The Forbidden Lady (5 page)

She bit her lip when an urge to laugh caught her by surprise. The major’s wig did look like it had been struck by lightning. “Could you help the major to a settee where he would be more comfortable?”

“
Moi?
Dear gel, this colonial self-reliance may be admired in the backwoods of North Carolina, but here, we have servants.”

Her mouth fell open. How did he know where she was from? She inhaled a quivering breath, uncertain if she was frightened or excited. She dared a quick look at his face, then turned away.

He was watching her again with that serious, searching expression.

A servant grabbed hold of the unconscious major by the arms and dragged him across the floor like a lumpy sack of potatoes.

“Allow me to assist.” A sandy-haired redcoat captain grasped the major’s ankles, and with the servant’s help, he heaved the officer onto a blue brocade settee. The major’s legs sprawled awkwardly, and one hand slid off his round belly to dangle on the wooden floor.

“Bravo!” Quincy Stanton sauntered over to the table stocked with wine. “You have beached the great white whale.”

His ladies giggled. The major responded with a tremendous snore.

“And there she blows!” Quincy poured a glass of wine and raised it in salute. “To our first brave soldier, fallen in the line of duty.”

His toast was greeted with cheers from the men and peals of laughter from his ladies.

The young captain plucked the major’s wig off the floor, holding it at an arm’s distance between his forefinger and thumb as if it were some kind of vermin. After plopping the wig askew on the major’s head, he approached Virginia.

“I apologize for the major’s inattentiveness.” He bowed. “I am Captain Breakwell. May I be of further assistance?”

“No, but I thank you. You have been most helpful, unlike some gentlemen.” She glanced at Quincy Stanton crossing the room with a woman on each arm. “I have no idea why the poor major fainted like that. ’Twas most unexpected.”

“I fear he tends to overindulge. I assure you, a sober man would never leave a woman of your charms unattended.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” What a shame, the enemy had such nice manners.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Yes, thank you, Captain.” She felt at ease during the dance to “Rickett’s Ride” since Quincy Stanton was not participating. She searched the room for her aunt, eager to tell her the information she had learned from the drunken major. Caroline was dancing, as usual, but Aunt Mary was not in the room. Neither was Quincy Stanton, though Miss Higgenbottom and his other admirers were dancing. Perhaps the two missing persons had retired to the adjoining parlor to partake of the buffet.

She executed the final curtsy to the dance. “Will you excuse me, Captain, while I visit the buffet? I’m absolutely famished.”

“Allow me to accompany you.” He led her into the other parlor. “May I crave your name, mistress?”

“Oh, of course.” She gave him a fleeting smile as she introduced herself. “I’m visiting my aunt who lives here in Boston.” She scanned the room for her aunt in vain.

“May I fetch a plate for you?”

“Yes, thank you, Captain.” She pretended to be admiring an elaborate bombé chest, topped with an Oriental vase. Where was Aunt Mary? She needed to pass on her information before Captain Breakwell returned with her food.

A set of glass-paned doors led to the garden outside. Perhaps Aunt Mary had stepped out for some fresh air. She glanced at the captain. He stood stiffly erect in line, the back of his scarlet uniform turned toward her, his gold epaulettes gleaming in the candlelight of flickering wall sconces.

She approached the French doors, intending to slip out, when she noticed through the glass a strange iridescent glow in the garden. As her eyes adjusted, she spotted two people—a tall man and a much shorter, slighter figure, perhaps a boy. The man bent over the glowing object, apparently studying something. He straightened, passed something back to the boy, and the glow abruptly disappeared, casting them in darkness. Virginia blinked, unable for a moment to discern their movements.

The man was coming toward the house.

She spun around and took a seat, tucked back into a poorly lit corner.

Captain Breakwell had advanced to the buffet table, where he stood filling two plates. He must be planning to eat with her.

The French door inched open without a sound.

She held her breath. A man’s gloved hand rested on the door handle, the sleeve above it made of sky-blue velvet.

Quincy Stanton.

He eased into the room. She looked away quickly, pretending not to notice, but her eyes disobeyed her better judgment and she peeked back.

His smile was gone, his brow knit with concentration. He surveyed the room, in particular the line at the buffet, and his mouth thinned with disapproval. He tugged at the lace at his wrists as his gaze dropped to the floor. Virginia leaned forward, tilting her head to see his expression.

He looked sad.
How strange.
The man who was the life of the party was not enjoying the party.

As if he felt her watchful eyes, he suddenly turned his head in her direction. She looked away, straightening in her chair as the warmth of a blush spread across her cheeks. Her fingers curled around her closed fan in a tight grip.
You’re being ridiculous to pretend like this.
He must know that she’d been staring at him.

She took a deep breath and looked at him.

He had advanced toward her a few steps. He glanced around, then continued ’til he was in front of her. And there he stood, frowning at his high-heeled shoes.

She waited for him to speak.
Amazing
. The charming Quincy Stanton was hesitating, apparently unsure of himself.

She peered down at the oversized silver buckles adorning his black leather pumps and back up to his face. “Are they uncomfortable?”

His eyes met hers. “Excuse me?”

“Your shoes.”

He paused, then nodded. “Aye, they are. You . . . pardon me, but you’re looking very lovely tonight.”

She raised her eyebrows. “
Moi?
This is not the backwoods of North Carolina. Shouldn’t you have a servant deliver your compliments? You wouldn’t want to strain yourself.”

His eyes responded first. They shone with a warmth that communicated a keen appreciation of her boldness. His mouth followed, the corners turning up with a slow smile ’til a hint of his dimples showed. “Some things are better in person.”

She flipped open her fan in what she hoped was a nonchalant gesture. Her heart was racing, her cheeks burning. Blast this man, she was reacting like one of his brainless admirers.

He lowered his voice to scarce more than a whisper. “I owe you an apology.”

“Only one?”

His eyes twinkled as he smiled. “At least half a dozen.”

Her heart took a leap. “At least.”

“I do apologize. May I introduce myself?”

“Excuse me.” Captain Breakwell stepped around Mr. Stanton, cutting him off.

Virginia caught a glimpse of Quincy Stanton’s hostile glare, directed at the officer’s back.

Then, the transformation occurred. It was so abrupt, so affected, how could others fail to notice?

Quincy Stanton leaned on one leg in an elegant pose and smiled sweetly as he plucked a round, silver snuffbox from his pocket. “I say, is it not the dashing young Captain Breakwell? How delightful to see you again.” He helped himself to a dainty morsel of snuff. “Tell me, have you trounced any more deserters lately?”

The captain peered back at Mr. Stanton, frowning. “No, I have not.”

“Now, now, good captain, no need to be modest.” Mr. Stanton flipped a heavily scented handkerchief from his coat and dabbed at his nose. “This clever young lady would be quite impressed with your exploits—capturing runaway soldiers and giving them a good lashing. I say, do you apply the whip, yourself?”

“No, I do not. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course.” Quincy Stanton stepped back. “Though I wonder, do the men you have whipped excuse you? Are they happy to be back in the service of their king?”

The captain pivoted toward Mr. Stanton, his knuckles white as he gripped the two plates in his hands.

Quincy Stanton stared back, his eyes as hard and cold as slate. “So sorry, I have forgotten my manners.” He lifted his snuffbox. “Would you care for some
Grey Mouton
?”

“No.” Captain Breakwell gritted his teeth. “We would like to enjoy our meal in peace.”

“Ah, a redcoat who wants peace. Of course.” Quincy Stanton slipped his snuffbox back into his pocket. “The uniform works wonders with the ladies, does it not? I simply must have a red coat made for me. And so clever of you to wear that silver gorget around your neck. The way it sparkles in the sun, a rebel marksman will know exactly where to aim.”

One glance at the captain’s enraged expression and Virginia sprang to her feet, determined to put a stop to this before her plate of food ended up in Quincy Stanton’s face. “Come, Captain. Let us return to the other room.”

She led Captain Breakwell toward the door. Why was Quincy Stanton provoking a British officer? They were both loyal to the crown. It made no sense, unless he objected to the captain’s attentions to her, personally. But that made no sense either when he had so many women fawning over him.

A crowd of people around the door slowed their progress, and they waited their turn. Nothing about Quincy Stanton made sense. A tall man who wore high-heeled shoes he disliked, who stole outside to the garden to do mysterious things, who insulted the same people who shared his political views.

Captain Breakwell took a deep breath and visibly relaxed his shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to endure that man’s company. I fail to understand how so many can find him charming.”

Virginia peered over her shoulder just as Quincy Stanton slipped through a door leading to parts of the house not being used for the night’s festivities. Where was he going now? And for what purpose?

She narrowed her eyes. “I fail to understand him at all.” But not for long. She knew exactly where to direct her investigative talents next.

She would solve the puzzle of Quincy Stanton.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Sunday, October 8, 1769

E
dward glanced up from his desk. “Did anyone see you?”

“No. I waited ’til the servants would be asleep.” Quincy ambled into the study of his uncle’s north-side home. “I grew up in this house. I can find my way in the dark.”

Edward stacked his papers to the side. “How are you?”

Quincy shuffled about the room. Along one wall stood the shelves of ledgers that documented the history of Stanton Shipping. “My ship left this morning.”
Without me.

“It made no sense to leave
The Forbidden Lady
idle, so I promoted your first mate to captain. They’re off to the Caribbean, trading fresh timber for sugar and molasses. You know the route.”

“Aye.” Quin could hardly blame his uncle for using his ship. He was painfully aware that he no longer earned his living and poor Edward was paying the bills. He roamed about the study, glancing at book titles—some he had enjoyed, others he had endured to please his uncle.

“Is something amiss?” Edward asked.

Quin shrugged. “It goes well enough, I suppose.”

“You seem restless.”

“I don’t usually stay in town this long.”

“Ah.” Edward scraped back his chair and wandered to the sideboard to pour some sherry in a glass. “You miss the sea.”

Quin paused in midstride. His uncle was right. He always felt at peace at sea. He reveled in the endless horizon, even slept on deck sometimes under the never-ending canopy of stars. He loved the vastness of it all, so much the opposite of the prison-like interior of the dreaded
Turtle
.

Edward sipped his sherry. “Johnson told me you’re doing fine work.”

“You asked him about me?”

“Of course. I always do, at the Sons of Liberty meetings. I worry about you. You’re like a son to me.”

Quin felt his cheeks redden and strode to the sideboard for a drink. “Like a son, am I?” He splashed some sherry into a glass and gave his uncle a wry grin. “I remember when you threatened to throw me overboard to feed the sharks.”

Edward smiled. “You were not responding well to authority at the time.”

“And you also threatened to sell me once.”

“You refused to go to school, so I explained the importance of a good education. But you’re a man to be proud of now.”

Quincy took a quick gulp. His family in England would not agree. “Any news from my father?”

“Aye. Your brother should be here any day now.”

“My half brother.”

Edward sighed. “Your half brother. I believe his name is Clarence. I was wondering, Quin. When he comes, will he be suspicious of your newfound loyalty to the crown?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I barely met him. When I arrived, he was leaving for Paris, taking a tour of Europe which he couldn’t afford, of course.”

Edward shook his head and returned to his desk.

Quin continued, “I kept my political views to myself and tried so damned hard to fit in, I don’t think they ever considered the possibility I could be an American patriot. After all, they’re so convinced their ways are superior, who in their right mind would not wish to emulate them?”

“I see.” Edward lounged back in his chair. “So their snobbery works to our advantage.”

Quin resumed his aimless wandering about the room, a half-filled glass in his hand. “I don’t see how my father can prove the money that financed Stanton Shipping is his. My grandfather gave it to you. I saw it.” He stopped in front of the hearth and gazed into the flames. His memories of twenty-one years ago were hazy, overshadowed with fear, anger, and confusion.

His grandfather had arrived shortly after his sixth birthday and whisked him away to a busy port. There, he had been informed he was going to the New World with an uncle he had never met. His grandfather handed a bulging sack of money to Edward and left without a word or glance at his illegitimate grandson.

Quin looked at his uncle, who sat quietly at the desk. Edward shifted in his chair and stuck a finger inside his neckcloth to loosen it.

Quin swallowed more sherry as an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. “My grandfather gave you the money to start our business, right?”

Edward leaned an elbow on his desk and rubbed his forehead. “He gave me the money to do whatever I saw fit to do. There were certain . . . stipulations.”

“Such as?” When his uncle remained quiet, Quin turned toward the fireplace and placed his glass on the mantelpiece as if it might shatter into tiny pieces. “Tell me.”

“I was to make certain you never stepped foot in England again.”

Quin closed his eyes. “You agreed.”

“I needed the money.”

Quin opened his eyes and glared at his uncle. “I thought I was like a son to you.”

“You are.” Edward rose to his feet. “It was a long time ago. I had never met you before that day. Hell, I didn’t even know you existed. You were a well-kept secret.”

Quin balled his fists.
Secret
. Damn, he had forgotten.
You wanted to forget
. A memory of a small, dark room flitted through his mind. “What do you know of me? Do you know who my mother was?”

“I was told that Henry seduced an innocent, impoverished young lady of gentle birth. She had no father or brothers alive to force Henry to marry her. I don’t know her name, but she actually believed she
was
Henry’s wife.”

“How is that?”

“According to my father, Henry was so determined to have her, he used the fake vicar ruse and staged a false wedding. He never intended to stay with your mother. He was courting an heiress at the time and was not about to give up all that money. Your grandfather allowed your mother to keep you in the country at his expense, as long as she remained silent about Henry’s dishonorable behavior.”

The flames of the fire blurred before Quin’s eyes. His father had victimized his mother worse than him. At least he had had the chance to start over in the New World. “I can barely remember her.”

“She died when you were four. My father paid some poor relations to take you, but they neglected you.”

Quin placed his hands on the mantel and leaned toward the warmth of the fire. They were the ones—paid by his grandfather to keep the little bastard a secret. The ones who had locked him in the cellar whenever a visitor came by. And if the visitor stayed the night, the bastard was left in the small dark room, alone.

Edward continued, “By the time I met you, you were a wild, unkempt hellion.”

“You must have needed the money badly.”

Edward winced. “I did. I know what it is like to be rejected, Quin. I was the third son, entirely useless to my father. When I told him of my ideas on ship design, he made it clear he would not give me a farthing. I was eighteen, unwanted by my family, about to embark on a voyage to a strange new world. When he showed up that day, I would have adopted a hideous monster for that money.”

Quin snorted. “You did.”

“No. You were an angry six-year-old child.” Edward stepped toward him. “I understood your anger. I felt it, too.”

Quin turned away and paced across the room. “Where does that leave us now?”

“I’m afraid Henry may have tricked us.”

Quin stopped. “How?”

“If Henry knows I accepted the money on the condition that you never return to England, he may have invited you there to make it seem like I broke the agreement.”

“Then the money would revert to him?”

Edward nodded. “Aye. I should have told you, but I didn’t think Henry knew. He must have found the paper I signed. It was so long ago, and my father is long dead. You were so happy when Henry asked you to come—”

“I know.” Quin lowered himself into his favorite chair by the fire and breathed out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry. I should have explained it to you years ago, but I wanted to spare you.”

Quin closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “ ’Tis all right, Edward. I always knew, deep inside, they didn’t want me.” He heard his uncle’s footsteps leading to the sideboard and the splash of sherry filling a glass. Was it always to be this way? Would he live his entire life as the unwanted bastard? “Have you ever told anyone in Boston that I’m a bastard?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you think a woman would find my illegitimacy offensive?”

Edward’s footsteps approached him. “Are we talking about any woman in particular?”

Quin shrugged, keeping his eyes shut as he pictured a pair of mermaid eyes.

“I suppose it would depend on the woman. If she’s a decent sort, she shouldn’t mind. How does she feel about you?”

Quin opened his eyes. “She hates me.”

His uncle grimaced. “Off to a rocky start.”

Quin nodded. “ ’Tis this damned role I’m trapped in. If I don’t continue to play the obnoxious dandy in public, it could look suspicious.” For a moment at the Higgenbottoms’ ball, he had risked lowering his mask to talk to Virginia Munro. It had gone well ’til that damned redcoat captain had interfered.

“That is a tricky situation. You mustn’t endanger yourself.”

“I don’t plan to.” Quin took a deep breath. The solution was clear. He needed to be alone with her. And soon.

E
dward Stanton dodged a fresh pile of horse manure in the street and quickened his steps. Monday morning, and already he was swamped with work.

The British required massive amounts of paperwork to prove whatever he transported was legal with all duties paid. And their customs schooner,
The Sentinel
, patrolled the harbor daily. Her crew grew more outrageous in their demands, helping themselves to whatever they liked. Edward had no time for a social call, but this one, this one was special.

Mary Dover had sent a note to his home, asking him to come. Mary Dover, the inspiration for the name of Stanton Shipping’s most prized vessel,
The Forbidden Lady.

Her house was on the corner, two stories high, built of brick in the Georgian style. He bounded up the steps to the colonnaded entrance and knocked.

A young girl with fiery red hair showed him to the parlor. He checked his appearance in the gilded mirror over the fireplace and cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t sound like a croak.

The door behind him opened, and he spun around to make a bow. “Mrs. Dover, I trust I find you well?”

“Yes, of course.” She bobbed a small curtsy. “It is good of you to come, Mr. Stanton, and so quickly.”

He cleared his throat, fearing he appeared too eager.

She whisked by him with a swish of wide skirts and a scent of lavender. “Please have a seat. Our pine-needle tea will arrive shortly.”

He sat on the ochre-yellow settee. “Pine-needle tea?”

“Yes.” She smiled as she sat across from him in the Windsor chair. “You see, everyone believes I’m a Loyalist, but in truth, my feelings are quite the opposite.”

He stared at her, speechless. Her husband had certainly been a Loyalist. Two years ago, in 1767, he had refused to sign the nonimportation pact after the British had laid a tax on a few items, including tea. The Sons of Liberty had wanted to sack Charles Dover’s home. Edward had dissuaded them for Mary’s sake. He cleared his throat again.

“Have you been ill with the morbid throat, Mr. Stanton?”

“No. You’re not a Loyalist, Mrs. Dover?”

As she shook her head, the movement of her curls launched more lavender scent into the air. His heart swelled in his chest.

The young redheaded girl entered carrying a silver tea tray, which she placed on the round mahogany table. Mary rose to her feet and introduced the girl as her niece, Caroline. The young girl curtsied and left as Mary poured tea into a pair of china cups.

He cleared his throat.

She passed him a cup of steaming pine-needle tea. “Perhaps this will help?”

“Yes, thank you.” With the cup raised to his lips, the strange, resinous aroma assailed his nostrils. “I believe I’ll let it cool a bit.”

He placed the cup and saucer on the small table beside him. “Is there a matter in which I can assist you, madam?”

“Yes, there is. You see, I was looking for a man.” A pink blush colored her cheeks as she returned to her chair. “That is, a man I could trust, one with political views similar to my own and, I must say, I thought of you, Mr. Stanton.”

He shifted forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Dear lady, please call me Edward.”

“As you wish. You see, Edward, you’re the most suitable man I could think of, under the circumstances.”

His elbow slipped and he nearly plummeted onto his face. Was he dreaming? Was she proposing to him? “Dear God, yes, Mary. I am delighted.”

She blinked. “You are? But I have yet to inform you of this private matter I wish to discuss.”

“Oh, but I understand completely.”

Her face paled as she leaned back in the Windsor chair. “My stars! How could you know? I thought I was very discreet.”

“You have been, Mary. In my wildest dreams, I dared not hope this could be true.”

Her brow puckered. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You wish to . . . form an alliance with me, do you not?”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

He nodded his head. “I believe we understand each other very well.”

“Well, perhaps.” Frowning, she helped herself to a sip of tea. “Then, you will not be surprised when I say I have information that may prove important to the Colonial cause, and knowing you to be a fine patriot, I trust you’ll know how to deliver the information to the proper channels.”

“Excuse me?”

“Saturday night at the Higgenbottoms’ ball, we overheard some important news.”

He frowned. “You went to the Higgenbottoms’ ball?”

“Yes. Now, about this infor—”

“But they’re Tories. They entertain the British officers.”

“Yes, I know. How else could we hear something important?”

“
What?
” A horrifying suspicion snaked into his thoughts. “You
wanted
to acquire information?”

She gestured toward his neglected cup. “Have some tea, Edward. It may help to calm you. ’Twas quite by accident that we learned of this, I assure you.”