Authors: Untamed
The following evening, with the relief of one freed from the worst sort of drudgery, Barbara directed Hattie to pack her bags.
“No, no, I won’t take that one.”
She stopped the maid before she could fold the much-worn lavender kerseymere into her valise. The hem was almost in tatters from the pesky vines and Barbara’s jaunts about the plantation with her rambunctious students.
“Do you wish to have it?” she asked the maid. “You’re much shorter than I. You could turn up the hem and take in the waist.”
She smiled as Hattie held the gown against her front and peacocked in front of the mirror. The woman’s bruises had finally faded and repeated brushings had given her brown hair a lustrous sheen. With her tiny waist and small-boned features, she was quite attractive.
“You might cut the sleeves at the elbow,” Barbara suggested, feeling quite generous now that she was all but on her way to Bermuda. Her only regret was that she’d say goodbye to Zach at this ball or very soon thereafter. Those hours in his arms had been the one thrilling diversion in this otherwise endless sojourn.
“Perhaps you should lower the neckline a trifle,” she said with another glance at the preening maid. “I understand every female at the post attends the ball. You might well collect a beau or two.”
Hattie nodded, her gaze on her reflection. “You’re right. The neckline needs to be lowered, but then I’d need a ribbon or bit of jewelry to wear at the throat.”
“You may look through my jewel case and borrow a pin or necklace, if you wish. Not the sapphires, though.”
Swishing the skirt of the gown, the maid smiled at the image in the mirror.
A small cavalcade set out from Morgan’s Falls the next morning. Daniel and three well-armed men rode guard. Louise, her children and her guest were also mounted, as was a glum Mr. Harris, who’d decided to give his students a brief holiday and accompany the Morgans. Hattie and two other servants occupied the wagon, along with an assortment of bandboxes and valises.
After a night spent at John Jolly’s plantation, they arrived at Fort Gibson to find every building crammed to overflowing. As Barbara soon discovered, the Cotton Balers’ Ball was the highlight of the social season in Indian Country.
Apparently the soldiers had issued invitations to every female on the frontier. Young ladies from as far away as Fort Smith in Arkansas Territory had stuffed their ball gowns into saddlebags and traveled the ninety miles by horseback with the hope of snaring a handsome young lieutenant just out of West Point. Maidens from the various tribes in the vicinity had also been invited and could be seen walking about the fort on the arms of their beaus. Two enterprising females of questionable character had set up an establishment outside the gates. The wheezy notes of a hurdy-gurdy issued from inside their tent and there were long lines of troopers waiting to get in.
The parade field inside the palisade was a sea of pitched tents. The bachelors, Barbara was informed,
had vacated their quarters to make room for guests, while the married officers and sergeants shuffled children and servants to do the same. Colonel Arbuckle had graciously invited the Morgan family to stay in his quarters, but the arrival of another commissioner and his party had taken up every spare room. The Morgans availed themselves instead of Sallie Nicks’s generous hospitality.
“I shall have to fit you all into two rooms,” the widow apologized as she escorted them up the stairs. “A steamboat docked yesterday and discharged half the unmarried women of New Orleans, I swear. It left again this morning—carrying an acquaintance of yours,” she added, addressing Louise and Daniel. “He was most disappointed to have missed you, I can tell you. Unfortunately, the steamboat captain could not adjust his schedule to await your arrival.”
“Who do you speak of?” Louise asked.
“Mr. Irving.”
“
Washington
Irving?”
“The same.” The widow rattled on gaily, unaware that Barbara had almost tripped over her skirts. “He arrived unexpectedly with Commissioner Ellsworth and has spent the past month out on the prairie with the rangers. Zach will give you a detailed report, I’m sure.”
B
arbara spent what was left of the afternoon swinging wildly from nervousness to bravado. Zach sent a message to his parents that his duties kept him at the ranger camp and he’d see them at the ball. He didn’t include so much as a postscript for Barbara. Nor did he make any mention of the weeks he’d spent in the company of Washington Irving.
By the time Barbara retired to the room she shared with Vera and Urice to dress for the ball, anticipation of her reunion with Zach had left her a jumble of nerves. Thank goodness neither of his sisters had as yet come upstairs. She had a few moments, at least, to collect her thoughts. Shedding her traveling gown, she wrapped her dressing robe around her and took the pins from her hair. The last one came out
just as Hattie returned from the kitchens with oil to heat the curling tongs.
“It’s all sixes and sevens downstairs,” she announced, pouring the oil carefully into the kidney-shaped lamp pan. Once the pan was full, she closed the lid, lit the wick, and set the curling iron on the U-shaped prongs. The flame danced merrily under the iron.
“Do you want side curls or a topknot?”
“A topknot,” Barbara replied distractedly.
She tried to convince herself it was unlikely her name would have come up in a chance conversation between Zach and the American author during the month they’d spent out on the prairie. If it had…
Well, she’d met Irving only that one time in Bohemia. To be sure, the occasion had included some unpleasantness. The furious baroness had flung rather rude accusations at both Barbara and Harry, accusing the sister of enticing a diamond bracelet out of her corpulent husband and the brother of manipulating the cards at the whist table. Both charges had been true, of course, but were vehemently denied.
She’d hold to those denials, Barbara decided. Whatever Irving had told Zach, she would assume her haughtiest air and shrug off the charges as the ranting of a jealous woman, just as she had so many years ago in Bohemia. She couldn’t let Zach think Harry a cardsharp. Nor could she allow him to be
lieve her brother guilty of the scheme that had landed him in prison. If Zach knew the truth, Barbara might never see so much as a penny of the money she needed to free Harry.
Absorbed in her turbulent thoughts, she almost jumped out of her skin at the rap of knuckles on the door. Barbara pulled her dressing robe around her while Hattie went to the door.
It was a note written in a bold, slashing hand and requested a few private moments with Lady Barbara. Zach would wait for her by the stables.
Her heart thumping, Barbara crushed the note in her fist. She considered ignoring the request. She was no student of military tactics but knew a wise general would pick the time and place to engage in battle.
On the other hand, perhaps there would be no battle. Perhaps Zach only wanted to steal a few minutes alone with her before the ball. With that faint hope in mind, Barbara tossed the note aside and threw off her dressing robe. Ignoring the damask-covered corset and ivory ball gown with its overskirt of gold tissue Hattie had laid out on the bed, she snatched up the traveling dress she’d removed just moments ago. The gabardine fell in stiff folds over her linen drawers and camisole.
“Help me pin up my hair,” she asked Hattie, fumbling with the buttons on the bodice. “I must go out for a few moments.”
The maid’s curious glance went to the crumpled note. “Why?”
“That’s not your concern. Help me with my hair, if you please.”
Frowning, Hattie did as she was told. Barbara grabbed her shawl and was on her way to the door, when Vera and Urice entered. The older girl gave her a cool nod. She’d yet to forgive Barbara for those moments in the parlor with Mr. Harris. The younger fell into instant raptures over the ball gown on the bed.
“Ohhh! That gold tissue is the exact shade of your hair. How exquisite you’ll look!”
Vera sniffed.
Barbara started for the door. Paused. Turned to the older girl.
“I know you don’t wish any advice from me, but I shall give it anyway. Hattie is heating the tongs. Let her use them to fashion some side curls or a topknot. You’ll look quite lovely.”
“You’re right. I don’t wish any advice from you.”
Shrugging, Barbara brushed past her. She’d done her best by the stubborn creature. She only hoped the brother would prove less difficult to handle than the sister.
Her first glimpse of the lieutenant shattered those hopes.
He was waiting for her by the low log building
that served as barn and livery stables. He wore his regimentals in honor of the occasion. Under other circumstances, Barbara might have taken a moment to admire the dark blue cutaway coat with its double row of brass buttons, lavish gold braid and embroidered epaulets. At the moment, though, all her attention went to the stiff set of his shoulders and the way his gloved fist gripped the hilt of his sword.
He looked up at her approach. The rapidly descending twilight cast his face in shadow. Wishing she could see his eyes, Barbara moved closer.
“You wish to speak with me?”
“I do.” Closing the few feet between them, he grasped her elbow. “Inside, where we won’t be disturbed.”
Her pulse tripped. His hold on her arm was as tight as his voice. She gave fleeting thought to her shoes and the hem of her gown as he yanked open the stable door, but his grim expression drove any worry about muck from her head.
A stable boy was inside, currying one of the horses. He turned a startled face to the intruders, and looked even more surprised when Zach issued a curt command.
“Get out.”
Recognizing the voice of authority, the boy scrambled to obey. The stable door banged shut behind him and left a silence broken only by the swish of horses’ tails and the restless shuffle of hooves.
Barbara breathed in the earthy scent of warm horseflesh and fresh-cut straw, lifted her chin and took the offensive.
“I understand Mr. Irving accompanied the rangers on patrol this past month.”
“He did.”
She could see his eyes now. They held none of the warmth or laughter she’d grown used to seeing in them. Her chin rose another notch.
“Did you mention me to him?”
“I did.”
Anger flared, swift and hot. She wasn’t one of his troops, to be treated thus.
“Enough of this ‘he did’ and ‘I did.’ Just tell me what he said and be done with it.”
He stepped closer. Too close. Barbara refused to back away. Not that she could. She was almost up against the boards of a stall.
“He said you charmed an emerald bracelet out of some petty count in Bohemia.”
“He was a baron, not a count, and the bracelet was of diamonds.”
He accepted her cool reply with a shrug, as if not particularly interested in the details. Barbara discovered why in the next breath.
“Mr. Irving also said you were accompanied on that occasion by your brother…or the man who presented himself as such.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. When
they did, a sick feeling curled in her stomach. Was this what people thought of her? Paramour to a man who might or might not be her brother? For the first time, her past shamed her. Deeply shamed her.
Pride wouldn’t allow her to show it, however. Deliberately, she curved her mouth into a smile. “Did he think Harry my lover? How very droll.”
“
Is
he your lover?”
“I will not dignify that with a response. You may believe what you will.”
He took another step toward her, and it was all Barbara could do not to shrink against the stall.
“Tell me.” The demand was a quick, slashing whip. “What relationship is this Harry to you?”
Goaded, she threw the question back in his face. “What difference does it make?”
“Little, I suppose. Except I’d feel less a fool for wanting you the way I do if I knew he
was
your brother and not your lover.”
The admission that he desired her despite the doubt that had been planted in his mind should have thrilled Barbara. She waited for the flush of victory, the heady rush of knowing she could add Zach to her list of conquests. Like so many others she’d set out to tantalize and beguile, he’d fallen under her spell.
The exhilaration came…and fled. She had only to look at the grim cast to his face to know that wanting her accorded him little joy.
“Tell me, Barbara. Is Harry brother, husband or lover?”
She didn’t understand the new, piercing ache that lodged just under her breastbone. She’d never cared what men thought of her before. Zach’s opinion shouldn’t matter any more than the others. But it did. For reasons she couldn’t seem to determine, it did.
Ignoring the ache, she shrugged. “You won’t believe me now whatever I say.”
“Which is he, dammit?”
“My brother!”
He gave a small grunt, but she couldn’t tell whether the sound was one of satisfaction at having pulled an answer from her or disbelief. His eyes were hooded as he stared down at her.
“Mr. Irving wasn’t the only one who accompanied us on patrol,” he said after a moment. “Mr. Latrobe was also a member of the party.”
“Is he supposed to be of interest to me?”
“You may not recognize his name, but he recognized yours. It seems you and your brother swindled his friend out of two hundred pounds.”
“I told you! Harry was as taken in by that Swiss railroad scheme as any of the men he convinced to invest in it.”
“This wasn’t a railroad scheme. As I recall, it had something to do with a jeweled miniature purported to have belonged to Marie Antoinette.”
Sweet Jesus! How much of her past had he uncovered?
“My grandmother was one of the queen’s ladies in waiting,” she bit out. “Grandmère smuggled that miniature out of France when she fled the country. My brother and I believed the stones to be real.”
And so they were, until Harry pried them off and replaced them with paste.
Zach said nothing for long moments. Barbara let the taut silence spin out. If she was to be interrogated like a prisoner in the dock, he could damn well drag the answers he sought out of her.
“Did he send you here?” he asked at last. “Did you and this brother of yours fabricate this connection to my mother to play on her sympathies and extort money from her? Or are you lying about everything, including the business about Harry being in prison?”
“Shall I describe his prison to you? It was once the HMS
Dromedary.
Now it’s a rotting, vermin-infested hulk moored to a stone breakwater in Bermuda. I wasn’t allowed aboard, of course, but I could smell the stink of tar and sweat and death from the quay. I’m told the ship once carried a complement of fifteen officers and one hundred sailors. More than five hundred convicts are now chained below its decks each night.”
“You tell that tale most convincingly,” he muttered. “Why should I believe it? Or you?”
“Because you want to. It wouldn’t do for you to
desire a liar and a cheat. Or a woman who would whore herself to save her lover.”
With a shake of his head, he drew his knuckles down the curve of her cheek. “Whatever else you are, my golden-haired witch, you’re not a whore.”
“How can you be so certain?” she flung back. “You must know I wasn’t a virgin when you…When we…”
“I’m no Johnny Raw, Barbara. I knew I wasn’t the first, but my guess is you haven’t taken many lovers.”
She would die before she would admit there had only been one before him. Or that the drunken bastard had left her bloodied and almost as bruised as Hattie. Harry had avenged her honor—what was left of it, anyway—but the mere memory of that distasteful incident was enough to stiffen her back.
“So, Barrister Morgan. You’ve weighed the evidence. Do you find me guilty or innocent of the crimes laid against me?”
“Not innocent.” His knuckles made another pass over her cheek. “Certainly not innocent. If I’m to judge anyone, though, I would judge this brother who sent you.”
They were back to Harry. Always, Barbara thought, it came back to Harry. She struggled to put her feelings for her scapegrace brother into words.
“Don’t judge him too harshly, Zach. You grew to manhood surrounded by a large and loving family. Harry and I had only each other.”
To her disgust, tears began to well behind her lids.
Furious with herself for such ridiculous missishness, she willed them away.
“If my brother swindled anyone, it was to feed me. If he cheated, it was to keep a roof over my head. You would do the same for Urice or Vera or Theo.”
“In a heartbeat.”
The response went far toward calming Barbara’s tattered nerves. He studied her for long moments, his thoughts unreadable behind his dark eyes.
“How soon can you be ready to leave?”
“Leave?”
“Commissioner Ellsworth negotiated a treaty with the chief of the Grand Pawnee while we were out on patrol. Colonel Arbuckle has deputized me to carry it to Washington.”
She stared at him stupidly. “What has this treaty to do with me?”
“I’m thinking you should accompany me to Washington. Once I’ve delivered the report, we can take a ship to London.”
Her jaw sagged. “To London?”
“To see what can be done to aid your brother.”
Dear Lord above!
He really
did
desire her. He must, to put aside his doubts and his duties to travel across an ocean with her.
Barbara could hardly tell him now she intended to sail for Bermuda, not England. Nor could she
admit her plans included extortionate bribes and a dangerous prison escape. Her thoughts whirling, she stammered a protest.
“How…? How can you travel to England? You have duties here.”
“I’ve requested a leave of absence. Colonel Arbuckle has agreed to it, after I present Commissioner Ellsworth’s report to President Jackson.”
“But…I thought…”
“Thought what? I promised to help you. The Morgans hold to their promises.”
Feeling much like a dog chasing its own tail, she struggled to make sense of this confusing man. “What of the things Irving told you about me? The things
I
told you about myself?”
“They change nothing. I merely wanted the truth out of you.”