Love’s Betrayal (47 page)

Wilted beneath his stare, Georgette rose, excused herself, and led the way upstairs. As they passed into the front hall, her father's comment followed: “What that girl needs is a flogging. Her mother always pampered her. Deceitful, she is. No respect for authority.”

Jean-Maurice said not a word as he followed Georgette up two flights and into her chamber. “Yours is the adjoining room,” she said, but he closed her chamber door and leaned his back against it, eyes closed, chest heaving.

“Maybe tar and feathers were not too harsh after all,” he mused aloud. “Almost I wish I had not already purchased his passage to England. Yet, for your mother's sake and to remove him from your vicinity, the fee was well spent.”

Georgette regarded her husband from a distance, still uncertain. “You look pale, Jean-Maurice. Are you ill?”

“No, I am shot,” he said softly.

“What? Where? Are you dying?” Georgette watched as he staggered over to collapse upon her bed. “Has a doctor seen your wound?”

“Pull off my boots, woman, and cease that incessant weeping!”

Georgette leaped to obey, trembling in surprise and hurt. Footsteps sounded in the room below, and a door closed.

After his boots hit the floor, Jean-Maurice smiled up at her. “Hush,
ma chérie
—speak softly. My injury must not be known. Pierre bound it and applied a poultice. The damage is not serious, I think. The ball entered my shoulder from the side and exited through the back. Pierre thinks it bounced off my shoulder blade. I have suffered worse injury in the past.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Pierre shot Pringle through the arm.”

“You should have stayed in bed instead of riding over here today to play the angry husband,” Georgette scolded, wiping tears from her face with the backs of her hands. She dipped a handkerchief in her basin, wrung it out, and placed it upon his forehead. “Do you have a fever? Do you need your bandage changed?” She bent to lay her cheek against his.

“At present I need only rest and you.” His eyes opened. “I could not leave you to wonder if I were dead or alive. Now we are together, all will be well.” He lifted his right arm in invitation. “Come and ‘do penance at my pleasure.' Rest with me. You look peaked.”

“Where is Pierre?” Georgette covered him with a blanket and slid in beside him. Her hoop skirt rose behind her, admitting a draft. She tried to push it down, to no avail.

Jean-Maurice smiled. “You will seldom see Pierre, but he is near. Like a guardian angel.”

The question must be asked. “Will you ever tell me how you received that scar on your throat and why you have nightmares?”

A pause. “Some tales are best left untold.”

“When I heard that you had been shot, I prayed for your safety, but mainly I wondered … Please tell me, Jean-Maurice: Had you died last night, what would have become of your soul?”

He squeezed her gently. “The angels would have carried me to the Holy City. Never fear.”

“So you know that God has forgiven you?” Georgette lifted her head to get a clear look at his face.

His dark eyes glimmered at her from beneath their thick lashes, and a double chin formed as he tipped his face down. “I am forgiven for Christ's sake, not for any worth in myself. Like the apostle Peter, I at last came to realize that, short of inventing my own god and religion, I had no choice but to abandon my pride and accept God's gift.”

“When did this happen? Why did you not tell me?” She crossed her hands over the solid muscles of his chest and rested her chin upon her fingers, trying to pretend her voice did not wobble with emotion. “What do you mean about Peter?”

“I would have told you sometime.” He looked uncomfortable. “It happened gradually since our talk that night. I refer to the Gospel of John, chapter six. ‘Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God.' And also in the book of Acts chapter four: ‘There is none other name given among men, whereby we must be saved.' Jesus Christ is my Lord and my God, and I shall serve Him all my days. That is all.”

Georgette hid her face against his broad chest and wept. “Oh, thank God, thank God! Jean-Maurice, I love you so.”

If the Talbots and Grenvilles wondered about the amount of time Georgette and Jean-Maurice spent upstairs, they made no comment. Pierre's prompt attention to the injury and Jean-Maurice's iron constitution collaborated toward quick healing. Georgette winced at the holes and bruises marring her husband's skin, but she rejoiced at his uneventful recovery. She hid away the soiled bandages until Pierre could collect and wash them for her. Each night the nimble servant availed himself of Jean-Maurice's entry—the gable window.

Although her husband slept much of the time, he dressed carefully for meals. No one could possibly have guessed at his injury. He conversed with the men about current affairs, rejoiced at rumors of the captive farmers' imminent release, and chuckled at her father's jokes concerning the pitiful Continental Army. To Georgette, he maintained in public a polite, guarded behavior.

After four days of rest, Jean-Maurice decided he was strong enough to travel home, overruling Georgette's protests. “All reports indicate that the Hudson is still open. I am well enough to ride in a boat. I weary of this house and these people, and we should depart before Pringle's return.”

The morning of their departure, Pierre loaded their trunks upon a cart and brought a new pair of hired horses. Georgette kept a worried eye on her husband during their travel preparations, but Jean-Maurice showed no sign of weakness.

Marianne drew her aside in the hallway. Georgette returned her friend's hug, feeling guilty for the lack of attention she had given her. Marianne's blue eyes brimmed. “I shall miss you, Gigi. I see the wary glances you give your husband, but truly I believe you need not fear. When he thinks no one is looking, Mr. LaTournay still gazes upon you with affection. Your marriage can be saved if you set your mind to forget about the Frog and strive to become a submissive wife. I shall pray for your complete reconciliation with Mr. LaTournay.”

Humbled and slightly amused, Georgette bowed her head and squeezed Marianne's hands. “Thank you, my dear. I shall pray that God will bring a great love into your life—a man worthy of you.” She kissed Marianne's soft cheek.

Her mother waylaid her next. “Dearest girl, I am so thankful your husband purchased our passage instead of simply giving Mr. Talbot the money. He is so generous and kind.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “He gave me extra money in case of another emergency; your father does not know. Do try to value Mr. LaTournay and forget that dreadful Frog. He is handsome from some angles, and I believe he cares for you. How distinguished he is! Do you not think his eyes are fine?”

Georgette restrained a smile. “Very fine, indeed. He has been kind and patient with me this week, Mummy, despite his harsh words. I believe I do care for him, after all. Our home in the north is lovely; I wish you could see it. I anticipate our home-coming with pleasure.” She found it difficult to restrict her speech to such glaring understatements.

“I am gratified to hear it. Although your marriage was arranged, it does not necessarily follow that it cannot be felicitous.”

They linked arms and entered the front hallway where the others waited. “This time I shall make certain they sail with the ship,” Mr. Grenville was saying in a hearty tone. “You can count on me.”

“I do, sir,” Mr. LaTournay returned with a respectful bow. He shook her father's hand and accepted her mother's embrace. Georgette wondered if he was remembering the last “final” farewell. Despite her cynical thoughts, she wept once again while hugging her mother.

As they rode side by side along the ferry road, Jean-Maurice reached across the intervening space and grasped Georgette's hand. “Are you sorry to take leave of your parents?”

Georgette pondered the question and sighed. “Somewhat. I long to be home again with you. And Caramel.”

“Ah, yes, that love offering from my rival,
le Grenouille.
”

His harsh tone startled Georgette until she caught the twinkle in his eye. “A little uncertainty would do you good,” she returned. “And I am reminded to inquire why you call me your frog. Marianne translated for me.” Her irritation increased when he laughed aloud. “Do I resemble a frog? Does my large mouth amuse you?”

He caught her mount's reins and stopped both horses. “Ma épouse chérie, can you believe that I find anything about you objectionable? In my eyes, you are altogether lovely. I behold your lips to think of only one thing.”

Putting his weight in his left stirrup, he leaned over to kiss her. Smiling, he returned to his seat and released her horse. “Now that we have scandalized the populace of Queens, shall we proceed?”

Swallowing hard, Georgette nodded. The joy in her heart must have glowed on her face, for every time Jean-Maurice looked her way that entire day, he smiled.

And the angel of the L
ORD
appeared unto him, and said unto him, The L
ORD
is with thee, thou mighty man of valour.

J
UDGES
6:12

F
irelight flickered on the oak beams and plaster walls of Georgette's bedchamber. A log fell in a shower of sparks. Jean-Maurice rose to brush the hot ashes away from Caramel's basket and rebuild the fire. Straightening, he flexed his shoulders and glanced up to meet Georgette's gaze.

“Does it ache?” she asked.

“Not too badly.” He sat down across from her.

“What will you do after you are fully recovered, Jean-Maurice?” Georgette rose to stand behind his chair and rub his shoulders. Six weeks after the shooting, he had regained much of his former strength, though he had not yet regained full mobility in his left arm. He used it to toss a ball for Caramel. The little dog pounced on the toy and brought it back.

“I am uncertain.” Jean-Maurice picked up the slimy ball and threw it again. “Because my identity yet remains unknown, my superiors wish me to organize further spy operations. British spies are everywhere. If we intend to win this war, we must fight fire with fire. I have also been requested to train regular troops in the art of bayonet warfare.”

“You would fight in this war?” Georgette tried to sound brave.

“I had hoped never again to join in combat.”

“Again? You have fought before?”

Silence. Caramel dropped the ball at Jean-Maurice's feet and woofed for attention. Jean-Maurice obliged by throwing the ball, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

“Did you fight in the Indian wars? Is that what happened when your father returned for you? And you must have fought on the side of the French. But you were only a boy at the time!”

His shoulders tightened. Georgette watched him run one finger up the scar from his collar to his chin. “My childhood ended the day my father came to this house. In the name of war, I have committed atrocities of which I can never speak. As a spy, I was obliged to accept the reputation of a womanizer and pretend to woo another man's wife, a mistake that nearly cost me all I hold dear. Mere words cannot express the remorse I suffered when you scorned my suit.”

“I recall the Frog defending your reputation to me,” Georgette said in an attempt to lighten his mood.

He shook his head. “Yet you believed me an immoral man even after our marriage, being too innocent yourself to recognize my inexperience with women. I deserved your suspicion, for I had deceived you, lied to you. For all this evil, God has forgiven me, just as you said He would. But how can I fight another war or engage in further intelligence work, knowing I may be obliged to repeat sins of my past?”

Georgette kissed the top of his head. “You would not repeat the past, because now you belong to God. The torment that once burned in your eyes is gone; God's peace fills you.”

He caught her hand and brought it to his cheek. “Georgette, you are God's wondrous gift to me. I do not deserve you.” His broken whisper brought tears to her eyes.

“Neither do I deserve you. I know it is difficult for you to speak of your past, but it helps me to understand you better. Whatever comes in our future, Jean-Maurice, I want to enjoy each moment we spend together so that I shall have no regrets. We are one now, and I shall endeavor to assist in any task the Lord assigns you, whether it is to spy for the Whigs or to fight for their army.”

He pulled her into his lap and buried his face in her loose hair. “Woman, if ever I conceal my activities from you again, rest assured that I think only of your safety. I trust you completely. In the past you have been my unwitting accomplice; now you are my mate in every sense.”

Their future loomed cloudy and uncertain, yet Georgette's heart was at peace. “One
bonne grenouille
deserves another. Um, Jean-Maurice, how does one say ‘tadpole' in French?”