Merline Lovelace (13 page)

The truth! A bubble of hysteria rose in Barbara’s throat. She couldn’t have sorted through her tangled web of half truths and lies now to save her soul.

She had to get away, had to bring some order to her chaotic thoughts. The shrill notes of a fife announcing the start of the ball gave her the excuse she needed.

“I…I must go and change.”

“I’ll wait for you out front.”

“No!” She dragged in a breath. “Lieutenant Prescott came by this afternoon and asked to escort me to the festivities. Since I had no word from you, I accepted.”

“The dog! And Nate dares to call himself my friend. Very well. I’ll see you there.”

Curling his knuckle under her chin, he dropped a swift, hard kiss on her mouth.

“Just be sure to save a waltz for me.”

L
ieutenant Prescott was pacing Sallie Nicks’s downstairs parlor when Barbara rushed in.

“There you are!” His eager smile faltered when he took in her tumbled hair and travel-stained dress. “Have you changed your mind about attending the ball?”

“Not at all. I merely had some business to attend to. If you’ll be patient another few moments, I’ll go upstairs at once and change.”

“Of course.”

To Barbara’s relief, the bedroom she shared with Zach’s sisters was empty. Scattered ribbons and tossed petticoats indicated they had already departed for the ball. Hattie, too, was gone. The fire in the grate had been banked, and the wick was trimmed under the curling iron. Barbara’s ivory ball gown still lay across the bed. The gold tissue overskirt
gleamed in the light of the oil lamp, but she barely gave it a glance. Her churning thoughts were all on Lieutenant Zachariah Morgan.

He wanted her. Despite all he’d heard about her, he still desired her.

Hugging herself, Barbara paced the cluttered room. She should be pleased that she’d added another conquest to her list. Instead, uncharacteristic guilt nagged at her conscience. The guilt annoyed her, but it was easier to deal with than the nonsensical regret that kept tugging at her heart.

She hated the thought of deceiving Zach yet again, but saw no other path to take. She couldn’t sail to London. She had no intention of allowing her brother to rot in the hulks for the months or years it would take to reopen his case.

Nor could she allow Zach to accompany her to Bermuda. He was trained in legal matters. What was worse, he wore a uniform. He hunted down those who violated the law or attempted to evade justice. He didn’t help them escape.

She’d have to slip away once they reached Washington. Find a ship sailing for Bermuda. She’d best make sure she got a bank draft from Louise Morgan before departing Fort Gibson, though. She couldn’t leave that to chance.

The muted trill of a violin tuning cut into her whirling thoughts. Muttering an oath, Barbara shed her traveling dress, dragged on the ivory ball gown
and struggled with the buttons at its back. A firm tug at the rounded neckline bared the slopes of her breasts. A few pinches puffed up the sleeves.

Digging pins from her traveling case, she did her best to arrange her hair. Then it was merely a matter of pulling on her gloves, draping her tasseled reticule over her wrist and tossing the silk-lined opera cloak over her arm.

The Cotton Balers’ Ball was in full swing when Barbara and Lieutenant Prescott made a tardy entrance.

The dance was being held in one of the enlisted men’s mess halls. The men had cleared the long room of its plank table and benches and outdone themselves decorating the whitewashed interior. Oil lamps and bunting hung from the rafters, while the Seventh Infantry’s colors fluttered from every post. A massive silver punch bowl and cups held place of honor at one end of the hall. The regimental band occupied the dais at the other end. They were playing a lively reel for the couples dipping and swirling enthusiastically across the dance floor.

“Let me take your cloak.”

Lieutenant Prescott lifted the garment from her shoulders. While he searched for an empty peg amid the banks of scarlet-lined military capes, silk shawls and wool redingotes, a sea of blue coats and gold braid swarmed around Barbara. A fiery-haired young
subaltern elbowed his way through the crowd to hand her a dance card.

“You’ve missed the quadrille and the Scotch reel,” he said with a blush to match his hair. “A waltz is next. May I beg the honor of taking you to the floor?”

“I’ve reserved that for Lieutenant Prescott, but you may put your name down for a later waltz.”

Almost overwhelmed by his good fortune, he snatched the card back and used its dangling pencil to scribble his name. His comrades were jockeying for the remaining dances when Nate Prescott returned and offered his arm.

“The colonel’s compliments, Lady Barbara. He’d like to introduce you to Commissioners Ellsworth and Schermerhorn.”

Nodding, she placed her hand on his arm and let him weave a path through the crowd. Her gaze drifted over the dancers as they passed. These Americans! They were so very egalitarian. Captains and corporals alike trod the boards, partnering their chosen ladies. And there was Sallie Nicks hooking elbows with a tall, mustached sergeant.

Suddenly, Barbara’s gaze snagged on a delicate beauty in a shimmering green gown. Well, well! Vera had scornfully declared herself above female vanities, yet someone—Hattie, Barbara guessed—had crimped her fringe and arranged her hair in most becoming side curls. She was dancing with a great bear of a captain and looked to be enjoying herself enormously.

Amused, Barbara searched the ranks of men lined up against the far wall. Sure enough, young Mr. Harris stood with arms folded and a glower on his face as he watched the twirling couples.

A swirl of lavender caught Barbara’s attention, and her amusement took a sardonic twist. That was Hattie. Bare-shouldered. Bruises gone. Her steps light and her face alive with pleasure as Zach took her left hand and the gentleman to her right took the other to form a chain. The entire line skipped forward, bowed to the line facing them, skipped back.

Well, that was equality indeed. Barbara shrugged aside her pique and turned a brilliant smile on Colonel Arbuckle. He bowed over her hand with old-fashioned gallantry and introduced the commissioners. The Reverend Mr. Schermerhorn was as short and rotund as Commissioner Ellsworth was tall and spare. The former greeted her with a polite bow, the latter with a keen glance.

“So, Lady Barbara, I understand I have you to thank for Lieutenant Morgan’s willingness—no, eagerness—to deliver my draft treaty.”

“I’m sure the lieutenant is simply attending to his duty, sir.”

“He attended to more than his duty out there in Pawnee Country, I can tell you that. Demmed if he didn’t shoot the tomahawk right out of the hands of a renegade Pawnee.”

“I’m quite impressed.”

“So was I,” the commissioner said with a chuckle, “particularly when Zach informed me the rogue was the son of Chief Talaman. The chief agreed to come in and powwow quick enough when he learned we were holding his son. We got him to agree to cease all raids on the Creek and Cherokee in exchange for his boy and a generous stipend in goods and cash.”

Barbara made an appropriate murmur of appreciation. Colonel Arbuckle’s endorsement was considerably stronger.

“I can’t tell you how important this treaty is, Commissioner. All of us at Fort Gibson have seen firsthand the anger and resentment building between the western tribes and those resettling from the East. It needs but a spark to set this whole territory aflame.”

“We must hope President Jackson agrees. I asked Lieutenant Morgan to add his arguments to those I’ve put forth in my report, by the way. He certainly knows this country better than I.”

“That’s one of the reasons I released him to deliver your report. His father served with Jackson at New Orleans. Old Hickory has almost as much regard for Zach as he does for Daniel.”

The fact that father and son appeared to have the ear of the American president impressed Barbara. She also noted that Ellsworth had apparently finished his report. Zach confirmed as much when he appeared at her side some time later.

She’d danced with any number of officers, had
gone in to supper on the arm of Colonel Arbuckle, and had drunk a little too much of the artillery punch being ladled out. Barbara blamed the intoxicating mix of champagne and whiskey dusted with black pepper “firing powder” for the sudden hitch in her pulse when she looked up into the lieutenant’s eyes.

“I believe the next waltz is ours.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” She made a show of consulting her dance card. “I’m sure I promised it to a subaltern.”

“You did. I outranked him. He’s sulking over there, in the corner.”

She caught a glimpse of the young officer’s glum countenance as Zach took her elbow to escort her onto the plank flooring. When the band struck up a beat that flowed with the seductive rhythm of the Danube, his arm slid around her waist.

He waltzed with the strength and controlled grace he did all else. Barbara couldn’t help but note the glances the other dancers sent their way. They made a striking couple, she knew, with Zach so tall and darkly handsome in his regimentals, and she all shimmering in gold and cream.

For a moment she allowed herself a foolish fantasy. Perhaps one day she and Zach would waltz like this at Maxim’s in Paris. Or stroll arm in arm through London’s Hyde Park. Or sip coffee at a tiny table in St. Mark’s Square in Venice while pigeons swooped in to take bits of cake from their hands.

And perhaps not. Sighing, Barbara tipped her head and met his gaze. “I spoke with your colonel and Mr. Ellsworth earlier.”

“I saw.”

“The commissioner indicated his report is all but done.”

“Yes, he told me.”

“When do we leave?”

The music rose to a final crescendo. Tightening his arm, he took her into a sweeping pattern. Barbara’s heart was pounding against her stays when the last notes trilled. With the crowd shuffling off the floor around them, Zach held her for a moment longer.

“The
Natchez Star
is due to dock at Fort Gibson the day after tomorrow. I’ll book passage for us.”

Hattie couldn’t believe her ears. Fisting her hands in her skirts, she stared at the gilt-haired woman stepping out of her ball gown.

“You’re leaving on the
Natchez Star
?” she echoed hollowly. “And Zach’s going with you?”

“Yes, he is. If you decide to accompany me as my maid, however, I must ask that you cease referring to him so casually.”

Hattie almost choked on a thick, hot bubble of anger. He danced with me! she wanted to shout. With
me!
Not once, but twice.

What’s more, he’d smiled and teased her about
how pretty she looked. She’d been so sure he’d finally finished with this…this cow.

Had he paid no heed to the stories being whispered about her? If even half of them were true, the woman was little better than a common thief. She and this brother of hers.

If he
was
her brother. Hattie had heard that rumor, too. It burned like a hot brand in her mind as the woman turned to her, a question in her stupid, watery-pale eyes.

“
Do
you wish to come with me? If so, I’ll send word in the morning for the lieutenant to book your passage.”

When Hattie only stared at her, stonelike, she shrugged and pulled at the ties of her petticoats.

“I’ll understand if you choose not to accompany me. It’s a long journey to Washington, after all, and from there…” She chewed on her lower lip. “Well, it’s a long journey.”

The petticoats fluttered to the floor. Hattie watched them puddle about Barbara’s ankles and made no move to pick them up. She could barely think for the bitter disappointment and jealousy eating at her.

One thing was certain, though. She’d be aboard that paddle wheeler when it left Fort Gibson.

“You’re still set on aiding her?” Zach’s mother’s voice rose on a note of disbelief. “After all you tell us about her?”

Unaware she echoed Hattie’s doubt and distrust, she paced Sallie’s front parlor. Her silk skirts whipped about her ankles as she took another angry turn.

She’d tried to like the Englishwoman. Not because of her thin claim to kinship, certainly. Louise’s loyalty lay first, last and always with those she loved. She’d feed anyone who hurt her family to the wolves, Barbara Chamberlain included.

“Me, I do not understand why you insist on continuing with her to England. She is well able to take care of herself, that one.”

Zach propped his shoulders against the mantel and shot a glance at his father. Daniel’s shrug indicated his son was on his own with this one.

“I promised to do what I could to help her brother,” Zach said.

The Russian ruby in his mother’s thumb ring flashed angry fire as she flapped a hand. “How do you know he is her brother? Or that he needs help?”

“She says he does.”

“Pah! She says many things. To any man who will listen. Your sister still hurts with the pain this woman caused her.”

Zach had heard the story. Both versions. Vera had poured out a short, angry tale of betrayal by young Mr. Harris. Urice had offered an equally passionate defense of Lady Barbara, who still shone in the younger, fashion-mad girl’s eyes.

“Vera didn’t look as though she was hurting too badly tonight,” he commented. “She had poor Harris ready to crawl across the floor on his knees.”

“That’s as may be.” The ruby caught the light once more as his mother made another extravagant gesture. “I tell you, Zach, I do not trust this woman. Nor am I at all sure what she will do with money you give her.”

“I’ll be there to see what’s done with it. That’s one of the reasons I’m accompanying her to London.”

“One? Ha!” Louise tossed her head. “Me, I guess the other.”

Zach straightened and pushed away from the mantel. He loved his mother with the same fierce devotion he did his father. Yet whatever it was that drew him so inexorably to Barbara pulled him just as inexorably away from his parents.

“You don’t have to guess,” he said, holding his mother’s scornful gaze. “I admit it freely. The woman is in my head, and in my blood.”

“Oh, Zach. I fear she’ll bring you grief.”

His mouth relaxed into a grin. “I don’t doubt she’ll try.”

The next day passed in a flurry of activity. Zach turned his ranger troop over to his second in command, arranged with the elderly freed slave who served as his groom to see to his horses, went over his financial dealings with his parents and spent a
final few hours with Commissioner Ellsworth and Colonel Arbuckle. He left the meeting with the commissioner’s sealed report tucked inside his jacket and the colonel’s urgent messages for President Jackson about the importance of the proposed treaty burned into his brain.

The following morning the
Natchez Star
steamed up the river and dropped her gangplank a full two hours ahead of schedule. She was one of the newer packets, side-wheeled, white painted, drawing less than eighteen inches under her flat bottom. While Hattie and Barbara threw the last of their things together, Zach checked out their cabins and saw to the loading of their baggage. The paddle wheeler’s whistle was shrilling notice of its imminent departure when he arrived at Sallie Nicks’s house to collect the women.