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La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Sixteen Scene 3

They were led to their dining room by a smiling serving girl with holly in her hair. The small room was warmed by a crackling fire. Garlands of holly decked the walls and a small German Christmas tree, decorated with glass balls and strings of cranberries, stood before the window. The round table at the center of the room was impeccably set for six. The white linen, polished silver, and white china bordered in blue all gleamed in the candlelight.

“Six places, major?” she murmured as she rested a hand on the curved back of the nearest Chippendale chair.

“Yes, two couples will join us,” he answered. “Do you want to know whom? Or would you rather be surprised?”

“Tell me.”

“Very well. Lord Hazelton and a companion and the general and Mrs. Loring.”

She pursed her lips. Lord Hazelton she would welcome, but Mrs. Loring was getting on her nerves.

He read her mind. “Mrs. Loring angled an invitation.”

“Why? I don’t understand why she–”

“Pursues you?”

“Does it seem that way to you?” she asked.

“Yes. Rather unusual in a woman given to pursuing men.” He allowed himself to smirk.

“Yes, so why I am a target?”

“The granddaughter of a French king?” he asked rhetorically.

“Is that it?”

“I’m pretty certain. She is the Sultana of Philadelphia, but she longs for greater challenges.”

“I know,” she replied, recalling the blonde’s desire to move to Europe. So she hoped that Christiane might help her? How unfortunate. Christiane had decided years before never to return to Paris.

She looked at her officer speculatively. Did he confidently expect her to return to England with him? That she would never do. She immediately regretted her unspoken cattiness. She had to admit he did not behave confident where she was concerned. A sadness engulfed her. She was sorry already to have to hurt him. Why had he chosen her? No, he had not really. He had saved her life and then agreed to give her his protection. None of this was his fault. He would suffer because of his own kindness and her impulsiveness in leaving the Richardsons.

Her face was downcast and his heart ached for her. Without thinking, he went to her and took her into his arms and tried to kiss her. She pushed against him.

The door behind them opened. “Lord Hazelton and Mrs. Deborah Ardan,” the same girl piped and then seeing them together, she blushed and hurried away.

Hazelton beamed at them. “Mistletoe?” he asked impishly.

“Not really,” the major said uncomfortably.

“Well, one can always hope.” The colonel looked teasingly at his companion. The lady, a lovely redhead, smiled and shook her head at him as though scolding him. “Allow me to present my friend, Mrs. Deborah Ardan. Deborah, this is major John Eastham and Mrs. Christiane Belmond.” The honors were done smoothly.

Christiane looked the redhead over carefully. She seemed to be in her thirties and quite attractive. Christiane had wondered when her mother’s old friend would make his choice from the beauties of Philadelphia. She sincerely hoped that Mrs. Ardan was a widow.

As though in answer to her question, the lady commented, “Your dress is striking. My late husband was always partial to that shade of green.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ardan. It is my Christmas present from the major.”

“No, it is not,” he corrected smoothly. He had re-gained his composure. “You will receive your Christmas present on Christmas. Tonight we are celebrating your birthday.”

“Very well then,” she humored him, “it is my birthday gift.”

“Your birthday?” Mrs. Ardan said brightly. “How lovely. Henry didn’t tell me or I would have brought a gift, too.”

The door opened again. “General Howe and Mrs. Elizabeth Loring,” the serving maid announced, keeping her eyes lowered.

“Christiane, darling!” Mrs. Loring gushed, “Happy Birthday!”

So the birthday dinner unfolded. Christiane felt oddly divided. Part of her was enjoying the food, the wine, the company, but part of her seemed to be watching it from a distance. Part of her belonged here and part of her belonged twenty miles away at Valley Forge.

The duck had been consumed and the cake was served. Christiane received three brightly wrapped boxes. She was embarrassed. She did not want them, but she could not refuse them. “Open mine first,” the Sultana urged.

Christiane nodded and undid it. A silver and tortoise shell brush and comb set was inside the lined box. “Oh, Mrs. Loring, how beautiful. Thank you!” Christiane stroked the brush handle.

“Mine next, Christiane,” Hazelton entreated.

The silver box held fur-lined leather gloves for riding. “Oh, my lord, they fit perfectly. And they are warm!” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

The final present awaited her, a long thin jeweler’s case. She looked to the major and was met by a mask of nonchalance. She dreaded looking. She already owed him too much. Carefully she unwrapped it. From the velvet lining, a flash of green burst brilliantly–emeralds, a necklace of emeralds. She was speechless. The gift was more costly than she could imagine. Emeralds, the queen of gems.

“Try them on,” the Sultana urged, careful not to sound envious. “Help her, major,” she coaxed coyly. He rose stiffly, stood behind Christiane and did the honors. Christiane was still unable to think what to say. “Well, darling, aren’t you going to thank the major?” Mrs. Loring purred.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say!” Christiane exclaimed at last. “They are too beautiful. I never expected anything such as this!”

“Major, you have superb taste,” General Howe said.

“Here. Here,” Hazelton seconded.

“I have never seen such a gorgeous necklace ever,” Mrs. Ardan added.

Eastham took his place again across from Christiane and looked back at her. Such a look of uncertain hope he gave her. Tears sprang to Christiane’s eyes as she fingered the necklace. “Thank you, major,” she said softly. “They are too lovely for words.”

With the opening of the gifts, the party began to break up. Christiane knew her well enough to predict that Mrs. Loring was anxious to lose some money at the gaming table and she wanted to make her appearance at the Smith’s Christmas Ball. Anyway, Christiane thought, the blond had gleaned enough gossip: Christiane’s emeralds and Lord Hazelton’s redhead. The Colonel kissed Christiane and promised to stop by for a Christmas punch with them on the morrow. He and Deborah had to leave to make several more stops this evening.

So soon Christiane and the major sat, alone, across from each other in the silent room, the sounds of revelry echoing around them. She could not think of anything to say, anything kind. And slowly a feeling of lethargy came creeping over her, a kind of reaction to all the gaiety and wine, a feeling of not wanting to do what must be done.

Finally he spoke, “Are you angry?”

“What about?” she asked languidly.

“The necklace. I was afraid you would be angry.”

“I don’t feel like being angry and I will enjoy them for the evening.”

“Meaning that you will not accept them,” he said grimly.

Without speaking, she bent and rested her head on her arms.

“Aren’t you feeling well?” he asked.

She wished she could shake this ennui. “What am I going to do?” she answered softly, “what am I going to do with you, my lord?”

“Stay with me,” he begged quietly, and then more daringly, “love me.”

In grips of languor she stared across at him. She had to tell him, but she dreaded it so. “Let us go,” she whispered.

He rose and helped her on with her wrap. He wanted her. This past week he had waited patiently for her to come willingly to him as she had the night of the ball. He could see that the state of his emotions was the opposite of hers. She was drowsy, but he was stirred by the party, by her beauty.

They left the holiday festivities behind them and sat side by side in the carriage. He was bold and put his arm around her. And when she turned to speak, he kissed her with abandon.

There was no mistaking his intentions and her lethargy worked against her. She knew she should protest, but somehow she could not. His lips were soft and so demanding. Hers answered his at first. Finally she was able to pull away. She could not mislead him. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

He felt an icy needle pierce his chest. “Why?”
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