The Forbidden Lady (4 page)

The officer bowed. “I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. We’re stopping all traffic in and out of Boston. Caught this one here, trying to desert.” He motioned to the man in restraints. “Some local people were helping him, had him hidden in their cart.”

Quin widened his eyes as he removed his snuffbox. “Sink me! ’Tis a crime to leave Boston?”

The officer’s face hardened with an irritated expression. “He’s a British soldier who tried to desert.”

“Oh, my! Now, why would a man do that? The uniforms are so dashing, don’t you know. I absolutely adore the bright colors. And those drums you play—so exhilarating.
Mon Dieu!
My heart goes pitter-pat.”

“You don’t say.”

“Would you care for some snuff? ’Tis a special blend we call
Grey Mouton.
Captain . . . ?”

“Captain Breakwell, and no, thank you.” The officer gazed over Quin’s shoulder with a frosty look.

Quin took a pinch and sneezed into his powerfully perfumed handkerchief. The mixture of musk oil, licorice, and ambergris was a foul concoction Josiah had proudly discovered and poured onto his master’s handkerchiefs.

Quin blinked to keep his eyes from watering. “I say, I was thinking of having a suit of clothing made for me in the military style. I hear the ladies positively swoon over a man in uniform. Have you found that to be true, Captain?”

Breakwell clenched his jaw. “You are free to enter Boston, sir. There’s no need to detain you further.”

“Oh, how kind of you.” Quin waved his handkerchief in the air, dispersing noxious fumes under the captain’s pinched face. “I say, what will you do with that man over there?” He eyed the captured man’s homespun clothing and shuddered. “
Quelle horreur
! It should be a crime to dress like that. I would suggest you put the man’s tailor in the pillory.”

“His crime is desertion. Fifty lashes.”

“Mon Dieu
! And you say the local peasants were helping him?”

“Aye, the Americans are happy to help a British soldier desert.”

“Hmm. Then, might I suggest, Captain, that instead of whipping the young man before his regiment, that you punish him where the townsfolk will see it, also? That might discourage the locals from assisting more soldiers in the future.”

Captain Breakwell considered this. “I believe I will. It could prove an effective deterrent.”

“Always happy to help. Good day, Captain.” Quincy retreated to the coach and glanced at Johnson through the window. “Well, hurry it up, old man, and open the door. You cannot see my hands are full?” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, displaying a snuffbox in one and a handkerchief in the other.

Johnson stepped out and waited for Quin to climb in. He reentered, closing the door behind him.

“You enjoy that, don’t you, Stanton?” Johnson sat across from him and rapped the cane on the ceiling.

As they rolled past the soldiers, Quin looked out the window at the man who would soon receive fifty lashes. “I should have helped that man escape instead of acting like a fool.”

“You were outnumbered. And you would have given away your true identity. But that was a good move, suggesting they lash the man in public.”

Quin yanked the wig off his head. “I’m sure the man would not agree.”

“No, but it will greatly anger the people of Boston, particularly when the British give more than the scriptural thirty-nine lashes.”

They continued their drive along the Neck, and Quin noted the gallows. An iron gibbet hung there, swaying gently, the decaying body of an executed criminal encased inside. He looked away, stunned for an instant by the risk he was taking as a spy. “With the British army quartered here, ’tis like a powder keg waiting to explode. It could blow up in our faces.”

Johnson shrugged. “Let it blow. ’Tis for a good cause.”

“ ’T
is for a good cause,” Mary Dover told her nieces in the parlor of her Boston home.

“Aye, but it sounds dangerous.” Virginia frowned as she sat on the ochre-yellow settee.

Caroline Munro paced silently across the thick imported rug. “But ’tis so exciting! Ginny, we must help Aunt Mary.” She whirled in front of the fireplace to assume a dramatic pose. “ ’Tis our patriotic duty.”

Virginia flinched as her younger sister’s skirts narrowly missed the flames. After a deep breath to calm herself, her voice revealed only the slightest tremor. “Please don’t stand so close to the fire.”

With an impatient huff, Caroline sat across from her in a Windsor chair.

Aunt Mary deposited a tray of refreshments onto the round mahogany table. “I’m afraid you misunderstand me. I only mean to explain my own actions. I’m not expecting you to assist me.”

“Well, why not?” Caroline asked. “I thought we stayed in Boston to help you.”

“Father agreed we should keep Aunt Mary company during her period of mourning,” Virginia explained. “He certainly did not give us permission to spy.”

“You’re right.” Mary passed a linen napkin and silver plate of sugared biscuits to Virginia. “Your father would never forgive me if I put you two in danger.”

Caroline leaned back in her chair, pouting. “Why can I not help? I’m just as much a rebel as you are.”

Mary sighed. “I know, but this is something
I
must do.”

Virginia selected a biscuit and passed the plate to her sister. “Does this have something to do with your late husband?”

“I suppose.” Mary handed Caroline a napkin. “He was a difficult man to live with. He wouldn’t allow me to voice any opinions of my own. I was told I must learn to speak properly, meaning not like a Scot, so I wouldn’t cause him embarrassment.” She shook her head as she returned the plate of biscuits to the round table. “I could never be myself.”

Virginia exchanged a glance with her fifteen-year-old sister. Father had told them about Mary’s abusive Tory husband. Now, at last, Aunt Mary was free. Free and determined to strike a blow against the Tories by spying on them.

“How exactly do you plan to go about this?” Virginia asked.

“ ’Tis quite simple.” Mary filled the china teacups with her latest attempt at patriotic pine-needle tea, instead of the overly taxed tea imported from England. “Since my late husband was a Loyalist, I was forced to socialize with the other Loyalists of Boston. I receive invitations to all their parties. Even though I’m in mourning, I have the perfect excuse for attending because I have two lovely young nieces I wish to show off.”

Caroline clapped her hands together, grinning widely. “Oh, I love parties.”

With a smile, Mary delivered full cups of tea to her nieces. “First, we shall go to the best seamstress in town and spend a small fortune.”

“Oh, no.” Virginia set her cup on the small table beside her. “We cannot allow you to spend money on us.”

“Why not?” Caroline asked, then blushed under her sister’s pointed stare. “No, you really should not,” she protested weakly and set down her cup of tea.

“Nonsense!” Mary pivoted to face them. “The money is mine now and I intend to enjoy it. We shall go to all the parties, and since many of the British officers will be there, I hope to overhear something important.”

“I see.” Virginia nodded, relieved her aunt was not planning a more aggressive approach to espionage. “I suppose that would be safe enough.”

Caroline snorted. “Don’t be so cautious, Ginny. To be a good spy, one must be absolutely fearless, bold, and daring. And that is exactly how I shall be.”

Virginia glared at her sister. “If you’re overly bold, you’ll be caught, and they’ll be hanging you by your daring neck. The more cautious spy will live to spy again.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “This is not the time to be afraid.”

She thinks I’m a coward.
Virginia winced inwardly. For years, she had avoided the memory of what she had done. Or rather, what she had not done, out of cowardice. She’d allowed her fear of fire to continue, never once attempting to conquer it. Instead, she had lived with a secret sense of shame.

How could she ever atone for the past? For the loss of life? She twisted her napkin in her hand as she considered. Could she somehow watch over her aunt to keep her safe? Perhaps the best way to keep her aunt from taking risks would be to take the risks herself. After all, she was a patriot, too. And even though the prospect of spying was frightening, it would afford her the opportunity to prove she could be brave.
And not a coward.
Just like her aunt, this was something she needed to do for herself.

She took a deep breath. “Very well, Aunt Mary. I shall assist you.”

“Yes!” Caroline leapt to her feet. “We’ll send the British packing.”

“Caroline.” Frowning, Mary set her napkin and half-eaten biscuit on her plate. “We must be careful. And realistic.”

“I agree.” Virginia smoothed out her napkin, mentally smoothing her frayed nerves. “We’ll think this through, step by step. Now, if we overhear something important, how do we relay the information to the proper channels?” She bit off a piece of sugared biscuit.

“I know exactly the person we should tell,” Mary said. “He did business with my husband. And everyone knows he supports the Colonial cause. Edward Stanton.”

“Sta—?” Virginia choked on her biscuit. To ease her coughing, she grabbed her cup and gulped some tea. The resinous taste of pine needles burned a trail of bitterness down her throat.

“Are you all right, Ginny?” Mary asked.

“
Stanton?
” Virginia returned her cup to its saucer with unsteady hands. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am. Edward Stanton is a highly respected man.” Mary blushed slightly. “I have always found him quite . . . reasonable.”

Virginia wiped her watering eyes with her napkin. “If you think lavender silk reasonable for a man. I cannot believe that fop is a patriot.”

“Fop? Oh, I see. You mean Edward’s nephew, Quincy.” Mary pursed her lips in disapproval. “A sad story, that is.”

Caroline leaned forward. “Why? What happened?”

“Quincy Stanton went to see his father in England and returned a dandified Loyalist,” Mary explained. “Poor Edward is not even speaking to him now.”

“I’m not surprised.” Virginia grimaced. “The man is downright insulting.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “Did Quincy offend you in some way?”

Caroline grinned. “What did he do?”

Virginia paused as warmth swept up to her cheeks. “Nothing. ’Twas a mere trifle.”

“A trifle insulting?” Mary asked.

Caroline squirmed in her chair. “Come on, Ginny. Tell us.”

“Very well. He wanted to . . . purchase me.”

Caroline gasped. “He thought you were a doxie?”

“No, of course not.” Virginia’s cheeks blazed with heat. “He thought I was a . . . a criminal.”

Caroline collapsed against the back of her chair, giggling.

Virginia crushed her napkin in a tight fist.

Mary covered her mouth, attempting to hide her grin. “Why would he think that?”

“ ’Twas the day Father and I found George. Quincy Stanton tried to buy me as a servant.”

“So how much was he willing to pay?” Caroline gave her a sly grin. “And what sort of services did he have in mind?”

Virginia grabbed a sugared biscuit from the table and threw it at her sister, thumping her on the head.

“Ladies, please.” Aunt Mary cleared her throat. “If we’re to be successful in our mission, we must blend in with the most elite of Boston society. This sort of behavior will not do.”

“Yes, Aunt Mary.” Caroline picked up the biscuit from her lap, where it had fallen, and eliminated the assault weapon by eating it.

“Dear Lord.” Virginia caught her breath with a startling thought. “Since Quincy Stanton is a Tory, he might attend the same parties we do.”

Her sister stifled a giggle.

“I’m sure he will.” Mary smiled. “I’ve heard every Tory hostess in town wants the charming Quincy Dearling Stanton at her party.”

“Quincy
Dearling
?” Virginia wrinkled her nose as if a skunk had marched into the parlor and promptly died.

“ ’Tis a family name,” Mary explained. “His father is the Earl of Dearlington. ’Tis not an endearment.”

“I should say not.” Virginia shuddered. She recalled the moment his gray eyes had locked with hers and the intense, searching look he had given her. If they met again, would he remember her? “I only hope I will not see the horrid Quincy Stanton again.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

Saturday, October 7, 1769

“O
h, no. ’Tis the horrid Quincy Stanton.” Virginia turned her back to the elegantly dressed man as he made an entrance at the Higgenbottoms’ ball. “Aunt Mary, I cannot remain here.”

“It would be rude to leave this early. Come.” Mary led her to the far side of the huge parlor. “There are so many people here, I doubt he will notice you.”

Virginia opened her fan with trembling fingers. “I shall be forced to hide behind a fan for the entire evening.” She peeked over the top of her fan, observing the man in sky-blue velvet with silver buttons as he made a leg to the hostess. Beside him stood the young boy purchased on
The North Star
, well groomed and also dressed in blue velvet. The boy’s appearance closely matched that of his employer, from his white powdered wig to the polished silver buckles on his shoes.

Without a glance, Quincy Stanton tossed his silver-tipped ebony cane to the side. The boy nabbed it in midair. Quincy removed his lace-edged tricorne and dropped it to the side without a look. The boy caught it, also. During the entire scenario, Quincy conversed with the hefty Mrs. Higgenbottom with apparent charm, for she responded with booming laughter.

“He certainly has that boy well trained,” Mary observed.

Virginia snorted behind her fan. “I wonder how many hours they practiced that ridiculous little scene.”

Across the room, a young lady in rose brocade let out a delighted squeal. “Quincy Stanton!” She skipped toward him, blond curls bouncing, with both hands extended. “How marvelous of you to come. And fie on you for arriving late. I was quite terrified I would languish to death from boredom.”

Virginia could not make out his low comment from across the room, but the young lady responded with a high-pitched giggle, rapped Quincy on the shoulder with her fan, and announced to everyone with her strident voice, “Oh, Quincy Dearling, you are insatiable!”

A rainbow of silk-gowned, beauty-marked ladies joined in with a musical score of trilling laughter.

Virginia shut her fan with a snap. “I think I am going to be ill.”

“Pay him no heed, Ginny. We’re here for more important matters.”

Virginia checked on her sister, who, with her emerald green eyes and flaming red curls, was collecting her own group of admirers. “I wish we had not included Caroline in our plans. She’s only fifteen and thinks this is nothing more than an amusing game.”

Mary whispered behind her fan, “I made it very clear to her that she must not introduce the subject of politics. So, if she finds out anything, it will be quite by accident.”

Virginia nodded, relieved. She suspected the older, higher-ranking officers would make the best targets, but Caroline had surrounded herself with a group of the youngest soldiers in the room. “I doubt she will learn anything useful from those boys, though it appears she
has
learned how to flirt.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to try a little flirting yourself. You look absolutely beautiful in that pale green. I wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself surrounded by suitors.”

Virginia winced as a sudden thought struck her. Had Father agreed to let her stay in Boston in hopes she would attract a suitor? “Aunt Mary, I didn’t come to Boston to look for a husband. I wanted the chance to finally meet you. Father always told us about you, about how much he missed you since your husband had forbidden you to see your family.”

“That’s all over now, thank the Lord. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to mingle a little.”

Virginia fiddled with the button on her glove. “Did Father tell you about the rumor at home that I’m unfit for marriage?”

“Posh! Utter nonsense.”

Virginia sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. There’s no one at home I’m interested in.” Even so, it had stung.

Mary patted her arm. “Perhaps you will meet someone here.”

“I doubt it.” Virginia scanned the crowd before her. The men were either British officers or exquisitely dressed Tories. “All these men hold political views opposite of my own. They might suit our purposes for information gathering, but I couldn’t possibly find a husband here.” She caught her breath. The speech of nearby people melted into incomprehensible mush.

Quincy Stanton, head and shoulders above his female admirers, was looking straight at her.

“Oh, no.” She flipped open her fan to cover the blush that warmed her cheeks.

He was watching her, no, staring at her. His smile was gone, the remaining expression serious and alert.

She ceased fluttering her fan as the flutters concentrated in her stomach. Stunned, she found herself staring back at him.

He bowed his head slightly, his eyes darkening. A chill slipped up her back as if the man had somehow managed to touch her from across the room.

When a woman’s fan struck him on the shoulder, he instantly resumed his smiling display of charm and elegance for the pleasure of his admirers.

Lowering her fan, Virginia resumed breathing.

“Ginny!”

She jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of Caroline beside her.

“Ginny, you must meet my new friends.”

“They’re not our friends, Caroline.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks. You’re being far too grumpy, hovering over here with all the old women. Oh, begging your pardon, Aunt Mary.”

With a smile and a shake of her head, Mary took a seat. “Never mind, my dear. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh.” Caroline leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “The man who wanted to buy you is here. Quincy Stanton, himself.”

Virginia shrugged. “I noticed.”

Caroline perched on a chair next to her aunt. “Did you hear what he said? It made the ladies squeal, especially Miss Higgenbottom. She’s the one who called him ‘Quincy Dearling.’ ” Caroline grinned at her sister.

“How quaint.” Virginia slid the looped handle of her fan over her gloved hand so the fan would dangle from her wrist.

Caroline continued, “When Miss Higgenbottom said she would languish to death from boredom, he confessed to causing many women a
little
death, but never from boredom. I asked one of my friends to explain, and he said he would be honored to demonstrate. Then all the men laughed—”

“
My stars
!” Aunt Mary sprang to her feet. “That is enough of that kind of talk, young lady. You will not speak of such matters again. Do you understand?”

Caroline’s eyes opened wide. “But I don’t know what it means, Aunt Mary. Do you, Ginny?”

Mystified, Virginia shook her head.

Mary sat down with a huff. “I will explain the matter at home in private, but for now, there will be no discussion of little . . .
deaths
with anyone. Understood?”

Caroline agreed, then dragged Virginia over to meet her friends as the strains of a contredanse filled the room.

Virginia accepted her first offer to dance and lined up with the other dancers. To her dismay, she spotted Quincy Stanton further down the men’s line. As the dance progressed, a lady partnered each man in turn, so in a few moments she would have no choice but to dance with him.

When her partner gulped, looking at her with the frantic eyes of a hunted animal, she realized she had been scowling at the poor man and forced herself to smile. He returned her smile with a nervous twitch of his lips, and the dance began.

The dreaded moment soon arrived.

She curtsied to Quincy Stanton. He made a leg to her. She approached, keeping her eyes focused on his lacy cravat. She didn’t need to see his face to know he was examining her with those gray eyes. She could feel it. It made her heart quicken, her skin tingle.

They turned, standing side by side, though the wide skirts currently in fashion kept a man at a distance. She lifted her hand. It was instantly enveloped in his larger, gloved hand. She was tempted to snatch her hand away, but as if he had read her mind, he tightened his fist.

She avoided looking at him, pretending not to notice the firm grip on her hand that defied proper dance etiquette. She glided through the steps as fluidly as possible. Whatever the man might think of her, he would at least think she was graceful.

The dance required that he release her and pass behind her.

He whispered, “We have not been introduced.”

She remained silent, determined to ignore the sensation of his breath stirring the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. If he expected her to announce her name, he was sadly mistaken.

The dance separated them as they each circled around another person. Her heart pounded in her ears so she could scarcely hear the music.

He neared her once again. “You’re still angry with me?”

So, he remembered his attempt to buy her
. Her cheeks flooded with warmth. Of course, he did. When he had stared across the room at her, his recognition had been startlingly clear.

She waited until their time together was about to end, then spoke, “To sustain anger over a period of time, I would have to be acquainted with you. Since we have not been introduced, I remain indifferent.” She turned to her new partner and curtsied with shaking knees.

She danced in a daze, moving mechanically through the next two partners. Then she slanted a glance down the row of men to see if he conversed with his current partner.

He was dancing with Caroline. She was biting her bottom lip, her eyes glittering like emeralds. It was a look Virginia knew well. Her sister was trying hard not to giggle. And Quincy Stanton—he remained silent, his expression bored and aloof, apparently immune to her sister’s dazzling good looks.

When Virginia returned to her original partner, she curtsied, glancing sidelong to see whom Mr. Stanton had asked to dance. Of course. ’Twas the pretty Miss Higgenbottom, who was smiling at him, displaying dimples in her rosy cheeks.

Virginia declined any more invitations to dance. Enough time had been wasted. It was time to go to work.

She spotted a lone officer and casually approached. The portly major stood bleary-eyed at a table stocked with wine bottles. His red coat was stained; his white waistcoat strained at the numerous buttons, threatening to pop them off. He poured his glass with an unsteady hand, downed the entire contents, then noticed her presence.

He adjusted his frizzled wig, which was slipping to the side. “Good evening, my dear. Would you care to join me in a scientific pursuit?”

“You’re a man of science, Major?” She wondered if his wig had been groomed by the winner of a cockfight.

“Indeed, I am.” He selected another wine bottle and refilled his glass. “I’m conducting research into the quality of European wines, a comparative test, don’t you know. Which is better—the French, the Rhenish, or perhaps, this sweet little Madeira I have here?” He guzzled it down and smacked his lips. “Hmm. It is hard to say. I’ll have to try this one again.”

Virginia eyed his flushed cheeks and the red nose accenting his round face. “I can see you are an expert.”

He downed a second Madeira and readjusted his tilted wig. “This one is excellent. It will require further study. Perhaps you will assist me?” He filled two glasses and offered one to her. His bloodshot eyes lit up when he noticed her low neckline. “Such a delight to find a delicate rose such as yourself, blooming in this backward wilderness.”

“Why, thank you. Will you be in Boston for long? I would enjoy the opportunity to see you again.”

The officer stumbled closer to her, still focused on her breasts. She eased back, fearful he would drool down her décolletage.

He emptied the contents of his glass down his throat and licked his full lips. “I would love to see you again, mistress, but I’ll be very busy for the next few months.”

“Oh?” Uncomfortable with the man’s leering, she gulped down some wine. He seemed to be holding a conversation with her bosom.

“At the end of the month, my men will be leaving Castle Island in the harbor and moving to a new location in town.”

Her heart quickened. This could be important. “Indeed? I do hope you will like your new quarters.”

“Oh, I suppose they’ll do. ’Tis the old warehouse where they once stored barrels of pickled meat. We’ll be close to the customs house in case there’s any trouble.” He narrowed his bloodshot eyes as if his continued ogling required a great deal of concentration. “And we do expect there’ll be trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Aye, the damned rebels won’t like what’s in store for them.” He rubbed his ample stomach and belched, dispersing a strong smell of alcohol in the air.

She blinked as her eyes watered.

He swayed toward her, offering her a grimy handkerchief. “Dear gel, no need to cry. I—” His pupils rolled back in his eye sockets, and he crumpled onto the floor at her feet. His frizzled wig tumbled off, revealing a shiny, bald head.

“Oh, dear.” She grabbed his wineglass and set it on the table. Fortunately it was empty and unbroken. She peered down at the unconscious major. Perhaps she could roll him under the table like a fat sausage, and no one would notice.

“Shame on you,
mademoiselle
. Did you frighten the poor officer into a faint?”

She would know this voice anywhere.

Quincy Dearling Stanton.

She pivoted to see Mr. Stanton and his grinning female entourage fanned out before her. He raised his quizzing glass to examine the inert officer.

Virginia glanced down. The major’s coat had fallen open, revealing his enormous, round belly squeezed into the white waistcoat. His bald head glistened in the candlelight while the frizzled wig lay beside him like a porcupine on alert.

Mr. Stanton lowered his quizzing glass, his mouth quirking with amusement. “Your husband, I presume?”

His ladies twittered with laughter.

Virginia focused a stony glare on him. “You need not interfere, sir. We have not been introduced.”

His eyes gleamed like the silver buttons on his coat. “Now where have I heard that before?
Mon Dieu
, by the looks of his wig, I would say our dear major has been flying kites with Benjamin Franklin.”