Starlight & Promises (33 page)

“I’ll wait outside,” he said firmly.

Samantha wanted to tear out her hair. He was going to be harder to pacify than she had hoped. She stopped short of making a fuss that would rouse his suspicions. “Certainly, Jasper. Wait in the carriage if you wish.” Her smile was thin. “Perhaps next time you should bring along a book to pass the time.”

His grin penetrated her pique. “Perhaps I shall.” He whirled on his heel, left the shop, and climbed into the carriage Pettibone drove.
Two
watchdogs she was obliged to dodge.

With a conspiratorial look, Samantha turned to Louella, who had closely watched the exchange. “Servants,” Samantha said. “‘Tis so exceedingly difficult to engage good help.”

Madame Louella quickly recovered from the encounter with Jasper and ushered Samantha into the salon for measuring. Once the modiste had completed her task, Samantha and Madame Louella discussed designs and viewed fabrics. Samantha lingered over the details, spending nearly four hours in the shop. When she finally emerged and Jasper helped her into the carriage, he wore a bored, impatient look. By the third visit, he would be asleep on his feet, as Pettibone was already on the driver’s perch, and she could slip out. No one would miss her for hours.

S
amantha entered the modiste’s shop the following week for the first fittings. With tears conjured up with pepper grains, she related the tale she had fabricated for Madame Louella. “I married only recently against my family’s wishes. My husband is an untitled American and “—sniff, sniff—”my father has threatened to disown me.”

Madame Louella looked suitably sympathetic.

“My only contact with my family is my brother, Arnold,” Samantha continued, “but my husband, outraged by my family’s position, refused me permission to meet with him. My husband can be so stubborn, such a tyrant. He has me watched day and night to prevent my arranging a meeting.”

“Mister Jasper,” Louella said with an empathetic nod.

“Yes.” Samantha’s smile wobbled. “I must see my brother again. It may be the only time we shall have this opportunity. Arnold followed me here, all the way from England, on the chance of just such a possibility. He loves me that much.” She drew a trembling breath. “I need your help.”

“I sympathize with you, Mistress Badia, but how can I possibly help? Were your husband to discover I aided you, he would ruin what little business I now have.”

Samantha waved away the woman’s objection. “You see, my husband is away for a few weeks. If he were in town, I should never attempt this. He will never know. I need merely a few hours without my bodyguard following me. During the final fittings next week, I could duck out the back door, meet my brother, and return before Jasper discovers I’m gone.”

If Louella harbored suspicions, she hid them well. After being fed a story as thin as turtle soup, the woman probably believed Samantha had an assignation with a lover. Samantha shrugged. ‘Twas none of Louella’s business, unless Jasper uncovered her absence. But she had laid her plans carefully. So long as she kept her excursion within the allotted time, she could carry it off.

“In that event, I would be pleased to help you,” Louella said. “I find it so disconcerting when families cannot get along. However, you must promise you will return before your Mister Jasper comes looking for you. I’m not averse to admitting he frightens me.”

Samantha clasped Louella’s hands in hers. “Oh, I shall. Thank you so awfully much. You have no idea what this means to me.”

This time, Samantha kept Jasper waiting almost five hours.

When the day of the final fittings arrived, Samantha’s nerves twitched as violently as a mouse deer’s held in the stare of a hungry python. She bit her fingernails with abandon, drawing censorious looks from Delia and a spate of tsking from Chloe. Though the day was warm, indeed sultry, she swept up a hooded cloak and draped it over her arm while Pettibone pulled the carriage in front.

“Will you not be overwarm in that, dear?” Delia asked, pointing to the cloak.

Samantha managed a laugh. “Oh, I have no intention of wearing it. I’m taking it along to see how it fits over my new gowns. Should it not look quite right, I shall be obliged to have another made. When Christian sees the bills I run up, he will regret his decision to leave me moldering in Hobart.”

By the time Jasper handed her into the carriage, Samantha’s limbs trembled. Reservations wreaked havoc on her confidence. Did she truly believe she could succeed in this mad plan? Was Delia suspicious? Was Jasper onto her? Would Madame Louella remain silent and cover for her? So many factors to consider. Regardless, she had committed herself and refused to turn back. She sat in the carriage across from Jasper and forced an air of gaiety, gripping the folds of her skirt so tightly her fingers cramped. A tension headache gathered at the back of her head, and her stomach roiled.

You’ll escape easily. You’ll escape easily
, she chanted silently.

Madame Louella greeted Samantha with her customary warmth. When Jasper retired to the carriage with his well-thumbed copy of Omar Khayyám’s
Rubáiyát
, Louella escorted Samantha toward the fitting room. They passed it and threaded their way through sewing rooms to a door leading into an alley. Samantha threw her cloak over her shoulders and pulled up the hood.

“I shall return in three hours,” she said. “Should Jasper come looking for me before then, tell him I’m in dishabille and unable to see him until we have finished.”

Louella’s thin lips pinched together even tighter.

Samantha smiled and squeezed the woman’s hand. “You have no cause for worry. He’ll not come for me early. I informed him that today’s session would be longer than usual. He will wait patiently until I finish. He has no reason to suspect anything untoward.”

A snappy breeze laden with the strong aromas of seaweed, fish, and sewage blew in from the sea and made the temperature at the docks cooler than in town. Samantha thanked God for that small respite. After her frantic flight from the shop to the quay, perspiration dripped from her temples and slid down her cheeks. She flipped back the cloak’s hood and let it fall to her shoulders. She had braided and coiled her hair to avoid looking like a tavern wench and attracting unwanted attention. Gulls wheeled overhead, their raucous cries competing with the shouts and curses from the dockworkers, whose bare backs gleamed with sweat as they hefted heavy loads on their shoulders and tramped up and down the narrow gangplanks.

Teeth worrying the inside of her cheek, Samantha searched for someone she could approach for information regarding Miggs and the
Manta Ray
. Someone other than the rough lot of half-naked laborers. When she contemplated striking up a conversation with one of them, her courage deserted her. From the glances they sent her way, she feared being dragged into an alley and ravished to within an inch of her life.

As she strolled along and inspected the men for a respectable person, a ship’s officer perhaps, someone tapped her on the shoulder. Whipping around, she released a startled breath. ‘Twas the man with sandy hair and beard and hazel eyes who had sheltered her during the fight at the Blue Boar Inn. He wore well-tailored clothes today, a gentleman’s outfit, with dark brown trousers, a white linen shirt, a flawless cravat, and a bottle green coat.

Bemusement beetled his brows. “Sam?” he said. “Sam Colchester?”

She smiled. “How did you know?”

He tilted back his head and laughed, a hearty, melodious sound. “Well, Sam, you make an unconvincing boy up close, and I would recognize your golden eyes anywhere.”

His warm manner contained no hint of unseemliness. When he held out his elbow, she automatically hooked her hand in it. “Shall we take a cup of tea,” he asked, “while you tell me what is certain to be an interesting story?” He glanced around, concern etching his face. “This area is unsafe for ladies, you know.”

Before she could object, he led her away from the docks. “I know a respectable tea shop,” he said, “where we can converse in private. However, first we should observe the amenities and properly introduce ourselves.” Pausing his step, he bowed and doffed his beaver hat. “Steven Landry, merchant, exporter and importer.”

“Mistress Samantha Badia,” she replied in turn.

His eyelids lowered a bit, and he resumed walking. “I thought you said your name was Colchester.”

“I married recently. Colchester is my maiden name.”

“I see. You’re a newlywed, then.”

“Yes,” she said softly. An
abandoned
newlywed. “I fear I told a small lie the night we met. Richard Colchester is my uncle, not my father.”

“Ah, at last the truth comes out.” He smiled. “But what are you doing at the docks? Where is the husband?”

She pursed her lips. “He shipped out for a few weeks on business.”

Steven’s uncanny ability to put her at ease allayed Samantha’s nervousness. Soon they addressed each other by Christian names and took tea and biscuits like old friends. Samantha explained away her disguise the last time they met as resulting from a lovers’ spat. She made no mention of what happened after she left the tavern.

“Samantha,” Steven said, “I told you I once knew your uncle. As boys we were close friends. We even attended Oxford together. Of course, not being a peer, I was there on scholarship and pursued commerce while Richard studied his plants. Is that why Richard traveled to Tasmania? Was he on a plant expedition?”

Samantha nodded, not elaborating.

“I wish I’d been able to renew our acquaintance while he was in the vicinity, catch up on old times, you know. Unfortunately, I sailed to Australia on business at the time and learned of his visit only after I returned.”

Could she take Steven into her confidence? He had established himself in Hobart as a respectable merchant and might be able to help her. She hesitated, recalling Christian’s warning. Then she dismissed her concern. Steven had no resemblance to the kidnapper’s profile she had so carefully developed. He was a merchant rather than a scientist. Though acquainted with Richard, they’d not seen each other for years. With the man’s gentle manner, he deviated too greatly from her conception of an amoral character.

When a clock chimed at the back of the restaurant, her stomach flipped like a netted fish. Surging to her feet, she made her apologies and stammered out words about a previous appointment.

Steven rose from his chair, paid their bill, and led her to the door. “May I escort you somewhere?” he asked.

“That will not be necessary. I have only a short way to go, merely a few blocks. I thank you for the tea and conversation. I truly enjoyed speaking with one of Richard’s friends.”

He lifted her hand and patted it in a paternal manner. “Then may I call on you at your residence? Though Hobart has become crowded, there are few one can call friends. I would find it refreshing to have a friend in town who reminds me of home. And I suspect you would welcome an escort while your husband is away.”

Samantha smiled warmly. “Certainly, I should be pleased to see you again. I’m certain Aunt Delia, Richard’s sister, would embrace your company.” After giving him her direction, she sped off with a little wave over her shoulder.

Clothing clammy with perspiration, hair tumbling around her shoulders, Samantha practically fell through the back door into the shop as her three hours expired. Madame Louella stood with her mouth agape, and Samantha rushed past her to peek out the window. Jasper paced in front of the carriage.

“Any problems?” Samantha asked, gasping to catch her breath.

The modiste shook her head. “You look a fright. I cannot send you out so disheveled. You will have to sponge off, fix your hair, and wear one of the new gowns.”

Samantha hurried to the fitting room, stripped, and mopped away the perspiration. Foregoing a corset, she struggled into the new dress in record time. When she left the shop a few minutes later, she was smiling and chatting with Madame Louella. Every hair was in place. Except for the hectic flush on her face, she looked normal, even to Jasper’s discerning eye.

“I shall have everything ready tomorrow and delivered by afternoon,” Madame Louella said.

Behind Samantha, Jasper expelled a heavy breath.

“Wonderful, madame,” Samantha said. “Your creations are just the thing. I’m certain I shall return for my winter wardrobe.”

Samantha preceded Jasper into the carriage and smiled inwardly for outwitting him so easily. She took delight in boring him further by running on about lace ribbons and trim and the advantages of cotton and linen versus brocade and silk taffeta the entire way to Talmadge House. By the time they arrived, his eyes had nearly rolled back into his head.