, she did not know whether to believe him or not. And since she’d seen other ladies in fine brocades and drifting spangle-strewn gauze, with feathers trailing from their hairdos and jewels gleaming on their fingers and breasts, she tended to doubt him. She could not know that, for once, the gray eyes held no mockery. Young and supple, her honey hair smooth and gleaming in the candlelight, she seemed, in comparison to every other lady present, so sweet-limbed and innocently beguiling in her silken green frock as to be welcome and fresh as a green young tree in spring.

And so many another young man thought, for as she stood and studied the earl’s pale, impassive countenance for some hint of the sincerity of his compliment, she was unaware of the fact that several of them were edging closer to her as well.

“Well,” she finally commented with a laugh, deciding it would never do to take this cool gentleman seriously in the least, “thank you, but I wonder just the same if I oughtn’t to have stuck a few feathers in my hair tonight.”

“As in the song your countrymen sing?” the earl asked. “Or is it that your countryman calls you his Indian maiden for some other reason?”

Does he miss nothing? she wondered even as she answered, joshing, deciding not to go into a long story about a childhood fantasy Will still teased her about, “Oh, but I’m part Red Indian, never say you didn’t guess it?”

And as a few of the surrounding gentlemen laughed with her, and the earl nodded at her with approval, she felt emboldened enough to add, “Mohegan on my mother’s side, you know, and Algonquin on the lefthand side.”

She didn’t realize the double meaning implicit in her jest, nor that now some of the laughter covered genuine shock, but as the earl continued to gaze at her with admiration, she elaborated. It was not long before she had drawn quite a collection of young gentlemen, all laughing and calling questions out about the village she had invented for her ancestors to come from and the customs of her mythical people. She was having such a great deal of fun that she never noticed that there were no other females in the circle of merry guests around her, nor that the music had struck up and that sets were already forming for the first dance.

So it was that she was a more than a little surprise
d
when she stopped for breath as she was about to launch into another story about the beavers her family trapped to make English gentlemen’s hats, and a cool voice asked her for the pleasure of a dance. She looked up to see Lord Deal standing before her, and her first thought was only that she hadn’t noticed him in the crowd around her, and her second thought, even as she automatically breathed “Yes,” because she didn’t know how to gracefully say no in front of all these people, was that he seemed, curiously, to be annoyed with her as she agreed to dance with him.

But then, the earl looked piqued as well.

“Ah too bad,” he said, even as his expression belied his words as that momentary expression of chagrin slid off his long face, leaving it as smoothly cool as ever. “Your tales of your country enthralled me so that I quite forgot to ask for the first dance with you, Miss Hamilton. Then may this tardy admirer ask for the second one?”

“And then me!” young Lord John Percy cried. “And me! I’ve got to hear more,” Gilbert North put in, stretching up on his toes so that she’d catch sight of his face and give him the nod. “Don’t forget me,” another young gentleman that Faith hadn’t even been introduced to yet chimed in.

Laughing agreement to everyone and shaking her head to signify her delighted confusion, Faith excused herself and let Lord Deal lead her to the dance. But as it took some time before the first sets could form, she found herself standing beside her partner, temporarily speechless. For he seemed to be studying her with some disapproval. And too, just as she hadn’t been able to ignore the sudden lifting of her spirits when she had first heard his voice, she’d almost refused him then because of the equally instantaneous and unsought shiver of unease and nervousness she experienced when she first saw him. She could not seem to shake it even now as she regarded him more closely, though covertly.

He’d looked dashing and totally right upon a horse, but oddly, at one and the same time, though he appeared out of place in a ballroom, he was quite in his own style, and so was thrillingly distinctive in his formal attire. For a gentleman in a black jacket with a velvet collar ought to have a gentleman’s pale complexion to go with it and not be so dazzling with his tanned pelt highlighting the absolute whiteness of his high neckcloth. And that neckcloth, though correctly draped in a
waterfall,
was meant only to show a languid gentleman’s homage to fashion, as a sort of frame upholding a pallid and interesting countenance, and not for emphasizing a strong, tanned column of neck supporting a well-shaped head with a great quantity of sun-wracked hair.

In short, the gentleman, though precise to an inch of fashion, breathed vigor and vitality. It was as though someone had almost tamed some elemental creature and brought him, under the barest restraint, into the salon. It was not at all the thing, but it was, as every young lady present sighed, exactly right for him, and, as many of them also hoped, exactly right for themselves as well.

“If it would make it simpler for you,” he said, a smile at last transfiguring his face, changing the threat in it to mere danger, “I’ll stand behind you and address the back of your head and your left ear. Because I don’t remember that you had any difficulty talking with me when we last met. But if I angle around behind you for a chat, I believe that would eventually cause more conversation than we’d make.”

But now Faith had managed to bury and forget the fear she’d momentarily known, as she always did when it came to her unsought, and she answered readily enough.

“It was only that you looked as though you were more likely to drag me to the woodshed than to the dance floor,” she replied, and then, remembering herself, was about to explain her reference, when he answered, “So I was Miss Hamilton. But then I remembered that it was not my responsibility to give you a sound thrashing for telling tales,” and here he bent such a smile upon her that two closely observant gentlemen vowed immediately to go out the following day and lie in the sun until they smoked, if only it would make their teeth gleam so brilliantly when they smiled down at a lady. “It’s not my intention to act as your relative. I might be interested in that status, but I don’t wish to achieve it by pretending to have been
born
to it,” he said, knowing that he was walking on a very thin social edge, but determined to keep his balance, “but only of attaining it by more legal recourse, perhaps someday.” Faith blinked. But the gentleman could not be serious, in fact, he was definitely laughing even as he spoke, and it might be at her. And this was only conversation, and she was very good at that.

“Are you trifling with my affections, sir?” she asked, placing one limp hand high upon her breast and opening her eyes very wide, in blatant imitation of every simpering miss she’d seen at the house party.

“Of course,” he said, “only we English call it flirtation.”

“But I thought you were vexed with me.” She grinned, batting her eyelashes so violently in jest, it seemed she saw him through a flickering frame.

“I was,” he said sternly then, “I am. But for your own sake. I can only repeat,” he went on, as her smile faded at the seriousness in his voice and his long hazel eyes, “don’t push them too far, Miss Hamilton. Make a May game of them now, and they will make a long winter’s night of this summer for you. All of them,” he said as he took her hand to lead her into the opening steps of the dance.