Gregory, Lisa (42 page)

And
how stupid it was of her to be hurt because he no longer wanted her. Naturally,
she had focused on him during her trials and had viewed him as her savior
because he had charged in with his huge, commanding presence and taken her from
her tormentors. She had been consumed with gratitude and so ready, even eager,
to repay him by throwing herself at his feet. That was why she had wanted so to
cling to him, and been so destroyed when he sent her away. But now that she
could put things in their proper perspective, realize her gratitude for what it
was, and recall that it was his fault that she had been put in a position where
he had to rescue her, she could see that it was silly to be hurt. After all,
had he not done what she had been begging him to do all along?

The
days at sea slipped by and Katherine's mental recuperation sped along, helped
by pleasant conversations with the doctor and their friendly games of chess and
large chunks of time spent alone to quiet her nerves in sewing or to soothe her
raw emotions in reading. Her irrational fears died; her firm jaw and clear,
straight gaze returned; her spirit revived. But nothing helped fill the aching
emptiness inside her. Sadness darkened her eyes; she was slower, quieter, less
likely to return a witticism. It seemed as if there were always a steel band
around her chest—squeezing, squeezing. No wonder, she told herself, since her
life was ruined. No man would have her now; she would be shunned by Society,
doomed to while away her life in the musty company of Aunt Amelia. That was
reason enough, surely, for her to sob her heart out nearly every night.

It
was some time before she could bring herself to open the box he had given her.
She wanted no more to do with it than he had, but finally curiosity won out:
why, and what had he bought for her in London? On top lay a little white box;
inside a delicate gold chain nestled against black velvet. She gasped at its
simple, fragile beauty and hurried to clasp it around her throat and preen at
her image in the mirror. A faint smile curved her lips. Damn the man, he had
excellent taste. She returned to the box and pulled out a lace and ivory fan,
beautifully carved, and lovely, lacy, enticing underthings. Her smile
broadened. Shocking, really, and no protection from the cold, but how subtly
provocative against one's bare skin, the sort of thing one wore only to have
taken off. She blushed at her thoughts, a little ashamed of herself that she
could feel a tingle of excitement at the thought of sex after the awful things
she had been through. Sternly she put aside the underthings and dove into the
box again, retrieving this time a nightgown that made her blushes seem
inadequate. White, gossamerlike, pristine yet completely revealing. Quickly she
undressed and slipped it on. It clung softly to her, concealing nothing, yet
somehow was more enticing for the gauzy hint of covering it gave. Dreamily she
looked in the mirror. She would have put it on and the fragile chain also, and
then walked toward him, so that the slit sides revealed alluring glimpses of
her bare flesh. And he would have smiled that little, almost mocking grin, his
eyes burning, watching her, not moving. When she reached him, he would have
reached out and slid his fingertips down her, grazing her breasts and stomach.

Good
heavens, what was she doing? Standing about dreaming wanton daydreams!
Hurriedly she jerked off the filmy gown and redressed, then opened the box to
pull out bolts of cloth—deep rose, emerald, and—breathtakingly beautiful—pale
gold satin. She touched them softly; he must have selected them carefully, for
the colors were just right for her. He had thought of her in London, taken the
time to select things to please her, things that were meant only for her and no
one else. How could he have done that and then rejected her so coldly? For that
matter, why had he even bothered to save her, just to throw her out? Hadn't he
whispered, "I love you" as he comforted her? Or had that only been a
delusion caused by that drug they had given her? Had he said it? Meant it? Was
it possible that her defilement had so completely destroyed his feeling for
her? No, he could not have said it; he could not have loved her and then
rejected her so. She felt the salty taste of tears and realized that she was
crying. Would she never stop all this weeping? Sternly she wiped away her
tears, returned all the presents to the box, and shoved it out of sight.

The
voyage was a long one, as the ship sailed first to Nassau and spent several
days exchanging cargo before continuing its journey to New York. Katherine was
glad, especially for the sunny, sleepy days in Nassau. The longer she delayed
facing Boston, the better she would feel. But at last the vessel docked in New
York City, and Katherine and the doctor continued their journey to Boston on
the train.

Rackingham
telephoned her father from New York, and when they stepped off the train they
found the Devereaux carriage waiting for them. A smile of genuine welcome split
the coachman's professionally blank face for a moment, and Katherine smiled
back, but felt a pang that her father had not come himself. She found it hard
to reenter the restrained, formal world of Boston society after the tumultuous,
emotional weeks spent with Matthew. The streets, the buildings, even her own
house as they approached it were all so familiar, and yet somehow so strange.
She was gripped by a sudden, icy realization that she no longer belonged here,
and she wanted to cry. Was there anyplace she belonged now?

The
butler opened the door and led her to the drawing room, where Mr. Devereaux and
Aunt Amelia awaited her. Her father hugged her joyfully and her aunt burst into
tears. Katherine kept hold of her father's hand, hoping that soon the barrier
of her strangeness would fall. She was overjoyed to see them again, of course,
but—why did she feel so sad, as if something was missing? Before long, pleading
travel weariness, she retired to her room, leaving her relatives to talk to Dr.
Rackingham.

"Oh,
Miss Kate! I'm that glad to see you!" Pegeen ran to her and gave her a
hearty hug.

Katherine
returned her hug and then closed her bedroom door. Somehow she felt better here
with her maid.

"Oh,
miss, you have no idea how dreadful it's been without you."

"Well,
I have missed you too, Pegeen. In fact, I discovered that I hardly knew how to
do a thing for myself!"

The
Irish girl laughed, then suddenly sobered. "Oh, Miss Katherine, was it
very dreadful? I—he didn't harm you, did he?"

"No."
Katherine sat down on the bed, tired. "He didn't harm me."

"I
knew he wouldn't. They all said he was a Rebel devil and no telling what he
would do to you. But
I
thought he was a fine gentleman, even in chains
like that. And the way I had seen him look at you, I knew he wouldn't hurt you.
He just wanted to—you know."

"Yes,
I know."

"It's
dreadfully exciting to think how much he must have wanted you, kidnapping you
like that, right in the teeth of the Navy."

"I
am sure he loved the danger of it."

"But
he must have known how much worse they would be to him for taking you as well
as escaping."

Katherine
sighed. "Matthew fears nothing, I found—and for good reason. Oh,
Pegeen." She turned to her, her face suddenly alight. "If only you
had seen him in the midst of battle. He's magnificent; so audacious."
Katherine, for the first time having a receptive audience, found herself pouring
out all her memories of his bravery and skill and determination: the battle,
the storm, tricking the captain of the
Susan Harper.

Pegeen
was enthralled and elated at the change in her mistress. She seemed so much
prettier, warmer. "But, mum, why ever did you leave him?" she burst
out.

Katherine's
face closed and she looked away. "He is a wonderful sailor and fighter,
Pegeen, but not particularly good at being a human being. He's arrogant,
selfish, and cruel. Besides, how can you think that I would live in sin
willingly with any man?"

"I
am sorry, miss; I know you are a good, moral woman. It's just that—well, you
seem to love him."

"Don't
be absurd, Peg. I am simply aware of his attributes as a captain. Also, I am
grateful to him for saving me from something quite dreadful."

"What?"
Pegeen asked, her eyes wide.

"Frankly,
a life in a brothel."

"Saints
preserve us, mum! You mean you was actually in one of them places?"

"Yes,
unfortunately. But Captain Hampton rescued me. And then he let me go. He no
longer wanted me, after—"

"Oh,
Miss Kate." Pegeen hastened to put a comforting hand on her arm. "How
terrible! He is a wicked man for turning you out like that. I can't see why men
think it's so awful for a girl to have slept with other men, while they have
any number of women they want. And especially when it wasn't even your fault.
They are so unfair!" Her poor mistress—men were such beasts. Anyone could
see she was eating her heart out for him, for all her saying she didn't love
him. But
he
threw her over because some other man had raped her. Pegeen
felt a sudden urge to find that handsome scoundrel and choke him to death. Poor
Miss Katherine, whatever would she do now?

The
doctor stayed on with them for several days, urged by Mr. Devereaux, who
realized how much he owed to the old gentleman. Katherine was grateful for his company;
he was the only person now who was secure and familiar. Though they never
talked of Matthew, she knew the shared experiences of Matthew's ship would be
gone from her forever when he left. Besides, he was the only relief from the
company of her aunts—and they were almost more than Katherine could bear.

Aunt
Amelia, true to form, was weepy and forever trying timidly to comfort her calm,
strong niece. If it had not been so irritating, Katherine would have found it
amusing. Aunt Amanda, however, amused her not at all. That worthy matron came
to call the day after Katherine's return, her face a study of righteous pity
and forgiveness.

"Poor
child," she sighed tearfully, hugging Katherine to her massive bosom.
"Thank God you have been returned to us."

Katherine
forbore to comment that they had hardly been on the best of terms when she
left. Amanda wiped away an imaginary tear and seated herself wearily.

"This
time has been such anguish for me, for us all. Why, poor James—"

"Please,
Aunt Amanda, spare me," Katherine said dryly.

"He
was quite driven to distraction," his mother said firmly.

"I
am sure that would not be too difficult."

"Katherine,
you are the most ungrateful child! Why, that boy is willing to marry you, even
now, just to save your good name!"

"I
am sure that is very kind of him, Auntie, but I shan't require such a dreadful
sacrifice from him."

"Well,
I doubt your penniless lieutenant will have you now, although he may be even
that anxious to trap your fortune."

"I
intend to release him from his obligation," Katherine said evenly.

"Of
course." That seemed to improve her aunt's humor and she smiled again.
"Naturally the family must close ranks now. You can depend on Amelia and
me to stand by you. If only you had listened to me and stayed home, like a
decent young girl, instead of traipsing down to those docks every day, none of
this would have happened. I trust that now you will depend on my advice and
perhaps we will be able to lessen this blot on the Fritham name."

"Whatever
are you talking about?" Katherine said coldly.

"I
am talking about what we must do now. I think that after a while, if you stay
quiet and don't cause any further fuss,
and
if you marry James, after a
proper time of course, to prove—" she paused meaningfully.

"That
I'm not pregnant?" her niece snapped, and Aunt Amelia gasped and began to
fan herself.

"Katherine,
please, no doubt being around that Rebel monster has made you forget what few
manners you once had, but if you ever expect to be allowed to enter a decent
house again, you had better learn a little propriety!" Amanda said
heatedly. "Until now, your peculiar notions have been tolerated because of
your name, which you have managed to besmirch through your stubborn, headstrong
ways, and from now on, you'll have to tread lightly, or you will never get even
a toe into Society again."

"But
I have done nothing wrong!" Katherine blazed. "Why should Society be
closed to me?"

"Whether
it was willing or forced, you are still a fallen woman; and remember, if you
had not flaunted yourself down at the docks—"

Katherine
leaped to her feet. "You're convicting me on no evidence. How does all
Boston know what happened to me—how do you, for that matter? I tell you, and
Dr. Rackingham will verify—"

"Really,
Katherine, it hardly matters what happened. Just the fact that you were in that
beast's company for so long condemns you."

"This
is outrageous! I will not stand for it."

"Dearest,
please," Amelia interjected timidly, "Amanda is right. You are in
disgrace, child. You cannot go out as you once did. Certainly not to the yards.
Or even to the opera or the theater. And, of course, we shan't be invited to
any parties."