Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (21 page)

Still, there was an odd ache in her breast
whenever he paid attention to Azalea. Her friend had no qualms
about following him around, sitting beside him, and touching him
whenever she could. Raveneau seemed to enjoy this, which rankled
Devon. Further, she believed that he was actually amused by her
irritation.

The next morning Devon couldn't decide what
was more important—looking her best or getting downstairs as
quickly as possible. Azalea and Mrs. Minter had risen at dawn,
anxious to prepare a sumptuous breakfast for their honored
guest.

What could she wear? Devon worried. The
sea-green gown that Minter had given her was the most attractive,
but it had once belonged to Azalea. The taupe dress was out of the
question. That left the one other gown that she had made. The
fabric Azalea had donated was white muslin, which was more suited
to midsummer. Devon had made a simple gown, embellishing it with
eyelet lace salvaged from the ripped yellow dress. She donned it
now and surveyed her reflection in the small mirror, moving up,
down, and sideways in an effort to see the full effect.

I look like a child, she thought in
exasperation. Even though the bodice was cut low enough to display
her breasts, they could not compete with Azalea's lush curves. With
a sigh, she brushed her hair until the fiery highlights gleamed in
the sun. It was the best she could do.

So absorbed had Devon been in her appearance,
she had failed to notice the splashing noises coming from
downstairs. She paused on the top step and listened curiously.
Hurrying below, she discovered a giggling Azalea in the
kitchen.

"Look! Here's Andre in the bath!"

"What?" Devon wondered incredulously. A few
more steps and she saw a bathtub set up before the huge fireplace.
Raveneau reclined against the curved back, leisurely smoking a thin
cigar. At the sight of Devon's startled face, he smiled with wry
amusement.

"Good morning! Why so shocked, mademoiselle?
This is not the first time you have seen me in my bath."

"What does
that
mean?" Azalea
demanded.

"Never you mind," said Halsey from the sofa.
"It's none of your affair."

Devon felt herself turning pink all the way
down to her breasts. "I for one would like to know what is going
on. Azalea, where are your parents?"

"Milking the cow. They believe that Andre
won't seduce me." She smiled coyly, then shrugged. "Unfortunately,
they are right."

"I fear Devon has a point," Raveneau
remarked, reaching for his sponge. "You two had better find me some
towels before they walk in and see you ogling me."

His gray eyes danced as they looked up at
Devon. Almost against her will, she had been staring at him,
mesmerized. The bronzed skin, the width of his shoulders over
well-muscled arms, and a chest covered with just the right amount
of soft black hair. She bit her lip. The mere sight of him heated
her blood.

That afternoon the quartet assembled around
the bed. Azalea sat beside Halsey's legs, Raveneau and Devon took
chairs, and a lively round of card games began.

Devon's spirits began to plummet, however,
when she realized that Azalea and Raveneau had passed the time
together this way on many other occasions.

In the middle of a game of whist, while
waiting for her turn, Devon imagined them in the cabin on board the
Black Eagle,
sitting on the bed where
she
had slept.
In her fantasy, he reached for Azalea, laughing.

"Devon? Devon! It's your turn!" Azalea cried
irritably.

Flustered, she glanced over to find Raveneau
watching her, his eyes gleaming in a way that made her angry. She
picked a card at random and tossed it on the bed. Everyone stared
in surprise.

"Well, I am already losing, so what does it
matter?" she said.

Raveneau's face was inscrutable as he sat
forward in the chair and gathered the cards already played into a
neat pile. "I think that is enough," he said evenly, then slanted a
smile at Azalea. "I'm going for a walk. Would you care to join
me?"

Eyes alight, she was on her feet. "That's the
best invitation I've had in ages!"

Devon felt ill.

* * *

Raveneau and Azalea wandered through the
fields, pausing in the tobacco barn to inspect the crop of curing
leaves. Afterward, they headed toward the water and sat under a
dogwood tree that would be pink the next May.

"I wanted to talk to you," Raveneau said.

"Oh?" Azalea's heart leaped, but she could
sense that his mind was not on her. For all her giddy pleasure in
his company, he continued to treat her like an irrepressible
sister. It was as if they had never been lovers at all.

He caught her hand and held it absently. "How
would you like to go to Yorktown with me? The ceremony of surrender
will likely be tomorrow, and I thought we might be able to locate
your fiancé."

"Oh, Andre! I would adore it!" Suddenly her
thoughts were full of Isaac.

"Good. I was planning to take Devon along as
well. Do you think she would agree?"

Azalea peered at Raveneau's chiseled face,
searching for a clue to his feelings. "Well, certainly she would
agree. I don't know why not. What did you have in mind for
her
in Yorktown?"

Raveneau glanced at her sharply. "I have not
forgotten that she has a fiancé in Virginia. Has
she?"

"Forgotten? Her darling Morgan? Heavens,
no."

"Good. I would not want to have brought her
all this way for nothing."

"I may be mad, but I have this suspicion that
you may care for her yourself."

"You're right. You are mad." His eyes were
stormy. "I feel a certain responsibility, that's all. I promised to
bring her to Virginia and help her find this paragon of
manhood."

"You're jealous! Listen to you!" Azalea
stared for a moment in shock, then began to laugh.

"Jealous? Why in God's name should I be? It's
not as if I couldn't have her if I wanted her. Devon's not like
you, though. She takes everything too seriously."

Azalea heard the anger in his voice, but went
on, anyway. "I think you are upset because she doesn't care for
you. You cannot conceive of any girl not falling all over you the
way I do."

"That is not so! You're beginning to irritate
me, Azalea! Besides, what makes you so certain she
doesn't
care for me?"

She smiled slyly. "Oh, Andre, you can't fool
me!"

"Just answer the question, wench!"

"Well, I only know what she says to me, and
we are very close. She almost never mentions your name. As far as I
can tell, she isn't interested in the least. Perhaps you're not her
type."

Raveneau narrowed his flinty eyes at her. "I
ought to strangle you. You are doing this purposely."

Azalea giggled. "Let's go home and tell Devon
the news. The sooner she and I reach Yorktown, the sooner we will
be reunited with our true loves. And
you,
sir, will be able
to return to your single great passion—that privateer!"

***~~~***

October 19, 1781

Shortly after dawn, Devon said her goodbyes
to the Minters. Halsey would be remaining behind, though he hoped
to join the
Black Eagle
before its departure. Devon wept as
she kissed his cheek in parting, thinking that they would never
meet again. It was just as unlikely that she would ever see Mr. and
Mrs. Minter after today, and in their final moments together she
realized how fond she had become of them, despite their
failings.

"My parents are both gone," she whispered to
Mrs. Minter, "and I couldn't have come to your home at a better
time. I needed you. I haven't felt alone..."

Constance Minter blinked back tears of her
own and told Devon that she hoped she would find happiness with her
fiancé. Jud got up to give her a hug, and the old couple stood in
the doorway, watching the carriage until Devon lost sight of
them.

The Minters had insisted that the trio use
the team and open carriage, and Raveneau tied his saddle horse to
run along behind. Azalea sat beside Andre, and Devon felt silly
perched all alone on the other seat, as though she were a little
sister or chaperone.

Azalea could never have dreamed what thoughts
were whirling in Devon's mind. Ever since Raveneau had taken Azalea
out for the solitary walk the day before, Devon had been convinced
that they had resumed their affair—even if it would last only until
Isaac was found. Considering Azalea's frivolous views on love and
adventure, no behavior seemed too outrageous for her.

So Devon sat behind them, feeling ill and
blue, while they chatted about old times on the
Black Eagle
and Cornwallis's surrender.

The landscape was pretty enough, but the
closer the carriage drew to Yorktown, the more desolate the farms
and houses appeared. The roads and yards were thick with grass,
fences were broken, and most of the fields were overgrown and
neglected. Many homes had been abandoned, their windows shattered
and doors swinging in the autumn breeze.

After an hour, Raveneau gave the reins over
to Azalea and fell asleep. Both girls watched him, while pretending
not to. Devon was angry with herself for the tender response he
drew from her heart. She longed to nestle against him, to be
wrapped in his secure embrace and listen to his heart beat.

They reached the tent headquarters of Comte
de Rochambeau about noon, where a few stragglers reported that the
ceremony was scheduled to begin at two o'clock and most of the
troops had already left for the field.

Raveneau seemed unsurprised to learn how
perfectly he had timed their arrival. Descending from the carriage,
he slipped into the dashing white coat of his French officer’s
uniform and smoothed back his unpowdered hair. Then he untied his
horse and called to Azalea and Devon to alight.

"There is bound to be a huge crowd," he
informed them, "so I think it would be best for you ladies to
walk."

"Are you going off without us?" Azalea
demanded.

"I must join my regiment. Don't worry, the
field is not far—just follow this street to the town outskirts.
I'll be on horseback and easy to spot. Find a place near me, and I
will come to you when the ceremony is over."

With a last jaunty smile, Raveneau bent to
graze first Azalea's lips, then Devon's. He mounted his gray
stallion in one graceful movement.

"A bientot!"
he called, then galloped
off.

Azalea and Devon looked at each other.

"I feel as though we've been jilted," Azalea
declared, and the younger girl nodded agreement.

"That man is insufferable. He thinks he can
get away with anything."

"I hate to say it, but he probably can."

* * *

Thousands of people from the countryside
thronged the field where the allied armies had formed columns to
await the British. Raveneau had been right; a carriage wouldn't
have brought Azalea and Devon within a quarter mile of the
ceremony, but on foot they were able to make their way to the front
of the crowd. All around were men on horseback, carriages that held
the families of wealthy planters, and brimming farm wagons of
children with their parents. Overhead, small boys perched on tree
branches.

The French and American armies were a study
in contrasts. The French were immaculate in white linen and pastel
regimental silks, while their allies had no uniforms and were
dressed in ragged, soiled homespun. Many of the men were barefoot,
but their bearing was proud and defiant.

Devon spotted Raveneau almost immediately. He
had joined a group of French officers, all on horseback, and
although he wore no powdered wig or elaborate decorations, she
thought him by far the most handsome of all.

When General Washington appeared, walking his
horse between the seemingly endless allied files, a deafening cheer
went up from the crowd. Devon joined in, impressed by the sight of
the tall, somber man who was leading America toward freedom.
Washington joined Rochambeau, and the two leaders waited
expectantly for the redcoats to appear. A band played.

Before long, the British and Hessians emerged
from the ravaged village. Their band was playing a melancholy march
that Devon recognized as "The World Turned Upside Down." The enemy
columns were splendidly garbed, their swords and muskets polished
to a high gleam, though nearly half the original six thousand
soldiers lay dead, ill, or wounded behind the shattered walls of
Yorktown.

Cornwallis was not to be found. A handsome,
ruddy-faced brigadier general led the British column. He sat erect
on his horse and smiled cheerfully at the French as he passed,
ignoring the Americans. The British leader introduced himself to
General Rochambeau as Charles O'Hara. Washington's face darkened.
The Frenchman shook his head and pointed across the road,
announcing, "We are allied with the Americans. General Washington
will accept your surrender."

Thoroughly incensed, Washington refused to
deal with O'Hara. Since Cornwallis had sent his second in command,
he would do the same. Introducing the redcoat to Benjamin Lincoln,
his field commander, he declared that Lincoln would direct the
surrender. Shrugging, O'Hara gamely turned over his sword to
Lincoln.

A regiment of French Hussars surrounded a
nearby field, where the British were instructed to march and lay
down their arms. They did not surrender gracefully. Bitter and
grieving, many of the men wept and tried to break their muskets as
they hurled them down.

The ceremony ended, the crowd began to
disperse, and suddenly a stocky, fair-haired man appeared and
seized Azalea in a crushing hug. Devon would have recognized Isaac
Smith anywhere, for he looked exactly like his miniature.