Pride of the King, The (19 page)

“Allow me,” Lauren murmured in French as she bent down to retrieve the quill. When she straightened up, she drove her elbow deep into Mr. Byrd’s groin, and the man shrieked in agony.

“
Oh! Mon Dieu
!” Lauren cried and filled the air with apologies in French.

The dressmaker doubled over and danced around the shop on his tiptoes, biting his lip.

Heloise raised an eyebrow at Lauren and said, “You are lucky that we just concluded our final order of business.”

Turning to Mr. Byrd, she said sympathetically, “How careless of the girl. I am terribly sorry. Good day.” She swept from the shop followed by Lauren and Cornelius.

“Mother, why on earth would you tell the dressmaker that we want to be left alone?”

“Honestly Cornelius,” Heloise scoffed. “After all these years you would think some of my wits would have worn off on you. The first thing that gossip of a dressmaker will do is inform everyone that we have arrived in New York, and that I have been presented at court. Next, he will tell them we want to be left alone and that will make us all the more desirable. Knowing human nature, they will be pounding on our door within a week.”

After dining at the Cheshire Cheese Tavern on Whitehall the three returned to their town home to meet Lauren’s new English tutor. The instant the young man entered the room Cornelius’ eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Lauren. This was no ordinary tutor.

As Frederick Brink crossed the room to kiss Mrs. Bench’s hand, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror. It was brief but Cornelius saw the look of admiration in his eyes. Clearly, this young man was pleased with himself.

“I am honored, Mrs. Bench,” he said as he pushed the dark hair away from his face.

“This is my son Cornelius and my daughter-in-law Lauren,” she explained. “Lauren will be your student.”

As Brink bowed low, Corny saw Lauren blush. “Where do you reside, Mr. Brink?” asked Cornelius.

“At the home of Reverend John Francis, I am tutoring his three children at present.”

Heloise interjected, “Do you have any objections to beginning your lessons today, Mr. Brink?”

“None, whatsoever.”

“We shall leave you then. Come Corny.”

As Heloise and Cornelius left the room, Lauren shifted uncomfortably in her chair waiting for a directive from her teacher. Frederick reached into his leather satchel pulled out several books. He held out his hand to Lauren, and she joined him at the table by the fire. All afternoon he tutored her in English and the art of admiring his splendid profile. He would turn his green eyes upon her, and she would blush like a schoolgirl.

Over the weeks, Mrs. Bench, Cornelius and Lauren settled into a happy routine. They would wake late in the morning, dine at one of the local taverns, shop and return home just in time for Lauren’s lesson. The rest of the day was spent refusing callers and declining invitations to suppers and parties hosted by the local aristocracy. Heloise remained aloof knowing this would increase the appetites of the curious. Lauren was in no hurry to change their routine either. She enjoyed her life of leisure. It gave her time to read, study and ponder Mr. Frederick Brink.

Mrs. Bench proved to be a stimulating companion for her as well, taking an interest in Lauren as a
protégée
. She had Cornelius teach the girl the latest dances, she had her fitted for new garments and wigs, and they spent many hours on the proper application of cosmetics. Their days were full as she schooled Lauren in social graces and the art of intrigue. Heloise taught Lauren how to manipulate a conversation, how to study people, and how to flatter effectively to obtain secrets. She told Lauren that above all the courage to be bold was the most important skill of all. Without it, Heloise said, nothing was possible.

For the most part, Mrs. Bench was pleased with Lauren but concerned about her impulsive tendencies. “We must weigh everything before we act or speak, Lauren. Nothing should be attempted without careful consideration. Assaulting the dressmaker the other day is the sort of rash behavior that cannot be tolerated. If we do not present a genteel impression from the start we will never be admitted into the better circles.”

Heloise knew that Lauren was her secret weapon. She would attract men and gain introductions, so she taught her carefully not to make assumptions about other people. “You must never judge anyone by their clothing; some of the wealthiest people dress the shabbiest. Everyone must be considered for possible exploitation.”

Lauren’s relationship with Cornelius blossomed as well. He joined Lauren in her room every night to discuss the events of the day and have a nightcap. He would visit with her while she undressed behind a screen or removed her makeup at the dressing table. Lauren was completely unconcerned when she paraded around him in her shift and stays. She knew that her feminine allure held no appeal for Corny.

“Lauren, it’s time to speak English,” he said to her one evening in her room. “French is growing tedious, and you seem ready for the challenge.”

“Alright I will try,” she said in English as she sat down to brush her amber tresses. “But you cannot laugh.”

“Oh, it sounds delightful! I love a French accent,” gushed Cornelius. “Don’t ever lose it, darling.’

“I want to lose it. It worries me.”

“Why?”

“Because they hate the French in New York.”

“Oh don’t worry about that!” Corny assured. “The French are ‘
tres chic
’ in high society. Everyone sends their children to be schooled in New Rochelle and New Paltz by the French Huguenots. You have nothing to worry about.” He walked over and pinched her cheek.

“You’re a fool, Cornelius,” she laughed pushing his hand away. Lauren had learned to love Corny. Although he was vain and self-absorbed, she loved his keen wit and good heart. He was a good friend and instinctively knew when she was worried, always laughing her out of a bad temper.

Corny walked to the mantel picked up a porcelain figurine, turned it over then set it down. “Your room is nicer than mine,” he said with a pout. “Mother caters way too much to you. You spoiled brat.”

“Now you know what it’s like to have a sister. So move over,” she said sticking her tongue out. Cornelius was right. Everything in the girl’s room was of the finest quality, from the highly polished cherry bed and highboy to the sumptuous Turkish rugs on the shiny hardwood floors.

“I say, has that pompous pedagogue tumbled you yet?”

“What?” said Lauren, her mouth dropping open. “What a thing to ask!”

Corny had been suspicious of Brink for some time. He tossed a brandy back before continuing. “I’m telling you. That man’s motives are not honorable.”

“Show me a man whose motives
are
honorable,” said Lauren.

“
Me
, for example. How many men could hold a civilized conversation with a woman in her stays?”

“Yes, but you are
unusual
,” she countered.

“Uh, huh,” Corny mumbled. “So I’ve heard.”

Chapter 23

One afternoon when the cold winds blew off the Hudson, Mrs. Bench announced, “Tonight we accept our first invitation.”

“What?” gasped Cornelius sitting up on the divan. “Where are we going?”

“We will attend a supper at the home of Rudolf Ghent, a prominent merchant. General Ambrose Stuart will be the guest of honor. He has just arrived from London and is in residence at the Ghent home.” Turning to Lauren she instructed, “The General will be your mark tonight.”

Lauren sat up straight. At last, she could put her lessons to the test. She was eager to use her charms on this Ambrose Stuart and if Heloise wanted him, she would deliver.

Rudolf Ghent’s town home was not far from the Bench’s home on Duke Street. The sturdy brick structure was the epitome of a traditional Dutch home. The stair stepped-gabled end faced the street with a large stoop and split double door. In the common room, a fire roared in the massive tiled fireplace. The furniture was heavy and dark but studded with decorative brass nails and the walls were adorned with colorful pictures. It was very different from the fashionable drawing rooms of London but nevertheless warm and inviting. Rudolf and Marta Ghent matched their furnishings perfectly. Stout practical good hearted folks, they met Heloise, Cornelius and Lauren at the door with open arms. “Come in! Do come in!” they boomed.

A black slave took their wraps and The Ghents ushered them into the common room to meet the other guests. There were twelve in all, mostly local merchants with their wives and of course General Stuart. He was tall and well groomed, quite dashing in his red uniform but unfortunately had the face of a horse. His jaw was huge and his face extremely long. Lauren swallowed hard, squared her shoulders and told herself if she was to charm and flatter the gentleman, she must concentrate on his attributes.

It was her turn to be introduced to the general. After he kissed her hand she cooed sweetly, “How enchanting to meet you, General.”

He frowned and said brusquely, “You’re French.”

“Well, I was born—” but she would never finish her explanation. General Stuart turned his back, taking up conversation with another guest. Nonchalantly Lauren smiled, arranged a lock of hair then leveled a look at Heloise and Cornelius. Avoiding her they turned to talk to other guests. She came up behind them and whispered, “So the French are all the rage. How did you put it Corny, ‘
tres chic’
?”

Heloise murmured, “It's nothing, only a minor setback.”

“Oh yes, English hatred for the French is only a minor setback,” said Lauren through her teeth. "For
you
!"

“I’ll handle it from here. Don’t worry,” said Heloise.

“No,
I’ll
handle it from here,” replied Lauren.

Lauren turned to go in to supper, lifting her chin and yanking her bodice as low as possible. Just as the guests were about to be seated, she jumped in front of the wife of a lumber baron and sat down next to General Stuart. He presented her with his back, engaging the woman on his right in conversation. Lauren was not discouraged. The night was young, and there would be an opportunity.

The servants and slaves prepared a bountiful repast of Dutch sausages and cheese, boiled cabbages and soup and for the English guests, a steak and kidney pie. Lauren observed the General pick at his food, clearly unhappy with the pedestrian fare. She made a mental note that he may prefer elegant suppers, served in several courses.

“I understand that you are a newlywed, Mrs. Bench,” said Marta Ghent leaning across the table smiling.

Heloise pursed her lips watching Lauren closely.

“Yes I am, Mrs. Ghent.”

“You have an accent. Are you French, my dear?”

Lauren knew this may be her only chance and her mind raced. “No, I am not French. I am of English decent raised in New France by my aunt. I was orphaned many years ago. My mother’s sister married a French merchant in New Orleans.”

General Stuart looked at Lauren. She saw his eyes run from her face, to her bodice and back up again.

“Do you find our ways very different from the French?” Mrs. Ghent continued.

“Oh, in some ways they are very different. For example in New France, women cannot spin their own fabric. They must purchase it from Paris.”

“How interesting.” replied the hostess. “They feel compelled to create a monopoly.”

“Yes, I suppose—”

“That is why we are fighting them here,” interrupted General Stuart. “They wish to create a monopoly on everything, including this continent.”

“I do not believe they will ever succeed, General,” said Lauren.

“And why is that, Madam?”

“Frenchmen lack the courage and strength. They are bred to enjoy food, art, wine and women. Their bravery is merely bravado.”

The General chuckled and said, “Undoubtedly true, but I find it surprising that you would defile your own people.”

Lauren lifted her chin and said, “If they were my people would I be here tonight?” Then she lowered her voice and said privately to him, “There is one other thing that is distinctively different.”

“And what is that?”

“I have found Frenchmen lack the vigor of the English gentlemen.”

He smiled slowly and said “Indeed, Madam.”

Lauren leaned forward so he could look down her dress and murmured, “Indeed.”

*          *         *

In a matter of months, Lauren was the toast of New York. The town home on Duke Street had taken on every aspect of a fashionable salon where the well-bred met to discuss politics, art, investments and the possibility of war. General Ambrose Stuart was the first to fall to Lauren’s charms. Although he was busy conducting business and military matters, he made every effort to attend teas and suppers at the Bench residence. Although Lauren’s youth and vivacious nature enchanted him, it was her lean, willowy figure and copper tresses, which drove him to distraction. She seldom wore wigs knowing that he admired her sumptuous hair, and she always chose gowns rich in auburn or gold hues to offset her bronze locks.