Tai-Pan (58 page)

“I don’t believe it,” Glessing said.

“Yes,” Cooper agreed worriedly, knowing a peace between Brock and Struan would not work to his benefit. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes very good sense,” Mary said. “She’s the youngest and she should have the honor.”

“More to it than that, Miss Sinclair,” Glessing said. “The Tai-Pan never does anything lightly. Perhaps he hopes she’ll fall down and break a leg or something. He hates Brock.”

“I think that’s a very unkind thought, Captain Glessing,” Mary said sharply.

“Yes it is, and I apologize for saying aloud what everyone’s thinking.” Glessing regretted his stupidity; he should have realized that such exquisite innocence would defend that devil. “I’m irritated only because you’re the most beautiful lady present and you undoubtedly should have the honor.”

“You’re very kind. But you mustn’t think that the Tai-Pan does things maliciously. He doesn’t.”

“You’re right and I’m wrong,” Glessing said. “Perhaps I can have the first dance—and take you in to dinner. Then I’ll know I’m forgiven.”

For more than a year she had been considering George Glessing as a possible husband. She liked him but did not love him. But now everything was ruined, she thought.

“Thank you,” she said. She lowered her eyes and fluttered her fan. “If you promise to be more—more gentle.”

“Done,” Glessing said happily.

Struan was leading Tess across the floor. “Can you waltz, lass?”

She nodded, and tried to keep her eyes from the Tai-Pan’s son.

“May I present Miss Tess Brock, Your Highness? Archduke Alexi Zergeyev.”

Tess stood paralyzed, her knees trembling. But the thought of Culum, and the way he’d looked at her, bolstered her confidence and restored her poise.

“I’m honored, Your Highness,” she said, curtsying.

The archduke bowed and gallantly kissed her hand. “It’s my honor, Miss Brock.”

“Did you have a pleasant voyage?” she asked, fanning herself.

“Yes, thank you.” He glanced at Struan. “Are all English young ladies so beautiful?”

No sooner had he spoken than Shevaun swept into the light on Tillman’s arm. Her dress was a mist of green gossamer, its skirt huge and bell-like. The outer dress was knee-length to dramatize the tiers of a dozen cascading emerald petticoats. She wore long green gloves, and there were birds-of-paradise feathers in her red hair. Incredibly, her bodice was without supporting sleeves.

“I’m sorry we’re late, Your Excellency, Mr. Struan,” she said, with a curtsy in the silence. “But I broke a shoe buckle just as we were leaving.”

Longstaff pried his eyes off the decolletage and wondered, with all of them, how the devil the dress was supported and if it would come down. “Your timing is always perfect, Shevaun.” He turned to Zergeyev. “May I present Miss Shevaun Tillman from America. Oh, and Mr. Tillman. His Highness, Archduke Alexi Zergeyev.”

Standing there forgotten, Tess watched as Shevaun curtsied again, and hated her for taking away her moment of glory. It was the first time she had been jealous of another woman. And it was the first time she had thought of herself as a woman, not a girl.

“What a beautiful dress, Miss Tillman,” she said sweetly. “Did you make it yourself?”

Shevaun’s eyes blazed, but she replied as sweetly, “Oh no, dear, I haven’t your talent, I’m afraid.” You gutter-nosed-whore-bitch.

“Perhaps I may have the honor of the first dance, Shevaun?” Longstaff said.

“Delighted, Your Excellency.” She was exhilarated by the envy and jealousy that she had provoked. “Everything looks so beautiful, Tai-Pan.” She smiled at Struan.

“Er, thank you,” Struan said. He turned and motioned to the navy bandleader.

The baton fell and then the first exciting bars of a Viennese waltz began. Although waltzes were frowned on, they were the most popular of all dances.

The archduke led Tess into the center of the floor and Shevaun prayed that Tess would trip and fall, or even better, dance like a cow. But Tess floated like a leaf. Longstaff led Shevaun out. As she spun with marvelous grace, she noticed Struan heading for a dark-eyed Portuguese beauty whom she had never seen before, and she was furious. But when she had spun again, she saw that Struan had led Liza Brock onto the floor, and she thought, Ah, Tai-Pan, you’re a smart man. I love you for that. Then her eyes saw Tess and the archduke holding the center of the floor and she guided Longstaff, who danced very well, into the center of the floor without his knowing that he had been guided.

Culum stood on the sidelines and watched. He took a glass of champagne and drank it without tasting it, and then he was bowing in front of Tess and asking for the second dance.

He did not notice Brock’s frown or Liza hurriedly distracting Brock. Or Gorth’s sudden curiosity.

There were waltzes and polkas and reels and galops. Shevaun was surrounded at the end of every dance, and so was Manoelita—but more cautiously. Culum danced with Tess a third time, and four times in an evening was all that convention would allow.

The last dance before supper Struan pushed through the crush encircling Shevaun. “Gentlemen,” he said with calm finality, “I’m sorry, but this dance is the prerogative of the host.” The men groaned and let him take her. He did not wait for the music but began to lead her out onto the floor.

Jeff Cooper watched jealously. It had been his dance.

“They look well together,” he said to Tillman.

“Yes. Why don’t you press your suit? You know my views. And my brother’s.”

“There’s time.”

“Not now that Struan’s unmarried.”

Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “You’d encourage such a match?”

“Of course not. But it’s quite apparent to me that Shevaun’s infatuated with the man.” Then Tillman added testily, “It’s time she settled down. I’ve had nothing but trouble ever since she arrived and I’m tired of being a watchdog. I know your mind, so formally ask for her hand and let’s be done with it.”

“Not until I’m sure she’s ready to accept me—and happy about it—of her own free will. She’s not a chattel to be bought and sold.”

“I agree. But she’s still a female, a minor, and will do what her father and I consider in her best interests. I must confess I do not approve of your attitude, Jeff. Asking for trouble.”

Cooper made no reply. He gazed at Shevaun, his loins aching.

“They make a perfect couple,” Mary said, desperately wanting to be Shevaun. And at that moment, she suddenly felt unclean: because of her secret life, and the child, and Glessing. He had been so tender tonight, tender and masculine and very English and very clean. And she almost wept from the pain of her futile love for the Tai-Pan.

“They do,” Glessing said. “But if there’s any justice, you’ll win the prize, Miss Sinclair.”

She managed a smile, and again tried to think who the father of the child would be—not that that mattered, for the father was Chinese. To have a Chinese bastard! I’ll die before that, she told herself. Two or three months and then it’ll begin to show. But I’ll not live to see the horror and reproach on their faces. Tears filled her eyes.

“There, there, Mary,” Glessing said, touching her arm affectionately. “You mustn’t cry because I paid you a compliment. You really are the most beautiful person here—the most beautiful that I’ve ever seen. That’s the truth.”

She brushed the tears away behind her fan. And through the mist of terror she remembered May-may. Perhaps May-may could help? Perhaps the Chinese have medicines to abort a child. But that’s murder. Murder. No, it’s my body and there’s no God and if I have the child I’m damned. “Sorry, George dear,” she said, more at peace with herself now that she’d made the decision. “I felt faint for a moment.”

“You’re sure you’re all right now?”

“Oh, yes.”

Glessing was brimming with protective love. Poor, frail little girl, he thought. She needs someone to look after her, and that’s me. Only me.

Struan stopped in the dead center of the floor.

“I was wondering when I would be honored, Tai-Pan.” Shevaun radiated devilment.

“This dance is in your honor, Shevaun,” he said blandly.

The first bar of the most electrifying music on earth began. The Kankana. A wild, hilarious, rowdy, high-stepping dance that had rushed into vogue in Paris in the thirties and had taken the capitals of Europe by storm, but was forbidden as outrageous in the best circles.

“Tai-Pan!” she said, dumfounded.

“I bribed the bandleader,” Struan whispered.

She hesitated, but feeling all the scandalized eyes on her, she casually took Struan’s arms, the beat of the music whipping her.

“Nothing will fall down, I trust?” Struan said.

“If it does, you’ll protect me, I trust?”

And then they were high-stepping. Shevaun broke from Struan’s arms and lifted her skirts and kicked high and showed her pantaloons. There was a jubilant shout as the men rushed for partners. Now everyone was dancing and kicking, possessed by the infectious, abandoned rhythm.

The music ravaged them. All of them.

When it ended, there was wild applause and continued shouts for an encore, and the band struck up again. Mary forgot the child, and Glessing decided that tonight he would ask—demand, by God—that Horatio bless the marriage. The dancers continued their twirling, kicking, cheering, gasping, and then it was done. The young people swarmed Struan and Shevaun, and thanked him and congratulated her. She held his arm possessively and fanned herself, vastly pleased with herself. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and was very glad that his two gambles had paid off: Tess and the Kankana.

All returned to their seats and servants began carrying trays of food to the tables. Smoked salmon and smoked hams and fish and oysters and clams and sausages. Fresh fruit that Chen Sheng had weedled out of a lorcha which had made the perilous journey from Manila. Sides of fresh-killed beef purchased from the navy, barbecued over open fires. Suckling pigs. Pickled hog’s feet in sweet jelly.

“By my life,” Zergeyev said, “I’ve never seen so much food, or had such a wonderful time in years, Mr. Struan.”

“La, Your Highness,” Shevaun said, raising an eyebrow, “this is positively ordinary for The Noble House.”

Struan laughed with the others and sat down at the head of a table. Zergeyev was on his right and Longstaff at his left, Shevaun beside the archduke and Mary Sinclair beside Longstaff, Glessing close in attendance next to her. At the same table were Horatio, Aristotle, Manoelita and the admiral. Then Brock and Liza and Jeff Cooper. Robb and Culum were hosts at tables of their own.

Struan glanced at Aristotle and wondered how he had managed to persuade Vargas to allow Manoelita to be Aristotle’s dinner partner. Great God, he thought, is Manoelita the one who’s posing for the picture?

“The Kankana,” Longstaff was saying, “ ’Pon me word. A devilish, dangerous gamble, Tai-Pan.”

“Na for so many modern people, Excellency. Everyone seemed to enjoy it vastly.”

“But if Miss Tillman hadn’t taken the initiative,” Zergeyev said, “I doubt if one of us would have had the courage.”

“What else could a body do, Your Highness?” Shevaun said. “Honor was at stake.” She turned to Struan. “That was a very naughty thing to do, Tai-Pan.”

“Aye,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I have to see my guests are taken care of.”

He walked among the tables, greeting everyone. When he came to Culum’s table, there was a slight hush and Culum looked up. “Hello,” he said.

“Is everything all right, Culum?”

“Yes, thank you.” Culum was perfectly polite but there was no warmth. Gorth, who was sitting opposite Tess at Culum’s table, laughed inside. Struan walked away.

When dinner was over, the ladies retired to the large tent that had been set aside for them. The men grouped at the tables and smoked and sipped port, delighted to be alone for a while. They relaxed and talked about the rising sale price of spices, and Robb and Struan made profitable deals on spices and cargo space. Everyone decided Shevaun was the winner, but Aristotle did not seem convinced.

“If you don’t give her the prize,” Robb said, “she’ll kill you.”

“Ah, Robb, dear innocent!” Aristotle said. “You’re all transfixed by her tits—true, they’re impeccable—but the contest is for the best-dressed, not the most undressed!”

“But her dress is marvelous. The best, easily.”

“You poor man, you haven’t got a painter’s eye—or the responsibility of an immortal choice.”

So the odds lengthened on Shevaun. Mary was favored. Manoelita had her backers.

“Whom do you favor, Culum?” Horatio asked.

“Miss Sinclair, of course,” Culum said gallantly, though as far as he was concerned there was only one lady worthy of the honor.

“You’re very kind,” Horatio said. He turned away as Mauss called to him. “Excuse me a moment.”

Culum sat at one of the tables, content to be alone with his thoughts. Tess Brock. What a lovely name! How beautiful she was! What a lovely lady. He saw Gorth bearing down on him.

“A word in your ear, Struan?” Gorth said.

“Of course. Won’t you sit down?” Culum tried to cover his unease.

“Thankee.” Gorth sat. He put his huge hands on the table. “Best I be blunt. That’s the only way I know how. It be about your da’ and mine. They be enemies and that be fact. Nout we can do about that’n, you’n me. But just ’cause they be enemies, baint necessary for us’n to do likewise. Least that be my thort. China’s big enough for you and me. Least, that be my thort. I’m mortal sick of they two acting stupid. Like over the knoll—why each’ll risk the house at the drop of a topper over 
face.
 If we baint careful, we’ll be drug down into enmity, you an’ me, without having anything to hate about. What do you say? Let’s us’n judge for ourselves. What my da’ thinks or your da’ thinks—well, that be their own affair. Let’s you and me start fair. Open. Maybe we could be friends, who knows? But I think it be unchristian for us’n to hate just because of our da’. What do you say?”

“I agree,” Culum said, bewildered by the offer of friendship.

“I baint saying my da’s wrong and yburs be right. All I be saying is that we’ve to try, as men, to live our own lives, best we can.” Gorth’s craggy face broke into a smile. “You look right proper shocked, lad.”