Chapter 14
“How is she?” Anne asked Da, entering her parents’ bedroom upon her return. Her hands shook from exhaustion, from all she’d seen and heard.
Da put a finger to his lips to silence her. He sat in a chair by Mam, a towel across her forehead as she lay in bed. An empty wine bottle rolled on the floor. Da’s.
Anne forced herself to look, really look, at Mam’s weakened condition. Her cheeks had lost all the luster they’d gained. Her always-pinned hair fell like a nest on the pillow.
“With rest, she might improve enough for the Fulworths’ ball,” he whispered. “You know she longed to go.”
Anne shifted her weight, her eye snagging on the new teal dress draped over a cedar chest.
“Did anyone call today?” Anne remained standing and kept her voice low. She would let him bring up the doctor’s name. Da, fortunately, had already mentioned the Fulworths.
Da ignored her, staring down at Mam’s sallow face.
“Da?”
He exhaled, then tore his attention away from Mam.
“Yes. A Sassenach by the name of Dr. Ashby,” he said with red-rimmed eyes. There was a sleepless quality to them, an edge and danger. Like a wounded animal.
“The Fulworths recommended their personal doctor?” Anne feigned surprise and awe, ignoring the Irish insult about the doctor’s Englishness.
“He insisted on seeing her. Said he’d heard a troubling report.”
Anne clenched her teeth. Pretend better, she could hear Ellen whispering into her ear. “I don’t see why our neighbors should meddle in our affairs. The Fulworths must especially want Mam in attendance,” she paused. “Did he have anything useful to say?”
He grunted. “Yes. But nothing to trouble yourself with. Your mother needs rest; it’s the only time the coughing stops.” Rising, he walked Anne to the door and closed it soundly behind her.
With the hardwood door inches from her nose, Anne stood alone for a full minute. As her mother declined, her father followed like a shadow.
How would she ever tell Da the rest of what Ellen told her, about who he could and could not trust? About the great evils of Charles Town?
Anne swallowed, then turned toward her own, echoey room.
The following Saturday, everyone in high society gathered at the Fulworths’ manor for a midsummer ball.
Everyone except Mam.
In the dusk, punctuated with fireflies, Anne ascended the steps in satin slippers.
She clutched her green matura, the French-style dress with a lacy stomacher and train, looking more like a woman than she ever had in her nineteen years.
If her heart wasn’t laden with sorrows, she might have felt beautiful.
Anne could not help but study the African men attending to carriages, leading away horses, and opening doors for the laughing, pink-faced guests.
The sight made her gut churn. She couldn’t unsee what Ellen had revealed, couldn’t unsee the rot of pretending to be good and virtuous.
Da lumbered beside Anne in a new waistcoat Mam had insisted he wear.
Da had not changed his clothes in days and smelled slightly of ale.
Between work at his law practice and tireless hours caring for Mam, he’d little desire to be anywhere else.
But Mam, upright in bed today and in chipper spirits, had begged him to go.
“You must send my regards to Mrs. Fulworth!” she’d said, taking a pause to cough. “Be my eyes. I want to hear every detail.”
When Da refused, saying that Anne could do the task just as well, Mam pursed her lips. “And risk not being invited again? Don’t be daft. You must go as Anne’s chaperone, and I won’t hear another word against it.”
“But mo chroí, you need me.”
Mam let out a string of curses and threw her pillow against the water basin. The porcelain fell to the floor and shattered. Anne’s body went ramrod straight. Firebrand Mam was back, after being dormant for so long. Then Mam’s fire dissolved in a fit of coughs.
Only then did Da relent and agree to attend.
“A fine evening, Mr. Cormac,” said a gentleman in the foyer.
“Oh yes,” Da said without feeling. “Fine, fine.”
“How’s business?” asked another, this one wearing the red uniform of a soldier.
After a flurry of introductions, Anne caught sight of Ellen hiding near the orchestra.
Her pulse leapt and she made her way toward her.
Anne didn’t always know how she felt around her friend, the strange tension in her body and her constant position of defense, but at least Ellen told her the truth.
“Have you seen Mr. Taylor?” Ellen whispered, stuffing a sweet into her lovely mouth.
Anne scanned the scene—the couples, the banquet table, the fragrant gardens with white buds.
“He said he would be here,” Ellen growled. “I wanted him to meet my pa.”
Anne was not at all sure that Mr. Taylor, a common sailor—however uncommon his smile—would feel welcome. “There’s still time.”
“That’s why I like you,” Ellen said, her chin pointed and stiff.
“You’re a terrible liar. And I, alas, am a fool.
My ‘shopping for ball-worthy finery’ came to naught.
” Were it not for the slight wetness to her eyes, anyone would have guessed that Ellen was delighted.
“Come, let’s get punch.” She hooked her arm through Anne’s, and when Ellen’s ruffles slipped up to her elbow, Anne spotted a new bruise.
“Ellen—”
“Sister, who is this enchanting companion of yours?”
Anne and Ellen turned toward the speaker. He had dazzling green eyes and ebony-black hair, just like Ellen’s. He towered above the other men in the room, and a smirk graced his lips.
“Find your own dance partner, Nathaniel,” Ellen grimace-laughed. “Miss Cormac was in the middle of telling me a story.”
Nathaniel. The name felt like a spider crawling down her spine. Anne tried to tug Ellen away.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Cormac,” Nathaniel Fulworth said, the pinnacle of manners.
Ellen stepped between Anne and Nathaniel, resuming her singsong. “Oh, don’t mind my oldest brother. He loves to dance with every lady in the room.”
“But as I was saying—” Anne began, pretending to continue an engaging tale, just when another young man approached and tapped Nathaniel on the shoulder.
“Do me the honor of the next dance?” Nathaniel asked Anne with a wink before turning toward his friend.
When the men stalked away, Ellen gave Anne a glass of punch.
“What the Devil just happened?” Anne asked.
“The wolf found the prettiest girl in the room and pounced,” Ellen said, sipping her own glass.
“I can refuse,” Anne said, despite knowing the stir it would cause to reject a member of the family hosting this ball.
Ellen’s eyes pleaded. “If you decline, he’ll only try harder. He may even suspect I’ve told you …” Ellen shifted the pearl bracelet on her wrist.
“I understand.” Ellen’s secret would remain safe. But Anne was loath to be so near the person who’d hurt her friend.
“Pretend you are a complete bore—and don’t resist,” Ellen said, taking a huge gulp. “He feasts on a fight. A challenge.”
Anne tasted acid when the French minuet came to a close. She felt Nathaniel behind her before turning around to face him.
“Shall we?”
Anne’s fingers twitched as she handed her punch to Ellen. She forced a dull smile as she looked up at Nathaniel and noticed the emptiness in his pupils. He bowed, then placed a too-firm hand on her waist to escort her to the floor.
“I’m a poor dancer,” Anne said, avoiding his vile stare. She’d had few occasions to practice. She hoped he’d suffer from his choice of partner.
“I’m sure you’re being modest.” He clasped her hands as the orchestra began an English country dance.
“I’m not.” She decided to forgo efforts at form and to step on his feet as much as possible.
“Just follow my lead.”
The cheery music began and Nathaniel swirled her in a circle. At the cue of a swell, they took the hands of their neighbors. They held their arms up in arches, then took turns moving between rows like water under a bridge.
“Your hair is lovely,” Nathaniel said between movements. “Like pure fire.”
Anne felt her cheeks burn with rage.
“And a lovelier blush,” Nathaniel said.
Damn him. Anne stumbled as the orchestra and dancers continued. Nathaniel forced her into motion again.
“Do you like fire, Anne Cormac?” he said as they turned in unison.
Anne’s temples ached. She wanted to yell.
To call for Da. To end this ridiculous whirling as Nathaniel led her around the floor.
To shut out the claps and fast tempo. For a moment, she was eight again, outside her grandparents’ estate, stunned and unable to move.
The snarling dog’s teeth. The crush of failure.
The inability to control the outcome, let alone her fear.
They twirled. Arms up. Arms down. Anne felt dizzy. She said nothing. Nothing. Instead, she peered into his flat eyes, trying to spot the monster lurking within. By some stroke of grace, the music stopped and the dancers clapped with merriment.
Nathaniel bowed. Anne did not curtsy.
“Shall we have another?” He leaned forward, his gaze raking over her collarbone. “Or perhaps you’d prefer some fresh air?” he whispered.
At that moment, another man cut in—a lanky gentleman with soft eyes and a pocked jaw. He’d been dancing with his wife beside them. Perhaps he saw Anne’s distress. Perhaps she just imagined his kindness.
“Give the rest of us a turn, Mr. Fulworth,” the gentleman said, taking Anne’s shaky hand and leading her to the opposite end of the room. The way he said it, Anne knew that he knew. She felt a wave of relief and forced herself to breathe again.