Sweet Deception Regency 07 - The Divided Hearts (5 page)

Judith stopped, struck by the beauty of the
tall case clock set beside the staircase. The brilliant brass of
the clock face gleamed golden in the shadowed hallway. The case was
a deep honey-colored walnut, the richly burled grain almost asking
to be touched. She cocked her head, listening to the hollow ticking
in the otherwise silent hallway.

“For shame, Father! Why ever is this tucked
away in such a dark corner?” she said, reaching out to stroke the
shining surface. “It’s truly beautiful.”

“Now, now, Judith,” Simon said. “I’ll agree
that this is not the best viewing place. Your mother kept it in the
parlor but after she left the insistent ticking near drove me to
mayhem. Think on it, my dear. On a long winter’s night the tolling
of each second begins to eat away at the rational brain until you
find yourself focused on the ticking. Finally you are unable to
form a coherent thought or complete an action unless it is in
rhythm with each beat.”

Laughing as Simon’s voice rose in remembered
irritation, Judith stood back to view the clock once more. As her
eyes narrowed in thought, Simon grabbed her elbow, pushing her
toward the stairs.

“Don’t even think it, my girl,” he growled.
“You can change what you will in this house, but that blasted clock
stays where it is!”

Judith gave in good humoredly. Still smiling
she started up the stairs, admiring the treads which were
marbleized in grey and buff. She stroked the smooth oak bannister,
liking the contrast of the ebony painted spindles against the
lighter wood.

Upstairs there were two hallways leading
away from the staircase. Her father’s rooms lay to the left and on
the right were three other bedrooms and a sitting room. Their steps
were muffled by the woven runner and Judith made a mental note to
check the tapestries and samplers that hung on the walls. They
passed the sitting room and Simon stopped at a door at the end of
the hall facing the front of the house.

“You’ll not be remembering, but this was
once your room. I had it redone once I knew that you would be
coming.” Simon’s voice was thick with emotion as he ushered his
daughter into the sunlit room.

Since in all of the rooms they had passed
the hardier wood tones prevailed, Judith was unprepared for the
lightness of her bedroom. The paneled walls and fireplace were
painted a soft cream color, giving the room a soft airy quality.
The planked oak floor had been buffed to a golden sheen, the
richness of the grain emphasized by the multicolored braided rugs
in front of the fireplace and beside the bed.

An exquisite fourposter dominated the room.
The tester supported valances and a headcloth that hung down behind
the pillows. Although the material appeared heavy, the bold,
crewelwork design of exotic flowers and trailing vines against the
cream background gave a lightheartedness to the atmosphere of the
room. Matching curtains were suspended from the four corners of the
slender posts, ready to enclose the sleeper on cold winter nights.
A coverlet of the same material was turned back to show inviting
cool muslin sheets.

“It’s a beautiful room, Father,” Judith
said, her eyes traveling past the oak clothes press and the
dressing table with the carved shell pattern on the apron.

Simon cleared his throat noisily as he
turned his back to face the windows. He pulled back the heavy
cream-colored satin draperies and pointed outside. “You’ll have a
good view of the city. Look to the right and you’ll see the spire
of Trinity Church. It was Wren-inspired so you’ll not be homesick.
And if you look to the left through the trees you can catch a
glimpse of the harbor.”

“I shall be well and truly spoiled by the
time I return to England,” Judith said, her eyes dancing with
mischief. “I knew your pockets weren’t to let, yet I begin to
believe you a veritable nabob.”

“What a mercenary chit you are,” Simon
growled. “I can already see that you’re planning to empty my purse
while you’re here. Well do your worst, my dear. It’s worth all I
have and more to see you here in this room again. There’s not much
you’ll remember for you were two years old when you left for
England. In the corner is your cradle,” Simon said pointing to the
hearth wall.

Judith crossed the room to stand beside the
small wicker cradle. Her fingers brushed the woven geometric
pattern on the reedy surface but she had no sense of
familiarity.

“It’s Dutch made,” Simon said. “Your mother
fancied it when she saw it in a Boston shop. Aside from that,
there’s only the one doll,” Simon said crossing the room to pick up
a rag doll lying on the rush woven seat of an oak rocker. “When
Elizabeth returned to England with you it was left behind.”

Judith swallowed painfully, wondering how
lonely her father’s life must have been after his wife and daughter
left. Taking the doll he extended, she put her arms around his
ample waist. They hugged in silence, then he pushed her away,
moving across to the doorway.

“Now don’t dawdle, girl. You heard Mrs.
Baker. No food till you wash,” Simon boomed, pulling the door
behind his disappearing figure.

Judith’s musical laughter followed Simon
down the hall and his heart expanded with pride. Elizabeth had done
a fine job raising the girl, he admitted as he fumbled in his
pocket for his pipe. He took a spill from beside the fireplace and
leaned forward to light the end then touch it to the tobacco in the
bowl. He puffed several times until it was going then threw the
rolled paper onto the logs. Dropping into the wingchair beside the
fire, he puffed contentedly as he listened to the homey sounds of
his daughter overhead.

Judith was everything a father could desire.
All eagerness, clear-eyed and intelligent. She had a depth of
character that she was unaware of, just simmering beneath the
beautiful exterior. He could not bear to think of her as only an
ornament of society, married to some titled aristocrat who could
never value her mind and her personality. He was glad that she’d
agreed to come to America for a visit. Now if he could convince her
to stay. Judith was the kind of woman that America needed.

Judith, arm in arm with her father, walked
down the aisle of Trinity Church, conscious of the battery of
discreet glances cast her way. Simon held the door into the pine,
boxed pew, his face unusually somber. As she sat down beside him,
she noticed that he fidgeted with his cravat, indicating that he
too was aware of the scrutiny of the congregation.

Judith was glad that she had taken such care
with her toilette. She smoothed the lavender silk skirt across her
knees, pleased to be out of her funereal blacks and into colors
again. She smiled to herself when she recalled her father’s
original invitation to come for a visit and his suggestion that she
leave her mourning clothes in England. He had written that she
needed no blacks to honor the death of her mother and besides, the
American women would never forgive her if she were not wearing the
very latest fashions. From the covert glances thrown her way, she
realized the truth of his latter statement. As her eyes skimmed
around the interior of the church, Judith soon forgot that she, or
in actual fact her clothing, was the cynosure of the feminine
worshipers.

Compared to the great stone edifices she was
used to, Trinity Church was spartanly plain at first glance. But
the simplicity of the interior washed her with a feeling of
serenity. Her father had told her that the church was designed by
Richard Munday, an innkeeper and house carpenter. She wondered if
there were any other examples of his work in Newport. She was
intrigued by the boxed pews which formed little rooms for the
worshippers. The white plaster walls and the austere angles of the
ceiling worked their magic as the service began.

Judith was so fascinated by the church that
Simon had to nudge her at the appropriate times in order to make
the proper responses. She tried to follow the music, delighting in
the resonance of the pipe organ but she was far too intrigued to
keep her eyes lowered. The great arched cedar window above the
altar drew a sigh of pure contentment. It was easier during the
sermon because then she could examine the pulpit which was shaped
like a wine glass and dominated the central aisle. When Simon
cleared his throat noisily, Judith blinked, amazed to discover the
service had ended.

“In the early days of this country, there
were men who strode up and down the aisle poking those who were not
paying attention,” Simon said grinning at the flush of
embarrassment rising to his daughter’s cheeks. “But I gathered from
your rapt expression that you approve of the place.”

“Oh, Father,” Judith said, her voice soft
with feeling. “It’s a beautiful church. I will enjoy coming every
week. I like the peace and quiet of the place.”

“It’s the lull before the storm,” Simon
whispered, winking as he ushered her into the aisle. “Now we’ve to
run the gauntlet of old tabbies and young bucks. And if that ain’t
bad enough, there’s all the prune-faced mommas who’ll be outraged
that you’ve outshone their chicks.”

“Now you’re doing it too brown,” Judith
said, laughing at Simon’s feigned resignation, since she knew he
was dying to present his daughter to the social lionesses of
Newport. She placed her hand on his sleeve, sighing at the
inevitability of the scene waiting for them outside the church.
“All right, Father. I shall be most refined and well mannered, as
befits a London lady. Lay on, old top.”

Simon smothered a guffaw as he led her to
meet the minister who was shaking hands at the door. Then he took
her arm, piloting her into the yard, smiling proudly as he
introduced her to several neighbors. Judith did her best to
remember names and reply politely to the innumerable questions
concerning her crossing. Most of the women were too well bred to
stare openly at her clothing but she knew that they did not miss a
stitch, seam or ribbon on her dress or matching pelisse. Several
minutes passed before she felt the sensation of being watched. She
looked across the lawn, until her eyes caught the glint of dark
blue eyes, hastily hooded.

Nathanael Bellingham lounged against the
wheel of a racy looking carriage. Surrounded by a group of soberly
dressed young men, Nathanael looked like a peacock trapped in a
barnyard of brown chickens. This morning he was dressed in a lemon
yellow jacket, matching waistcoat and cream-colored pantaloons.
Lace flapped in the breeze at his wrists and his neck and, of all
things, he carried a carved ivory walking stick. His powdered hair
was clubbed at the neck and tied with a yellow ribbon. Judith
groaned as he spoke a final word to the group of men then sauntered
toward her.

“My dear Lady Judith, your radiant features
put us all quite in the shade.”

Nate leaned on his walking stick, making an
exaggerated leg to the amusement of the group surrounding Judith.
For an instant, she considered kicking out at the stick to see if
he might topple over in a heap on the ground. On the thought, he
looked up and his eyes twinkled as if he had read her mind.
Blushing, Judith extended her hand and he loudly kissed the air
above her wrist. Embarrassed at the display, she snatched it back,
regretting her momentary qualms. As he towered over her, she looked
up into his admiring face wondering how she could have misread
intelligence in such a vacuous expression.

“Master Bellingham, how charming to see you
again,” she said.

“My pleasure, m’dear. But, since Newport is
not London, were bound to happen,” he drawled. “Did you enjoy
visiting our quaint little church?”

Since she had indeed enjoyed the service,
Judith drew herself up at his sneering tone. “A building of such
beauty could hardly be called quaint, good sir,” she answered
crisply.

“Egads, m’dear,” Nate said. “Here only a day
and already you’re defending our fair city. Methinks you have the
makings of a true republican.”

“Only an idiot would fail to appreciate the
novel sights of America,” she shot back, hoping the set down might
remove the odious man from her presence.

Nate raised his quizzing glass and the
magnified eye seemed to hold a sparkle of laughter as he trained it
on her. Appearing oblivious to her reaction, he turned to her
father and extended a limp hand which Simon grasped, pumping it
enthusiastically while a pained expression crossed the younger
man’s face.

As the two men conversed, Judith studied
Nathanael. She wondered why everything the infuriating man said to
her sounded as though he were mocking her. Surely he was the figure
of fun. Overdressed and overbearing, she muttered beneath her
breath.

A plump little woman joined them. Priscilla
Woodbridge, introduced as one of the leaders of Newport society,
was dressed in a style more suited to an ingénue than a woman of
fifty. Judith’s eyes widened as the lady fluttered and batted her
eyelashes under Nate’s excessive attentions. Grudgingly she
admitted that the fop had a certain appeal to older women. The man
certainly was a puzzle. The society dandies that Judith had met in
London usually exhibited such an ostentatious display to cover
their insecurities or their lack of prowess in more masculine
pursuits. Lord only knew Nate did not appear to have an insecure
bone in his body. And his body suggested, nay broadcast, his male
attributes. If only he would realize that without all the
fashionable trappings he would be a handsome man.

“Stop it, you naughty rascal,” Priscilla
shrilled, although it was apparent that she was enjoying Nate’s
sallies. “I shan’t listen to another scandalous titbit. You will
give this darling girl a very poor impression of our society.”

“That would hardly be possible, Mistress
Woodbridge,” Judith said. “Father has always spoken highly of his
friends here in Newport.”