Once more, thanks to those of you who review. Care and feeding of your writer is always a good thing.
Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 26
When he arrived home, James could hear Bess's scolding voice. He recognized it from his childhood, the sound of angry concern that was more about something or someone having harmed one of hers than a transgression committed by whomever it was she spoke to, so he figured she was tending Beth given his housekeeper's words seemed to mostly comprise instructions about bruises and bleeding. Despite the lingering anger, he couldn't help a little smile. If she was using that tone, Bess had accepted that Beth belonged to him, and that made him relax.
Unwilling to interrupt any exchange of female emotions, particularly sympathy, he detoured to his office, poured a healthy measure of rye to counteract the throbbing of his fist, and wondered if he shouldn't have shot Will down after all. He had probably only further angered the man, increased his desire to hurt Beth, and since James had to leave again the next morning, that left her vulnerable.
As he turned, he saw Jorie leaning against the door frame. The woman was grim. "She can't remain here, James."
He wanted to argue. Instead, he sighed. "No, I suppose not." He held his glass out to her, and she stepped inside, took it. He poured another for himself, and considered Jorie's statement.
After all, it would endanger his mother and Katy if Beth and Arianna remained behind with neither him nor Jorie to protect them, though in Arianna's case it might be more accurate to state that it was not so much that she needed protection as it was that someone had to prevent her from shooting someone—most likely someone named Cameron. Neither his mother nor his sister were going to be willing to leave the city, he knew. It was past the time of year most of the planters traditionally left Charles Town for their plantations where they spent Christmas and the New Year before returning to town until spring. He couldn't send them to Oak Point, not with bands of rebel militia and the English roaming the countryside and looting and burning homes. There were some who had remained on their properties, he knew, but he suspected that even if only Beth and Arianna retired to Oak Point, it would simply make it easier for Will to find her, do whatever it was he wanted with her.
"Nor can they go with us," Jorie added, her pointed look suggesting he not even consider that.
He shook his head.
"Arianna tells me Will plans to kill you tomorrow."
James had forgotten what the little princess had told Beth the night before.
"I think it would be best if I went and discussed how to thwart Will's plan with the other members of the escort." She straightened, swallowed the last of her whiskey. "You should probably stay out of sight, and, hopefully, out of trouble."
With that, she was gone. James sat at his desk and sipped at his own whiskey. He conceded he'd probably made Will even more angry with him through his actions that morning, and that might now make Will focus more fully on getting to Beth. James wondered if he could resign his commission, take Beth to Oak Point. He finished his rye, knew he couldn't do either.
When he finally left his office, he wandered into the parlor where he found Beth reclining on one of the settees. An ugly bruise bloomed on her cheek and had begun to darken; her eye was swollen mostly shut. Her split lip had crusted over, but it, too, had swollen. James wished again he'd been able to kill Will, could make sure that he was never able to do this to her again.
Her maid came in with a basin and said, "Mr. James." He moved out of her way so she could reach her mistress.
Beth's head turned, and she looked like she wanted to cry. He wasn't going to apologize for hurting Will. He watched the maid dip a cloth in the basin's water, wring it out, and then lay it over Beth's cheek and eye. "Leave us," he told her.
"You shouldn't have sent Sukie away," Beth told him after the girl was gone. He sat on the edge of the settee.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Honoria came in the dress shop as we were about to leave. She saw us and turned around and left. When I stepped outside several minutes later, Will was there." She sounded tired rather than angry or even bitter. "He grabbed me, told me I was coming with him, and then. . . ." She tensed, shuddered, and then sighed. "I don't want to talk about this, James."
He took her hands in his. "Alright," he agreed, mainly because he, too, was reluctant to talk about it, particularly since he could feel the anger with Will begin to move from simmer to boil again, and he didn't want that to bubble to the surface, didn't want to lash out at Beth when she wasn't the target of his recurring rage. "Then let's talk about what I'm to do with you."
She winced when she tried to smile, and her broken lip pulled apart again, oozed a little blood. Beth took the cloth from her cheek and dabbed at the blood.
"Making you bleed wasn't what I had in mind," he assured her, and he considered that having made Will's nose bleed and rendering him insensate hadn't provided nearly enough recompense for the small bit of blood that now welled from her torn lip. He took the cloth from her when she started to sit up, rinsed it in the basin, squeezed the excess water from it, folded it, and placed it against her cheek once more.
"I don't think you'll be doing very much with me before you leave."
James studied her, wondered if there were other bruises or other hurts that weren't visible. Regardless, he suspected he could do a lot with her, even injured, if she would allow it.
Beth simply watched him, reached up to adjust the cloth on her face, and winced a little as her hand applied a little pressure to her bruised cheek.
He bent forward and kissed her uncovered cheek before he asked softly, "Where does it hurt?"
"Is that your way of getting me to discuss it when I told you I really don't want to?" She looked and sounded more tired than annoyed, despite her words.
The riding habit she wore covered her from her feet to her neck, so unless he undressed her, there was no easy way to see what hidden damage Will might have done her. He was about to suggest they go upstairs, offer the pretext of resting to get her where he could undress her. James had a feeling she'd see through the ploy, but since he figured he could distract her once he had her clothes off, was certain that with care they could find a way to amuse one another once he'd seen what else Will had done to her, he wasn't overly concerned—if he ignored the fact that what he might see could well send him hunting for Will regardless of any pleas from Beth not to do so.
Leaning in, James kissed a spot below her ear, and whispered, "You could simply show me."
Her lips twitched, and then she winced. At least the lip didn't bleed again. James kissed along her jaw toward her chin, opened the buttons on the front of her jacket. He was about to start on the ones on the waistcoat beneath when he heard someone enter the house. He looked over the back of the settee to see Katy and his mother. He sighed, straightened, and gave a disgruntled look at Beth, who simply raised her brows and tried hard not to laugh.
If he'd had any hope his mother wouldn't notice him, it evaporated when Temperance Wilkins stepped inside the parlor to say, "I cannot believe a son of mine would stoop to public brawling, even if it was with that absolute cad!"
Given he had nearly fought a duel with that cad, as she termed Will, James felt a mix of amusement and annoyance as he came to his feet. He'd been taught to defend helpless women, so his mother could hardly claim he hadn't done what was expected of him. On the other hand, gentlemen did not brawl on public streets, and James knew that.
He wondered if he could mollify her by pointing out it was hardly a brawl.
From her expression, he decided the answer was definitely not.
"It's all anyone is talking about," Katy added, though she, at least, seemed happy about what he'd done.
James could do without the additional gossip, and a quick look at Beth told him she felt much the same.
"Honestly, James, sometimes I wish your father was here to talk sense into you," his mother snapped.
Schooling his features, James could make a fair guess at what his father would have had to say. It likely would have started with either Your mother's upset or, more likely, Your mother says I have to talk to you about beating Will on a public street. It would probably have ended with a glass of whiskey each and a serious discussion about his obligations as a gentleman. He was certain his father would have liked Beth, would have understood, and would have provided sensible counsel on the matter.
He missed his father keenly, and while he loved his mother, he could do without the scolding, particularly a scolding that involved what unsatisfactory punishment James had been able to inflict. Will deserved to suffer so much more, after all, to equal what he'd done to Beth.
"Well?" his mother demanded. "What have you to say for yourself?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, I hope I at least broke his nose, but instead he bit it back. There was no reason to further antagonize her, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to stand his ground. He sought the right words, reflected that he'd done something similar in that aborted duel with Will, though this time he truly did want to appease his audience if only for Beth's sake. He supposed he was at least sorry his mother had had to listen to the gossip that had clearly angered her and to which he had contributed. "I'll not apologize, Mother, though I will say I regret that our . . . quarrel was conducted in public."
His mother walked closer, and he braced for whatever else she intended to say to him. He looked at Beth, who had removed the cloth from her face, blushed, and looked embarrassed. He heard his mother's gasp, and shot a look at her. She had walked around the end of the settee and stared aghast at Beth's face.
Temperance met his eyes and told James, "No one mentioned that."
"When Jorie and I arrived, Will had already done that." He kept his tone flat.
She pushed him out of her way and bent over Beth, gently grasped her chin and turned the younger woman's face so that she could better examine it. "Did he harm you otherwise, Anna-Elizabeth?" his mother asked in a tone he remembered from childhood, mingled worry and tightly controlled anger.
Beth shook her head.
James wondered if Temperance Wilkins scared her. Other than over breakfast, where both women had been painfully polite, he'd never heard them speak to one another at any length.
Turning to face him again, his mother dropped her guard, but that did not prevent her return to her previous theme. "I do not condone public brawling, James."
"Tell that to Will, Mother, who was dragging Beth around by her hair and was just about to punch her again. If there was an audience to my fight with him, it was only because he'd already drawn one by beating her on the street." That finished with a tight anger he normally wouldn't have expressed in her presence.
It had an effect. His mother paled, but her eyes narrowed. He waited, expected she'd chastise him for that. "Surely there was a more civil way to resolve the issue."
James stifled the instinctive snort. He stood a little taller and looked down at his angry mother. "I could have challenged him to a duel, I suppose," he told her silkily, and her eyes narrowed a fraction more, "but it seemed more expedient to simply stop him from further harming Beth. He was in no mood to listen to reason, so I did what I felt I must. If it helps, he threw the first punch."
"You hit him with Jorie's gun first," Arianna supplied helpfully from just inside the door where she stood next to Katy, who was obviously trying not to laugh. James's mother turned to stare down the child, but Arianna simply shrugged and told Temperance, "I wanted him to shoot Will, so I suppose it's just as well he didn't since you're so angry about him just engaging in fisticuffs."
"That's enough, Arie," Beth said quietly and moved to sit up. James reached down a hand. She grasped it, and when he realized she intended to stand, he bent and helped her. "I've very tired," she told him, and then she turned to his mother. "I am sorry to have caused a public scene, but I am grateful to James for preventing Will from harming me further. If you will excuse me, I believe I shall retire to my bedchamber."
He watched her move stiffly toward the foyer and the stairs, but when he started to go after her, his mother stopped him. Her look told him she was far from finished, so he remained where he was, listened as Beth quietly told her sister, "Come with me, Arie," and took the child's hand.
At least his mother waited until the two princesses were out of earshot, sent Katy to prepare herself for lunch, and when she, too, had gone, his mother put her fists on her hips and stared up at him a moment before she finally began.
"I don't think you realize what you have done, James, and I don't think you realize at all that you've left the Camerons no further options but to expose your affair with Will's wife in order to explain that little scene."
"He won't," James assured her, "nor will Honoria or Helen, if they are wise." She was about to say something, but he cut her off. "They've run up debts, promised Beth will pay, which I will see to, but more importantly, they won't say a word because Beth can expose Will and his lover, and I doubt any of them are willing to let her do so."
His mother crossed her arms over her chest. "Then it's worse than I suspected, James, because if Anna-Elizabeth does reveal Will's perversion, I'm afraid you'll find most of Charles Town will side with the Camerons. You know as well as I do that it will be her word against his, and our friends will take the word of the unnatural cad they know over that of a foreigner, a woman, and a princess." Her head tilted and she examined him with the thoroughness only a mother could before she picked up on one of his previous statements. "Do not tell me you intend to pay that family's debts."
"I intend to return to Thomas Fountaine's after lunch and have him republish the appropriate notices that Beth is not responsible for the Cameron's debts, and while I'm at it, I'll see what he might be able to do to protect her assets from seizure." He shifted his weight, then straightened again, well aware he was on the brink of fidgeting. "Perhaps our friends would believe me."
Temperance raised her brows, and a bitter smile curved her lips. "And no one would see your support of Anna-Elizabeth as self-serving?" She sighed heavily. "James, I love you, and I like that girl, but there's no way to honorably defend against what they might say. It's probably best for the both of you to hold your counsel, to hope that when you are gone again that out of sight, out of mind will prevail and that the Camerons will say nothing further."
"Mother—"
"No, James," she interrupted, throwing her hand up, palm toward him. He stopped, wondered what objection she intended to raise. Instead, she dropped her hand and shook her head. "Please just avoid Will and his family as best you can, and we'll do our best to see that Anna-Elizabeth and her sister remain safe."
-X-
Beth and Arianna didn't come downstairs for lunch, nor did Jorie return to eat with them. Instead, the Wilkins's were the only ones present, and Katy carried much of the meal's conversation. When it was over, James went upstairs to check on Beth. He expected to find her in his bedchamber, but it was empty. He looked inside the room his mother had assigned her, saw that she and Arianna both lay on top of the covers, appeared to be asleep.
If Thomas Fountaine was surprised to see him again, the other man didn't show it. James explained why he was there, and after he had done so, Thomas sat back in his chair and raised his brows. "I heard about the fight."
James said nothing, simply returned the man's gaze.
"I'll see to the notices," Thomas said. "You do know there's little that can be done to protect Mrs. Cameron from her husband, don't you?"
"That's not your worry," James assured him.
Thomas's expression was grave. "It's not yours, either, James."
"As long as my mother agrees to shelter her and her sister, it is."
On his way home, he considered the mess in which they were enmeshed. James did not regret what he had done except that he had to leave the following morning, which would leave his family unprotected. He considered the farm he'd bought, the small house where he and Beth had first begun to meet, and he wondered if she might be left alone there, if there was some way to make the Camerons think she had returned overseas to her homeland. All it would take, he realized, was for one of their neighbors, one of the rebel bands, to learn where she was and tell Will, and the other man would have her.
That James could not allow.
Inside the foyer, he handed Micah his coat, still deep in thought about what to do with Beth.
"Your mama could use reinforcements," his butler said softly, and James frowned at him. He noticed then the voices coming from the parlor.
His first instinct was to take refuge in his office, but for Micah to have said what he did meant that his mother was under siege. James hoped he wouldn't find any of the Camerons in his parlor.
When he stopped in the doorway, he was reminded of the phrase his mother often used—be careful what you wish for. The cluster of women seated opposite his mother and Beth reminded him of battle lines, each side facing the other with arms drawn waiting for the order to charge.
"Do join us, James," his mother said; a steely note beneath the polite phrase made it a command.
He nodded at the three women opposite his mother and Beth, and then took a seat in an armchair next to his mother. Beth, he noted, sat rigidly upright, and James realized that for once her face was neither blank nor reserved in company. The women opposite them were clearly disapproving, and he wondered if he could invent an excuse to leave.
"We were just telling your mother how much Helen misses her daughter-in-law," Constance Patton said.
It occurred to James that Helen Cameron might give the army's tacticians a run for their money. Instead of coming herself, knowing she would never be admitted, she had sent proxies to whom his mother could not afford to be rude. He wondered what carrot they had dangled and what stick they had used to threaten. It was obvious Beth was deeply angry, and his mother didn't look pleased, either.
"Such an unfortunate business," Rebecca Mainwaring added with a slight shake of her head. "Really, James, fisticuffs on the street?"
Mrs. Mainwaring had always been flighty, so James took that at face value. He was about to defend his actions by telling the woman that Will had been beating his wife on that same street and that if there was to be regret, it should be for that. Before he could say so, though, the third member of the trio spoke up.
"You do realize, James," she drawled, "that your actions have called into question Anna-Elizabeth's fidelity to her husband."
He turned to Susann Gaspard. Of the three, she was the more dangerous, he knew, and the one more intimately linked to the Cameron family. The woman lifted a brow, silently challenged him to answer. "I would have thought, Mrs. Gaspard, that Will's own actions this morning make clear why Anna-Elizabeth has chosen to shelter here."
She waved a dismissive hand. "Will was simply overwrought."
"It wasn't the first time," James said tightly, "nor will it be the last, I suspect. I would think, as a woman, you would laud Anna-Elizabeth's choice to seek shelter rather than remain Will's victim."
"Her place is with her husband," Mrs. Mainwaring added with an earnest nod.
James took a moment to control his temper. "No woman should have to endure abuse from her husband."
"Come, James," Constance Patton said with a placatory smile. "We all know that we women are frail and foolish creatures, and it is sometimes necessary to chastise a wife, to teach her what her place is. As a foreigner, Anna-Elizabeth has much to learn about her place here as Will's wife."
In that moment, James wished it was a battle—or that little Arianna could get her wish and shoot someone, preferable one of the women seated on one of his settees. He knew that not a single one of the women seated in his parlor would have put up with their husbands treating them as Will had done Beth. "There is a difference between teaching one her role and beating her into submission."
Mrs. Mainwaring looked as though she smelled something unpleasant. "I'm certain Will doesn't beat Anna-Elizabeth," she told him stoutly, "and even if he does, that is between the two of them and none of our business."
He sat forward, was about to bluntly tell the woman to take a good look at Beth's face and explain what she saw there when Beth said. "Enough."
Her tone of voice was not her usual meek one. "I thank you ladies for your concern," she continued, "but I shall not return to the Cameron household where my sister and I may be continue to be ill-treated. You may tell Helen Cameron and my husband that while I do know my place and that I do understand the role of a wife, I will not consent to being treated worse than one of my husband's animals."
"You do harm not only to yourself and the Camerons, but to the Wilkinses as well," Mrs. Gaspard snapped. "Are you not aware, Anna-Elizabeth, that all of Charles Town believes you remain here because you have become James's mistress?"
Beth's chin raised, and a deadly look crossed her face that reminded him of Jorie. "Is that how the Camerons have chosen to explain why I left their household?" she asked coldly. "Given that James has not been in residence since Temperance kindly offered me shelter, why would anyone lend such a notion any credence?"
For once, James was glad to see the Princess. That she managed to make it sound as though Susann Gaspard's claim was a baseless lie without telling one of her own, earned a moment's admiration from him. It also set the other woman back, flustered her.
It was Constance Patton who spoke then. "Because James has proven himself no better than he should be. You would not be the first married woman with whom he has taken up—oh! I do beg your pardon, Temperance, my dear."
His mother drew herself a bit more erect before proving she was not at all fooled by the woman, and, to James's discomfort, more aware of his private life than he had suspected: "My son is a handsome man, Constance, and many women—including yourself—have thrown themselves at him. Anna-Elizabeth is not one of those."
He should have left this to them to sort out, he thought, since his mother was about to burn bridges she could ill afford to burn, and James could make no real defense given he sincerely hoped to have another man's wife in his bed at the end of the day. It was true, too, that when he was younger Constance had made it plain he could have a place in her bed if he wished, but he had turned her down.
"Ladies," James said. He aimed his remarks at Constance. "Mrs. Patton, Will has beaten his wife since before their marriage. She remained with him despite that—until the Camerons nearly starved her to death. It was only then that my mother offered Anna-Elizabeth a home and then only to protect her from further harm." He narrowed his gaze on her. "My parents raised me to be a gentleman," he bit out, "to defend the defenseless, and that is what I did this morning when no one else would come to Anna-Elizabeth's aid. I would think you'd approve of that rather than make accusations."
"You cannot accuse Helen of such things!" Mrs. Mainwaring said, and James could tell she was truly horrified, though it wasn't clear whether it was because of his own accusation or at the idea that her lifelong friends could do such a thing to a defenseless woman.
"Not only did Helen Cameron and her daughters starve Anna-Elizabeth," his mother told her, "but they told her brother she was dead, were about to let the Dragoons finish the deed when they burned Hart's Crossing." Before one of the trio facing her could object, Temperance added, "The English soldiers brought Anna-Elizabeth to Oak Point after her maid convinced James and Joran du Mare that she was still alive. She weighed less than a young child and was gravely ill. I will not allow her to return to them."
"It is not your decision to make, Temperance," Mrs. Gaspard added. "It's Will's decision to reclaim his wife, who must obey him."
"Then why are you here in his stead?" James demanded. It was beyond rude of him, but he was past the point of caring. "Will has made no real effort, other than his attack on Anna-Elizabeth this morning, to reclaim her. Instead, the three of you have come to shame her into returning to her abusive husband. I think it's fair to say that Will does not want his wife back enough to come and get her himself."
"James!" his mother hissed.
"You should control your son, Temperance!" Constance Patton snapped.
"I will not apologize," he told the woman calmly. "You have come into my home, made accusations you cannot substantiate, and attempted to force a guest of my family's into endangering herself. Anna-Elizabeth has given you her answer." He stood. "If I may see you out?"
Once they had filed out of the parlor, were given their cloaks, and ushered out the front door. James returned to his mother and Beth.
"You should not have interfered, James," Beth told him. "Your mother and I could have managed them without your assistance."
His first instinct was to lash out, but he stopped, aware he'd burned the bridges he had earlier thought his mother should not. He turned to his mother. "I am sorry—"
"I'm not, and even if I were, it is done," she told him. "Those insufferable women dared to threaten me—us—and while I wish you had been more cautious in your words, I am simply grateful that they are gone."
"I believe it is time I left as well," Beth said quietly.
Temperance snorted. "And let them win? Absolutely not, my dear. James will be gone tomorrow, and the gossip will die down again. I guarantee Rebecca Mainwaring will repeat to anyone who will listen every single word said here this afternoon. There will be enough doubt to let it go. Besides, as you rightly pointed out, James has not been in residence other than these brief visits since you came to live with us, and as long as you do not turn up with child, I suspect the fiction will stand. I'm sure what Charles Town is really talking about is that Will publicly abused you, and I'm equally certain they have decided you made a wise choice when you left him."
Beth, who looked acutely embarrassed when his mother finished, met his gaze, her own agonized.
"You must understand, Anna-Elizabeth," his mother continued in a more moderate tone, "that if you leave now, you lend their gossip credence. If you remain, then you send the message that you have done nothing about which you should be ashamed." She gave the younger woman a fierce look. "Do not let them shame you."
"They just threatened to spread the story that James and I are lovers," Beth choked.
"Then don't allow it to appear true."
"It isn't as simple as that, Mother," James said. It wasn't, either. She was correct that Beth remaining in place, especially if Rebecca Mainwaring did report what was said, would raise enough suspicions about the veracity of the story, but it was equally true that enough people would choose to believe it.
"As for you," she told him, "be thankful they did not broach Pembroke."
That reminder stopped what he was about to say. He wondered if his mother meant it as a warning. He was certain that if the rumor that he and Beth had cuckolded Will did not gather support that Pembroke would be the next volley fired. As his mother went in search of Bess to order tea, it occurred to James that she had committed her own breach of manners by not playing her role as hostess appropriately since she had not, apparently, offered refreshments to her guests. James turned to Beth.
"I am causing you and your family harm by remaining here," Beth told him.
"My mother has spoken." He rose and crossed to sit beside her on the settee. "What's more," he told her as he slipped an arm around her and gathered her to him, "she's absolutely right. You lend truth to their claims if you let those women intimidate you into leaving us."
When he bent to kiss her, she put her hands on his shoulders, held him at bay. "I think," she whispered, "that this must stop."
"Beth," he said grimly, but before he could complain, she shook her head.
"One of the servants might say something to another, who will then carry the tale home to their own mistress or master. You may not have outright lied about us, James, but you were not completely truthful about why I am here."
They had been discreet, he nearly argued, but then he realized they had not been. His entire household had to be aware that Beth slept in his bed. He considered that many of the slaves had family or friends among the slaves of others, and he also recalled that Beth's own maid had been given to her by the Camerons. It was possible that the maid had more loyalty to the Camerons than she did her mistress, and even though she had saved Beth from death, it didn't mean the girl would protect Beth from her former owners.
He sat back, considered how much the house servants generally knew about those whom they served, considered how it might be worth their while to share that knowledge with interested parties. As he was about to suggest Beth return Sukie to the Camerons, she lifted a hand to his cheek. "I love you, James, but I have no desire to harm you or your good name any more than I have already done."
"I think I've managed any damage that may have been done on my own," he assured her.
"I do not find such reassurances amusing, James," she said softly.
Nor did he, he might have added, but he could feel her body soften, and rather than continue to protest, he leaned forward again, pressed a very soft kiss on her damaged mouth. "I do love you, Beth," he breathed, "and I cannot bear the idea of you not being here when I return."
"Then this must stop, James, for now at least," she told him, and her fingers caressed his cheek. "Your mother is right. If I get with child, the truth will be more than obvious."
About to point out that they had managed to avoid that thus far, he stopped. No matter how careful they were, no matter what precautions they took, it was always a possibility. On the other hand, James found he felt a little disappointed, that he liked the idea of children despite his occasional exasperation with Arianna. "If you are never free of Will, what then?" he asked. "I have no intention of setting you aside, and I certainly have no desire to simply be your friend or maintain a fraternal relationship with you." He ran a hand over her waist and up to cup her breast. "Nor do I think you want that."
This time, she kissed him. "No," she whispered when she released his mouth, "but for now it would probably be best not to take the risk."
"What's life without risk?" he asked with a small grin.
Holding him off once more, Beth frowned at him. Before she could respond, his mother sailed in. "Let Anna-Elizabeth alone, James," she said, but there was no tartness in her tone. "I've sent one of the maids up for Katy and Arianna, and Bess will send tea in any moment."
His mother sat where the other three women had been earlier, and James settled in beside Beth. He heard feet on the stairs and smiled when Arianna barreled in and plopped on the cushions beside him. "I'm famished," she announced.
"You should have come down for lunch," his mother admonished her
The child grinned across at her. "One of your servants should have woken us."
"Arie, don't be impertinent," Beth said, a note of censure in her voice.
Katy arrived as the maid did and took a seat beside their mother. "I hope the two of you set those biddies right," she said to her mother as she accepted the plate of tiny sandwiches. James often wondered who thought tiny sandwiches counted as food, and when the plate was handed to Arianna, who scooped up several, he had a feeling the little princess felt the same. Beth refused any, and he did as well.
"What biddies?" Arianna asked.
"Arie!"
Looking around him at her sister, Arianna frowned and pointed out, "Katy's the one who called them that."
"Though she should not have said it," his mother observed primly as she poured a cup of tea and handed it to her daughter, "you should certainly not repeat it."
Watching the child, James wondered if anyone had ever before told the child she should not speak her mind. Arianna settled in with her tea, though, and at least acted like a model child until another visitor arrived.
Abigail Strong was one of Charles Town's most notorious busybodies. James rather liked the crusty woman, though she did have a remarkable habit of saying exactly what was on her mind regardless of her audience and the impact of her words. As she was shown into the parlor on Temperance's orders, Abigail waved James back to his seat and stopped short when she saw Arianna.
"Goodness, Temperance, whatever are you thinking letting that child sit with you for afternoon tea?"
His mother's consternation was easily read. Before she could respond, though, Arianna eyed the newcomer and asked, "Am I supposed to stand?"
Beth once more hissed her sister's name, and when James looked at her, the unbruised part of her face was crimson.
"You must be the little heathen who wanted to shoot William Cameron," Abigail said.
The child visibly bristled. "I have been duly baptized, so you shouldn't call me a heathen," Arianna shot back, "but I do wish to shoot Will."
There was a twitch to Abigail's lips. Beth set her cup and saucer on the table next to her and said, "If you will excuse us." James caught her wrist, stopped her from standing, and watched the child and the old woman stare one another down.
"I have always admired honesty," Abigail told her, "even in heathens."
Arianna's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing further.
"Do have a seat Abigail," James's mother said, and the woman crossed to seat herself in the chair between Beth and his mother. Only then did it occur to him that he should not be seated between the two sisters.
Once a maid brought another cup and the older woman had been served, Abigail turned her attention to James. "And what have you to say for yourself, young man?"
He smiled easily. "It's very good to see you, Mrs. Strong."
The woman cocked a sharp brow. "Since when do you call me anything other than Abigail?"
His smile broadened. "Abigail," he said with a nod.
"I've come to hear your side of this morning's upset."
Only Abigail would refer to what had happened between him and Will as an upset. Before he could say anything, though, she turned to Beth and eyed her face. "Then again, I believe no explanation is necessary," she said. "You must be the little princess Will married."
His mother introduced her, and Beth gave the woman a nod but said nothing.
Abigail reached out and laid a hand on Beth's forearm. "I've known young James since he was an infant," she said. "It's good to know there are still a few gentlemen left among our set."
It was more than obvious Beth didn't know how to respond to the woman, so James noticed she did as she usually did. Simply withdrew behind her polite mask.
Abigail removed her hand, lifted her cup, and fixed dark brown eyes on James. "Tell me about Pembroke."
His mother choked on her tea, had a short coughing fit. James eyed Abigail and calculated a few odds. He knew the woman liked him, knew that most people in Charles Town liked Abigail despite her forwardness and lack of tact, and he decided to gamble that she might prove a suitable champion. He recounted the tale, left in the part where he had been about to comply with Colonel Tavington's orders (because if she learned otherwise, he would have earned yet another enemy), and then waited for her to pronounce judgment.
"I always knew Will Cameron was rotten to the core," she sighed, shook her head, and sipped her tea. "That boy has always been a spoiled, despicable young man." James frowned at her, and she quirked a brow. "Really, James, as his best friend, how could you not have seen his unnatural nature?"
He didn't quite stop his jaw from dropping.
Abigail waved a hand at him. "I understand he's taken up with that Michael Henderson." She sighed. "Maybe the brute will kill him."
Arianna piped up then, "Will's more likely to kill him than he is to kill Will."
The little princess didn't wilt under Abigail's assessing stare, gave back as good as she got. "The little heathen likely has the right of it," she said with a firm nod.
"You have to quit calling me a heathen," Arianna angrily bit out. She looked at James and said, "I may want to shoot her, too."
Abigail cackled, and when she sobered, she told the child, "We haven't been introduced, you bloodthirsty little heathen, so tell me what you are called."
A mortified Beth did the introductions while James considered the possibilities a friendship with Abigail might offer the two princesses. It was obvious the woman liked Arianna's boldness, after all. He'd watched Abigail verbally dismantle the impertinent enough times to know that she was amused by the child. He also knew no one would dare breach the woman's home and call down her vicious tongue—not to mention tempt her to lay out the treasure trove of information she had on each member of society—so if Beth truly insisted on leaving or it became necessary for her to do so, Abigail might provide a safe haven for her and Arianna.
He looked across at his mother, who appeared to be considering the same thing.
Abigail stayed to dinner, though James excused himself when Jorie returned. They closeted themselves in his office so that she could relate their plans. "One of Will's spies managed to get himself caught," she told him with a sneer. The man was drunk, and when questioned, admitted he'd been set to see what they were taking to Cornwallis and that he was supposed to find out when they would leave and by what road. She detailed their plans to change their route at the last moment and, hopefully, thwart the rebel's plans—Will's in particular.
At evening's end, James followed Beth upstairs. She went to her room to check on Arianna, who had gone upstairs earlier to bed, while James went to his own. As he undressed, he hoped Beth planned to come to him, but given her words that afternoon, he had a feeling he might have to go after her.
Suddenly, he felt very tired, mainly because he knew he wouldn't go fetch her. She was, after all, right, but James didn't like admitting that. He could use the sleep, he told himself, and pulled his shirt over his head.
The sound of his door quietly opening and then closing made him turn, and he smiled to see Beth crossing to him. He opened his arms and folded her close. He nearly reminded her of her fears, but then he wisely remained silent, set about loosening her fastenings and stripping her dress from her. When he had her naked, he took a moment to examine her for any further damage Will might have done her.
Beth broke her own silence to say, "Bruises only, James," and he could see them on her chest and abdomen in addition to those on her face.
It was all he could do to hold his tongue, so he put it to better use than repeating the things he'd already said. James eased her onto his bed and kissed her bruises one by one before he claimed her mouth and then her body.