Love Thine Enemy

Rachel found herself seated between Señor Garcia and Reverend Johnson, neither of whom she could imagine to be the patriot. The Spaniard seemed to prefer eating to conversation, but the vicar made pleasant conversation.

“What do you think of the alligator, Miss Folger?”

“I find it surprisingly tasty, especially seasoned with these exotic herbs. And I should far rather eat alligator than for one to eat me. As we came by skiff from the coast, a large one bumped our vessel so hard I thought we would be swamped and devoured.” The memory made her shudder.

“How dreadful. Thank the Lord you were spared.”

Major Brigham and Lady Augusta, on either side of Mr. Moberly, spoke to no one but their host, although the officer seemed to take an inordinate number of opportunities to peruse the company through his quizzing glass. From his perpetual frown, Rachel guessed the haughty man might be having difficulty controlling his temper, but she heard and saw nothing to suggest why. When his stare fell on her, she stared back, and his frown deepened. But what did she care about the opinions of a rude British officer and his equally rude wife?

At the end of the meal, Mr. Moberly directed his guests to the drawing room, where rows of chairs faced the magnificent pianoforte in the corner. “Mrs. Winthrop, will you entertain us with your delightful playing?”

“Now, Mr. Moberly.” The lady shook her head. “Surely someone else can play better than I.” She gazed around the room. “Mrs. Johnson? Señora Garcia?”

All the ladies declined, denying any musical skill.

Standing beside Rachel, Papa looked down at her with a clear question in his eyes, but she warned him off with a frown. As much as she longed to play the beautiful instrument, she refused to put herself forward in this company, where Lady Augusta might ridicule her and who knew what Major Brigham might say.

“Very well, then.” Mrs. Winthrop sat down to play, and the other guests took their places.

Rachel chose an armless brocade chair in the back row where her panniers would not poof out in front. When Mr. Moberly took the chair next to her, her pulse quickened. This was the first personal attention he had given her since helping her down from the wagon. Foolish hope assaulted her, and she had no weapon with which to defend herself.

“I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, Miss Folger.” His eyes beamed with kind intensity. “Did you find the meal satisfactory?”

Against her best efforts, Rachel’s cheeks warmed. “Oh, yes, it was—”

“Moberly.” Lady Augusta appeared beside him. “I must speak with you, and I fear the noise of your aunt’s playing will drown me out. May we find a quiet corner?” She waved her silk fan languidly, and her eyes sent an invitation Rachel could not discern.

“Of course, my lady.” Mr. Moberly glanced at Rachel and offered an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Miss Folger. I shall return in a moment.”

“Of course.” Rachel echoed his words, working hard to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

Once again, certainty shouted within her. She was nothing more than a trifle in Mr. Moberly’s eyes. He would always defer to those considered well-born. Why had she ever permitted herself to think otherwise?

But just as Papa claimed the empty seat beside her, another thought quickly replaced her disappointment. She stood and moved past him, determined to discover Mr. Moberly’s true character. When Papa raised his bushy eyebrows to question her, she whispered “the necessary.” Instead of searching for that room, she tiptoed down the hallway just as Mr. Moberly disappeared into his study. Rachel stopped outside the door, still ajar, leaned against the wall and, heart pounding, prayed no servant would discover her eavesdropping.

Chapter Seven

“Dear Moberly, I congratulate you on a delightful supper.” Lady Augusta gazed into Frederick’s eyes with a doelike expression, her own dark orbs encircled by dreadful black lines and her face covered with white lead ceruse. A despicable fashion, if ever he saw one, especially when the lady seemed not to have suffered the ravages of smallpox that required such a covering.

He shifted from one foot to the other and glanced beyond her toward the open door. Brigham could come down the hallway, see them poised close to one another, and misunderstand. Worse still, Miss Folger might do the same. Where was his watchdog Corwin when he needed him? Frederick stepped back from Lady Augusta to sit on the edge of his desk, glad to distance himself from her heavy rose perfume.

“Thank you, my lady.” He crossed his arms. “I hope you did not find the wild boar too gamy.”

“Not at all, silly boy.” She tapped his arm with her closed fan and gave him a coquettish smile. “It was delicious.”

“Excellent.” He tugged at his cravat. “Well, then, was there something in particular you wished to say…to ask…to offer complaint about?” He grinned.

The brightness in Lady Augusta’s eyes dimmed, and the coquette vanished. “I want…no, I require a favor from you.” Her voice wavered, and she swayed lightly.

“My lady, you have but to name it.” He uncrossed his arms, ready to catch her if she fainted.

She clutched her fan. “You must know my husband is the bravest man in His Majesty’s service, so you must not think ill of him or tell him of my request.”

Frederick leaned against the desk. “Madam, you may depend on me.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled a soft sob. “Will you write to Lord Bennington on my behalf? Ask your father to use his influence with His Majesty to keep Major Brigham in East Florida, say that you cannot do without him, that only he can manage the Indians, that—”

“Shh.” Frederick lifted a finger to his lips. “My lady, your voice grows louder. Surely you do not wish Major Brigham to hear this unusual request.” Nor did Frederick wish to hear it.

She sent a furtive glance toward the open door. “No, no. He must not know.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed the corners of her eyes, smudging the black kohl. “I would never ask such a thing except for the rebellion in Boston. I cannot bear it if Brigham is sent there to fight.”

Even as understanding welled up in Frederick’s chest, another thought intruded. His brother Thomas, who served in His Majesty’s navy, would be deeply shamed before the admiralty if his wife were to beg this favor.

“Oh, Moberly.” She lifted her hands in supplication. “Say you will write the letter.” She straightened, seeming to gain a measure of self-control. “In turn, I will write a letter to my father asking him to look with favor upon you.”

“Me? I did not know Lord Chittenden knew of my existence, much less that I am out of favor with him.”

“Oh, he doesn’t, and you aren’t. But I have four sisters, each of whom has her own small inheritance.” Her voice lilted slightly. “I know how difficult it is for a younger son to find a bride among his peers.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.