Chapter Four

 

True to her promise, the Duchess of Marlborough pulled strings, and Rosalyn soon became a member of the diplomatic corps surrounding Tsar Peter. Nearly every afternoon and evening in March and even into early April, Rosalyn toured the city with the Russian monarch incognito, and his entourage. One morning, having agreed to meet the Tsar and Admiral Mitchell at Deptford, Rosalyn left her uncle’s house in a hurry. Caught up in a whirlwind of social activities, and often hard pressed to keep her calendar straight with so many invitations and people to meet, Rosalyn found herself running behind schedule.

Wearing one of her plainest dresses from Boston—the dark brown one Grant had told her to burn!—she was just about to enter her uncle’s carriage when an elegant carriage drawn by a sleek pair of matched chestnuts turned the corner and pulled to the curb ahead.

Suddenly ill at ease in her dowdy clothing—chosen to help the Tsar avoid public attention—Rosalyn waited for the Earl of Albemarle, attired in a magnificent suit of purple and lavender brocade and a showy chestful of medals, to reach her side. “Lord Albemarle, good morning!” she said, startled by his flamboyant costume and the unexpected visit.

“Madame,” he bowed gallantly over her hand, “I was passing by and thought I might find you in.” His sparkling blue eyes were a brilliant hue, and full of mischief.

“You certainly know how to get a lady’s attention, my lord,” she said with a chuckle.

“What rooster could fulfill his role in the hen house, if he were not brilliantly arrayed, my little brown hen?” he countered.

Rosalyn blushed self-consciously. “Some of us prefer not to call attention to ourselves.”

“Rags cannot hide a beauty like yours, Rosalyn,” he said, openly flirting with her.

“Aren’t you a little off the scent, my lord?” she asked. “When last we met, I thought I made it perfectly clear—”

He laughed, waving his scented lace handkerchief. “I see I shall have to make my confession, so, lacking a priest, I hastened to find you, my dear Mrs. Watermann. You see, my Lady Chastaine threw me out quite unexpectedly this morning. A slight mix-up,” he explained with a faint blush. “A gift I had purchased for someone else wound up on her breakfast tray. I might have bluffed my way back into her good graces, but, alas, the card proved my undoing.”

“How complicated it must be to keep all your mistresses happy and out of each other’s hair,” Rosalyn said unsympathetically.

He sighed theatrically. “It’s enough to drive a man to proposing marriage.”

“You will never mend your ways, my lord,” she said dismissively. “Now if you will excuse me, I must hurry. I have an appointment with Tsar Peter and Admiral Mitchell.”

Rosalyn turned to enter her uncle’s carriage, but van Keppel interposed his lean, athletic body in an attempt to detain her. “Allow me to escort you,” he said and, dismissing her uncle’s driver without so much as a by-your-leave, he handed her up into his own carriage.

“I really wish you wouldn’t!” she protested. Although they’d had met briefly on a few occasions, she didn’t trust him. And yet if she rejected his escort to Deptford, he would probably kick up a row.

“Actually,” he confessed, settling back against the comfortable seat, “I need your advice.” And he proceeded to tell her about a lovely niece of one of the king’s advisors who had caught his eye. He spoke at length in such flowery terms, extolling the young woman’s fine character and beauty, that they reached Rosalyn’s destination before he finished pontificating.

“Of course, marriage is out of the question,” he concluded sadly, as he helped her down from the carriage outside the modest home of William Penn, where she was to meet Peter.

“Why is that?” Rosalyn asked, impatient with his shoddy morals. “From what you’ve just told me, the young lady would make a splendid wife. She comes of an unexceptionable family with money, good connections, and if you are to be believed, she positively adores you.”

“I cannot marry without the king’s permission. He expects his closest friends to make politically advantageous marriages.” A flicker of pain clouded his eyes—the first genuine emotion he’d ever shown in her presence, in fact.

“Surely you could ask the king to make an exception about something so crucial to your happiness,” she advised, quite serious.

“She is already spoken for. My only choices are to make her my mistress or bow quietly out of her life and allow her to marry someone else.”

“If you truly love her, my lord, you have no choice. You cannot dishonor her,” she argued.

Unexpectedly he snatched Rosalyn’s hand to his breast, then kissed it. “Thank you for helping me make such a difficult decision!”

Blinking with surprise, Rosalyn felt his arms go around her in a fervent embrace. His handsome face beamed as he swept her off the ground and whirled her about with a carefree laugh. Upset by his taking such liberties, she pummeled his shoulder. “My lord, put me down!” When her feet were once more solidly planted on terra firma, she frowned up at the spoiled young dandy. “My lord, you are acting very strangely! One minute, you are inconsolable, the next, you are ecstatic.”

Van Keppel captured her face in his two hands and saluted her lips with tiny plucking kisses. “But you have just provided the answer to my dilemma! I shall make her my one and only mistress!”

Rosalyn recoiled from him with a look of horror. Oh! that he would corrupt a decent young noblewoman. “If you really loved the girl, you would let her go,” she said crossly.

“You and your funny provincial ways!” He laughed, shaking his head over her narrow-minded view of court life. “What greater honor can I bestow upon her than to become her lover?”

“Well! I certainly hope she has some say in the matter!” Rosalyn replied indignantly. “I fear you are too much a game-player, for my taste.”

“Then how should I go about wooing a woman—like yourself, for instance?” he asked, making love to her with his roving blue eyes.

“You couldn’t,” she told him firmly, “for I would never be happy settling for what your lady friends accept. You, my lord, offer a pauper’s substitute for what any decent woman desires above all else!”

Van Keppel looked genuinely puzzled. All the women he knew either appealed to his physical needs or proved intellectually stimulating. He had never found both in the same woman before, and he couldn’t think how to proceed. Until now, his wealth, position, and personal charm had gotten him pretty much whatever he wanted.

“What price, Rosalyn Watermann, must one pay for your love?” he asked, as seductive as the serpent in the garden.

“Equality. Independence. Friendship and lifelong commitment. Loyalty. A love so deep that it is unattainable,” she said, a little surprised at how well she had answered the very question that she had often asked herself without success.

He tilted his head, his eyes calculating, yet merry, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. “You fail to mention financial support or pleasure, my sweet!”

“Cheap substitutes for the kind of love I desire.” She lifted her chin high. “But don’t look so crestfallen, my lord! There must be dozens of women who would settle for what you offer.”

Spinning on her heel, she marched past the front windows of the Penn house, where, unbeknownst to her, Grant Watermann stood watching her altercation with van Keppel with rapt attention. It never ceased to amaze him how swiftly she made conquests without even trying. She didn’t even seem to realize the magnetic effect she had on men. He forced his gaze from the window with a sigh. He had better things to do with his time than worry about a prim little Puritan wench.

As Rosalyn approached the river bank behind the house, she saw Peter deeply engaged in conversation with a stout middle-aged gentleman, as somberly dressed as herself. She quietly went up to the Admiral, who was waiting for her by the gate, and together they strolled through a small, fragrant garden.

“Who is the man talking with Sergeant Mikhaylov?” she asked. As always she used the Tsar’s assumed name, as he insisted that they should.

“He’s William Penn, leader of the English Quaker movement. Pyotr has become quite interested in the sect, since attending a Quaker meeting in Zaandam.”

“How strange, since he often expresses contempt for organized religion,” she said, puzzled by all the inconsistencies in the Tsar’s behavior.

Mitchell shrugged. “Despite his skepticism, he truly admires the Quakers for their simplicity and their efforts to bring about social reforms.”

“Perhaps Sergeant Mikhaylov is a seeker of truth,” she said, pausing to smell a rose.

Mitchell nodded. “He’s full of surprises, at any rate. One minute he seems open and friendly and the next, downright crafty. I suspect most of his peasant behavior is put on for show.”

“Why can’t he just be himself?”

“He claims he wants to see how the common man on the street lives. And he wants to take the latest Western inventions and knowledge back to Moscow.”

Rosalyn nodded, for everything the Admiral said coincided with her own observations of the Russian monarch. As the conversation between Pyotr and William Penn went on for some time, the Admiral escorted her to a wooden bench near a small bird feeder. “Shall we wait here? They seem to be managing quite well without any assistance,” he mentioned with a wry smile.

Content to relax in such a lovely setting, Rosalyn breathed in the delicious aroma of herbs and lilacs wafting on the gentle breezes off the Thames. She would have been perfectly content to watch the birds swoop in for food and flutter their wings in the water fountain all morning, but at last William Penn brought Peter over to where they were waiting. The Admiral rose and shook Penn’s hand warmly. “Thank you for your time, sir. We have an appointment at ten to show Sergeant Mikhaylov the Greenwich Naval Hospital.”

“In that case, I won’t detain thee longer. However, Sergeant, before thou dost leave, perhaps—" And Penn began to speak animatedly with the eager Russian ruler in Dutch.

While this was going on, Rosalyn turned, hoping to find something to hold her interest, and spotted Kigamatei from the Fair Winds, coming through a side door. Instantly she was on her feet, waving excitedly. “Excuse me, Admiral Mitchell. I shall only be a minute.” She ran quickly into the house and discovered Kigamatei helping a short stout woman stack firewood beside the kitchen hearth.

“Kigamatei!” She rushed forward to shake his hand. “How are you?”

“Mrs. Watermann! How nice to see you again,” he said, his face beaming.

“I never expected to run into you here, Kigamatei,” she said delightedly.

“I arrived this morning with Master Watermann.”

Taking exception with her partner’s exalted title, Rosalyn said, “Call no man ‘master,’ Kigamatei. You are a free man.”

“I know. But you treat me so good! I shall always be grateful, missus.” Setting down an armload of wood, he dropped to one knee and kissed her hand.

Just then Grant Watermann walked into the kitchen, both hands in his pockets, and his eyebrows lifted in feigned indifference. “I see you’ve captured another heart, Rosalyn,” he drawled, watching the touching scene with an odd smirk.

“Get up, Kigamatei,” she whispered to the tall black man. Then she lifted her chin to challenge Grant’s bold look. “Good morning, Captain,” she said crisply, wondering what he had been up to of late. His smile made her think of a house cat licking cream off its whiskers.

He inclined his head to her without comment, then bowed to the elderly woman, who stood wiping her hands on her apron. “Mrs. Penn, may I present Mrs. Rosalyn Watermann from Boston? Rosalyn, may I present Mrs. Penn. Her husband leads the Quaker work here in England.”

Shocked that she'd mistaken Mrs. Penn for a servant, Rosalyn bobbed a quick curtsy. “What an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

“The Captain and Kigamatei were just telling me about our African friend’s extraordinary rescue.” Smiling, she turned to Grant and added, without a trace of flattery, “Thou didst not tell me how beautiful Mrs. Watermann is.”

Rosalyn blushed. “I am glad Captain Watermann brought Kigamatei to you,” she told Mrs. Penn. “He has great faith that you can help our friend.”

“We will do our best to find him honest work.”

Excusing herself, Mrs. Penn took Kigamatei into the garden to gather herbs, and Rosalyn, seizing her opportunity, drew Grant aside. “What a surprise finding you here!” she whispered.

“Not nearly as surprised as I was to look out the window and see you throwing yourself at the king’s favorite,” he responded.

Hearing the sharp edge in his voice, she smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

“Not at all,” he replied evenly. “But you’re running with pretty fast company, my headstrong young friend. Just don’t get your foot caught in that fox’s hole.”

“I don’t intend to.” She stuck out her chin defiantly. If he didn’t care, neither did she!

Grant shrugged. “Just offering a bit of advice, dear stepmother. So what brings you here?”

As always it annoyed her to be reminded that they were related by marriage. Biting back an angry retort, she shared her morning agenda: “Admiral Mitchell and I are taking Sergeant Mikhaylov on a tour. First, the Greenwich Naval Hospital, and then a few of the splendid new buildings designed by Sir Christopher Wren.”

“I have some spare time today.” In spite of promising himself he wanted to keep his life uncomplicated, he found he was glad to see her again. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“I should like that very much. Have you met Peter?” Eager to catch him up on the latest news, she linked arms with him and drew him to a wooden settle for a quiet chat before the fire.

“As a matter of fact, yes. He and I play chess and hoist a few, every now and then.”

“Oh.” Suddenly she longed to know everything that had occurred since they last met. “How are repairs coming along on the Fair Winds? And how is the crew?”

“Doing quite well.” Grant said in a light bantering tone. God, she was so eager! And even more beautiful than he remembered. It hurt his eyes just looking at her. “I’m sure the men would send their greetings, if they knew we’d bumped into each other like this.”

Rosalyn nodded. “I'm so glad you’ve seen to Kigamatei’s future.” Suddenly she remembered her most promising pupil. “Have you enrolled Matthew Brackenridge in school yet?”

“I’m working on it.” He grinned. “Matt still has calf’s eyes for his former teacher, that much I do know.”

“I have an idea,” Rosalyn rattled on, ignoring his teasing remark. “Mercy’s cousin Jack finished up at St. Albans. He just got a position as third Groom of the Bedchamber in the Duke of Gloucester’s household. Perhaps if I put in a word with him and the Duchess of Marlboro—”

He let out an appreciative whistle. “The way you tick off names, you must have the whole of London at your beck and call!”

“Grant, it’s the most amazing thing,” Rosalyn confided. “Mercy and the Hills are poor relations of the Duchess! That’s how I met Lady Sarah—and in a way I’m doing her a big favor.”

Grant burst out laughing. “More power to you! If you can get Brackenridge into St. Albans, I’ll scrape up the funds to pay his way somehow.”

Before she thought, Rosalyn threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. “Oh, thank you, Grant!” Not wanting to put wrong ideas in his head, she stepped back, blushing. “I just know you will receive back many times more than it costs for his tuition.”

His tawny eyes widened in mock surprise. “And here I was going to take it out of your share,” he teased.

“My share of what? So far I haven’t received so much as a five pound note. A fine thing!” she said, her eyes twinkling merrily. “But since it was mostly my idea,” she conceded, “let me split the cost with you.”