Chapter Twenty-two
Summer did not really want to attend the Shaws’ Halloween ball; she was not sure it was socially correct when they were all still wearing mourning. Besides, the twins were less than two months old, and she was still weak—or was it only depression? Father, however, insisted that it was time to make a bold move, begin wearing light mourning and advertise the fact that the Van Schuyler family was getting on with their lives.
So Summer had compromised by wearing a dark dove gray satin dress and decided that, of course, she would not dance. Angela, on the other hand, was on a pout as the family made ready because she could not dress up in some flamboyant costume. “I wanted to go as a witch and carry Coaldust.”
“Considering the fact that most of Boston society knows the Blackledge side of the family had an ancestor hanged at Salem for that very reason,” Silas said crisply, “that doesn’t seem to be a very good idea.”
“Father’s right,” Summer said as she reached for her cloak. “Now remember, you are a little girl and—”
“I’m almost sixteen,” Angela snapped back. “Other girls my age are getting married or at least have a sweetheart.”
Father rolled his eyes. “What are children coming to these days?” He glared at her. “You will behave as a young lady who has lost her mother only months ago. I will not have all Boston society gossiping about us . . . again.” He gave Summer a significant look.
She pretended she didn’t see it as she buttoned her cloak. She wasn’t looking forward to this. Beau St. Claire would be at the Shaws’ party. In truth, he had asked to escort her to the ball, but Summer had declined, saying the family wanted to attend together and she would see him there.
Evans appeared in the doorway. “Flannigan’s brought the carriage around, sir.”
“Very good. We’ll go to the party early, make an appearance, and come home before most of the crowd arrives fashionably late,” Silas said. “Tell the staff they may have the evening off, except Mrs. O’Malley, of course; she’ll take care of the children.”
Summer turned and looked with yearning up the stairs. “I hate to leave my children alone.”
Father snorted as they went toward the door. “Ye Gods, they aren’t alone! They have servants dancing attendance on them. You’re just trying to avoid attending this ball.”
That was certainly true.
Angela scowled at Father. “My first real party and you want me to leave early? I’m so looking forward to it.”
He glared back at her. They were so very much alike, Summer thought as she looked at her younger sister. Like Silas, Angela was obstinate and determined. Too bad she wasn’t a boy; she could match Silas Van Schuyler’s ambition and interest in power. However, Angela had grown to be a beautiful young woman. In a short time, Summer thought, all the eligible bachelors in Boston would be courting Angela. She’d even seen Beau staring at Angela a couple of times as if dazzled by the young, spoiled beauty.
They got in the carriage for the short drive to the Shaw estate. Even as they pulled up before the Georgian mansion, they heard music and laughter already drifting from inside. Lights streamed from every window, and out in the courtyard, carriages and drivers waited in little groups, drinking spiced punch and gossiping among themselves.
The Shaws met them at the door. Elizabeth Shaw was a small, birdlike woman who controlled the men of her family by having “spells” when she didn’t get her way. Priscilla had never really liked her distant cousin, Summer remembered now as they greeted each other.
“Why, Summer, we’re so glad you decided to come after all. As I remember, the last ball of mine you attended, you announced your engagement to our son.”
“Now, Elizabeth,” her florid-faced husband blustered, “you needn’t have mentioned that.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Elizabeth feigned too much innocence as she looked at her husband.
“It’s all right,” Summer put in quickly, “she’s correct, of course.” It had been New Year’s Eve of 1858, she thought. She had become engaged to Austin that night. So many young men who had attended that New Year’s Eve were dead now in the Civil War which had turned out to be as bloody and brutal as her twin, David, had predicted. “That night, Austin brought his friend, George Custer. Who would have believed that Custer would end up a general so soon?”
“Or that Austin would be in the midst of all that action with Custer?” Mrs. Shaw sighed. “We were hoping both our boys would get here for this; now it appears neither will.”
“We’ll have a good time anyway,” Robert Shaw blustered. To Summer, he said, “The young men have been asking me for weeks if you’d be here; especially that Beau St. Claire. We’ve bought a lot of cotton through him all during the war, you know; had to pay outrageous prices, but it kept our mills running.”
“Made excellent profits off that fabric as I recall,” Father said. “Too bad so many of those we know invested in that uniform factory of the Huntingtons.”
“Oh, Father,” Angela groaned, “don’t start talking business right here in the front hall.”
Mrs. Shaw said, “Quite right, my dear, we’re here to enjoy ourselves and celebrate the end of the war. Later on, with everyone wearing masks and as large a crowd as we’re expecting, I’m not sure anyone would recognize anyone else.”
Angela smirked. “Then I could be the belle of the ball, couldn’t I?”
Her father frowned. “Now, Angela, you might dance discreetly with one or two of the young boys who will be here, but remember—”
“I know, I know,” Angela said, shrugging him off.
Robert Shaw said, “Angela, my dear, I think there’s milk and cookies in the kitchen.”
“Milk and cookies?” Angela sneered with disdain. “I was thinking of champagne.” She swept into the ballroom, and Summer shrugged helplessly at Elizabeth Shaw. “You must forgive my little sister’s rudeness.”
“My dear cousin Priscilla must be turning over in her grave at Angela’s behavior,” Elizabeth sniffed. “On the other hand, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but—”
“Then don’t.” Summer cut her off as she handed over her cloak to the butler.
“My, I had forgotten how outspoken you are.” Elizabeth gave Summer her best vinegary smile.
It was time to change the subject before the overbearing lady got any snippier. “Are you certain neither Austin nor Todd will be here?” Summer certainly wanted to talk to Todd and see if he’d heard any more from Iron Knife.
Robert’s face fell. “Not Todd, but Austin had hoped to get leave. It doesn’t appear that he’ll make it, though.”
Summer looked up to see the butler ushering Beau into the entry hall. Beau grinned at her. “Why, hello, there. I do hope you’ll save me every dance.”
Summer looked imploringly at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth said, “Now, Beau, you mustn’t monopolize her. Besides, some of the other ladies have been asking after you and wondering when you’d arrive.”
“Ma’am,” he drawled as he bent to kiss Mrs. Shaw’s hand, “I have the two most beautiful women at the ball right here before me; who could ask for more?”
Elizabeth tittered with delight.
It was going to be a long evening, Summer thought. The orchestra began to play; servants in fine livery were passing through the laughing crowds with ornate silver trays of refreshments. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw young Angela filtch a glass of champagne off a butler’s tray and drain it, then stop to flirt with a known rake old enough to be her father. The rake was leading Angela over to the refreshment table and getting her another champagne. Summer started to point that out to Silas, decided her younger sister couldn’t get into all that much trouble right here under her father’s nose, and kept quiet.
The orchestra began a waltz. Beau looked longingly toward the dance floor. “I suppose it is really not proper for you to dance, is it?”
For once, Summer was glad she was still in mourning. “I’m afraid not; but there are other ladies here who would love the chance.”
Beau smiled and bent to kiss her hand. “I may do that later, but right now, I’m just happy to be with you. I’ll get you some punch.”
She watched him walk away.
Father came to stand beside her. “Beau might be planning to ask you to marry him tonight, you know.”
“Hmm.” She wasn’t sure what she was going to say if he did. He was persistent enough to wear any girl down. The thought crossed her mind that it wouldn’t be any worse married to Beau than imprisoned in her father’s large house with Silas controlling every move she made.
Father drifted over to a nearby group of his friends, and they were already discussing retiring to the billiard room for a smoke and something stronger than champagne. Over in a corner of the ballroom, Summer saw Angela with yet another glass of champagne in her hand. Yes, it was going to be a long evening. She just hoped Angela didn’t make a fool of herself. There was already enough gossip about the Van Schuylers with what Summer had done in Boston with people whispering about her behind their hands as she walked past and Summer pretending she didn’t see it.
Summer stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching the crowd grow. Most of Boston’s wealthiest and most influential people were here, and some who had lost their fortunes but were still important because of their ancestors. There were the two prim Osgoode sisters, Summer’s old school mates, dressed like pilgrims and standing forlornly by the refreshment table. They seemed to pretend not to see Summer. Although they had attended her mother’s elaborate funeral, the two had not been to call on Summer in the months since she had returned. Obviously running away with an Indian lover was just too scandalous for them.
She nodded to some of her other old schoolmates, but most also seemed to pretend not to see her. Maybe Father was right; she had scandalized this proper, staid city, and she might never again be invited to any social event. Had it been worth it? She closed her eyes and remembered Iron Knife’s rugged face. Yes, if she had it to do all over again, she still would do it. In her mind, she remembered the taste of her man’s kiss and blinked back tears. She had loved him so.
Father came to her side from the billiard room. “Have you seen Angela?”
“No, but she’s probably in the kitchen eating cookies.”
“I just checked the kitchen,” Silas grumbled. “She’s not there; I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Summer remembered the way Angela had grabbed a glass of champagne off a butler’s tray. There was a big pantry in this house where the liquor was kept. Surely her younger sister wouldn’t do anything really wild and crazy. On the other hand, she might. Added to that was the fact that Angela was quite innocent and so young. “Father,” she soothed, “now you go back to the billiard room and have a smoke. I’ll look around for her; I’m sure she can’t be very far. Maybe she and some of her friends from Miss Priddy’s Academy are sitting in the parlor trading giggles and secrets.”
Father looked uncertain but angry. “Maybe you’re right. If you find her—”
“Yes, yes, now settle down, I’ll find her.” Summer was delighted to be able to escape from the ballroom with all the young men looking at her longingly, but their mothers giving her cold glares.
Beau thought he must be crazy, but Summer’s younger sister had flirted with him, and now had led him into the pantry. “I’ve something to tell you.”
“About Summer?” Angela was drunk; he could smell it on her. What had she done, snatched drinks off butler’s trays on a dare?
“No.” She closed the door behind him and leaned closer. “I’ve been watching you a long time, Beau St. Claire, and I’m on to you.”
He felt a chill go up his back. How had this brat found out about his financial problems and his married mistress? “What—what do you mean?”
She slipped her arms around his neck. “Admit it; you don’t love my sister. I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes.”
Oh, God, she had noticed and probably read his thoughts. He took a good look at her. Everyone thought of Angela as a little girl; but she must be about sixteen, and her curves filled out that plain dark gray mourning dress she wore. He didn’t know what to say. She was so drunk, she was unsteady on her feet. What did she expect him to do? “Miss Angela, I beg you not to say anything to your sister.”
Angela smiled up at him, and he realized she might be young, but her eyes were sensual. “Not if you’ll kiss me.”
Beau smiled. The little tart; stealing her sister’s man. And Angela was pretty, too. He bent his head and kissed her deeply. In answer, she made a small noise in her throat and rubbed against him. He felt his manhood come up hard and throbbing, and he deepened the kiss, putting his hand on her breast. He could taste the liquor on her lips, and he pressed her back against the row of shelves. He must be crazy, he admonished himself, to be kissing and pawing his future wife’s little sister in a pantry at the biggest party of the season. Suppose someone opened the door? Suppose he had misread Angela’s intentions and later she yelled rape? Besides, it just wasn’t practical to take a woman standing up in a pantry. Yet, for a long moment, his passion and his need overcame his good sense, and he kissed her.
“Want me?” she said in a taunting voice.
“Of course I do!” His voice was shaking now as he tried to push her skirts up. “Where can we go?”
Angela pulled away, laughing. “I knew you didn’t really love my sister; you’re after my father’s money. Suppose I tell him you tried to drag me into the pantry and make love to me?”
He felt himself go pale. “You little vixen! Have you no principles?”
“We’re two of a kind, Beau!” she taunted, then pulled away and slipped out the pantry door, weaving slightly on her feet and laughing.
Beau leaned against the wall and cursed. His manhood was so swollen and throbbing that he dared not leave here yet. That cold-blooded little wench had deliberately led him on; then when she got him shaking and ready to beg for it, she had laughed and walked away. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and tried to compose himself. God, he had been a reckless fool, and she was as cunning as he was. He’d get even with that little Jezebel once he married Summer. There’d be plenty of times when the two of them would be alone together. Angela wouldn’t dare tell; she’d be too ashamed, and anyway, who would believe her?
Beau grinned as he straightened his costume and peeked around the door. He was in luck, no one in sight. Beau came out of the pantry, taking deep breaths to compose himself. Yes sir, he still had his lady in Tennessee, and he’d soon have both the voluptuous Van Schuyler sisters. God, he needed a woman! Summer had known passion with some savage, so it wasn’t as if she were some teasing virgin like her little sister. He began to wonder if he could end up between her thighs tonight. Where would be a good place to seduce her? What about that wicker chaise in the conservatory? He wouldn’t need but a few minutes to overcome her objections. Humming to himself, Beau went to join the men playing billiards and talking.
Summer had been searching frantically; now she spotted Angela walking through the dining room, her clothes slightly mussed. She grabbed her arm. “You brat, have you been drinking?”
Angela looked at her with those eyes as cold as ice flakes and smiled. “I’ve been doing a lot of things; things that would surprise you—”
“Angela!” Father rounded the corner then and glared at them both. “What have you been up to?” He took a deep breath. “Liquor! Have you been drinking?”
“I’m a bit tipsy, that’s all.” She stood her ground.
Father caught her arm. “I won’t have this, young lady! You hear? I’ve had one daughter humiliate me, but you won’t be the second.”
Summer winced. “Father, let me walk her around out in the cool air and—”
“No,” Father said, “she’s going home!” He led her toward the kitchen door. “I’ll have Flannigan take her home in the carriage and come back for me later.” He smiled. “I imagine Beau will want to drive you home, Summer.”
“I don’t want to go home.” Angela pouted. “I want to stay here where the fun is!”
Summer pictured herself fighting off Beau’s ardent advances in his carriage when they were alone. “Father, I’ll ride home with Angela, look after her.”
“No,” Father snapped, “I accepted this invitation so someone would marry you; so you circulate, look for Beau. He’ll be delighted to see you home, I’m sure.”
Angela grinned. “I know something about—”
“Be quiet!” Father thundered. “Flannigan will take you home, and no one need ever know what a fool you made of yourself tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll talk, young lady.”
Angela was still protesting as Father led her out the side door to the family carriage. Summer breathed a sigh of relief that nothing scandalous had happened. When Father returned, she saw him heading for the billiard room to smoke a cigar with Robert Shaw and the other older businessmen.
Well, she had put it off as long as she could; she supposed she’d have to go be charming to Beau and the other young gentlemen. Pasting a weak smile on her lips, she went back to the ballroom and found Beau.
“Summer?” He took her hand, kissed it. She noticed his fingers were sweaty and trembling. “I’ve been looking for you; where have you been?”
She didn’t want to tell him about the trouble with her younger sister. He was holding her hand as if he didn’t intend to let it go the rest of the evening. Was he going to ask her to marry him? She hoped not, because Father would be upset if she turned him down.
Iron Knife thought it seemed a long way from the hotel to the Shaws’ home. Or maybe it only seemed like that to Iron Knife because he wasn’t sure what he was getting into. He had fought many battles, gone through much danger, but this was unfamiliar to him.
Summer. What was he going to do about her? He didn’t know himself how he would react when he saw her. He was still thinking about it as the carriage clopped down the street and halted before the Shaws’ mansion. Iron Knife peered out the window in awe. It had more than one story, white pillars out front and lights streaming from many windows. The courtyard was full of fine carriages and drivers; the sound of music and laughter drifted from inside on the cold autumn night. “What a grand house! This belongs to one family?”
Austin nodded. “Mine. The Van Schuylers live next door, and theirs is every bit as fine as this one.”
Iron Knife was still marveling over this fact as the two of them went up the steps to the front door. No wonder Summer had changed her mind and decided to stay in Boston. Perhaps it wasn’t that she had a new love; perhaps it was only that she had decided she couldn’t live in the poor and primitive way the Cheyenne lived.
From inside, music and laughter floated. They stopped at the big front door. Austin looked over at him. “Are you ready?”
Iron Knife took a deep breath. What would happen when a fully costumed Cheyenne warrior walked into this fine home? It might take more courage to face all these strange, rich white people than fighting soldiers or Pawnees. Then he seemed to see his love’s sweet smile, and he would have faced anything, crawled through fire, to get to her. He nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Courage, my friend,” Austin said, “just keep quiet as much as possible and let me do the talking.”
Iron Knife’s heart pounded hard; whether from the possible danger or the thought that he was about to come face-to-face with his only love, he couldn’t be sure. “I’m ready for whatever comes.”
“Then here goes!” In the dim glow of the porch lamps, Austin gave him an encouraging smile as he reached to ring the bell.