Counterfeit Lady Read online

  Nicole backed away, her eyes wide, her stomach turning over at his words.

  Clay looked her up and down critically. “I guess I could have done worse. I do take it you persuaded the captain to marry us.”

  Nicole nodded silently, a lump forming in her throat and tears blurring her eyes.

  “Is that a new dress? Did you make Janie believe you? Did you by some chance create yourself a new wardrobe at my expense?” He stood up again. “All right, consider the wardrobe yours. The lost money will keep me from being so naive and trusting next time. But you’ll not get another cent from me. You’ll return to my plantation with me, and this marriage, if it is such, will be annulled. And as soon as it’s ended, you’ll be put on the first ship back to England. Is that clear?”

  Nicole swallowed hard. “I would rather sleep in the streets than spend another moment near you,” she said quietly.

  Moving to stand in front of her, watching the candlelight make her features golden, he ran one finger firmly over her upper lip. “And where else have you been sleeping?” he asked, but he left the cabin before she could reply.

  Nicole leaned against the door, her heart pounding, and more tears came to her eyes. When Frank had run his filthy hands over her she’d kept her pride, but when Clay touched her she’d acted like a woman of the streets. Her grandfather had always reminded her of who she was, that the blood of kings flowed in her veins. She’d learned to walk erect, her head held high, and even when her mother had been carried away by the mob, she’d kept her head high.

  What the horror of the French Revolution could not do to a member of the ancient Courtalain family, one rude and overbearing American had done. With shame, she remembered her complete surrender to his touch, how she’d even wanted to remain in bed with him.

  Even though she’d nearly lost herself to him, she would do her best to regain her pride. Looking at the trunks with pain, she knew they were full of clothing cut especially for her. If she couldn’t bring the whole fabric back, maybe she could someday repay Mr. Armstrong.

  Quickly, she removed the thin muslin dress she wore and donned a heavier, more practical one of light blue calico. She folded the delicate muslin and put it inside one of the top trunks. The dress she’d worn onto the ship had been discarded by Janie after Frank had torn it.

  Taking a piece of writing paper from a trunk, she leaned over the corner cabinet and wrote a letter.

  Dear Mr. Armstrong,

  I hope that by now Janie will have found you and explained some of the circumstances leading to our mistaken marriage.

  You are, of course, right about the clothes. It was only my vanity that allowed me, in effect, to steal from you. I will do my best to repay you for the worth of the materials. It may take me a while, but I will try to get it all to you as soon as possible. For the first payment, I will leave a locket that has some monetary value. It is the only thing of worth that I possess. Please forgive me that it is worth so little.

  As for our marriage, I will have it annulled as soon as possible and will send you notification.

  Sincerely,

  Nicole Courtalain Armstrong

  Nicole reread the letter and placed it on the cabinet. With shaking hands, she removed the locket. Even in England, when she’d wanted money so badly, she’d refused to part with the gold filigree locket containing oval porcelain disks with portraits of her parents on them. Always, she’d worn it.

  Kissing the little portraits, the only thing she had left from her parents, she placed it on top of the letter. Maybe it was better to break completely with the past, for now she must make her way in a new land—alone.

  It was completely dark outside, but the big wharf was lighted with blazing torches. Calmly, Nicole walked across the deck and down the gangplank, the sailors too busy, still unloading the frigate, to notice her. The other side of the wharf looked black and frightening, but she knew she had to get to it. Just as she reached the edge of the woods, she saw Clayton and Janie together under a torch. Janie was speaking rather angrily to Clay while the tall man seemed to be listening silently.

  There was no time to linger. She had so much to do. She needed to get to the nearest town, find a job and shelter. Once she was away from the bright lights of the wharf, the woods seemed to engulf her, the trees looking especially black, especially tall and formidable. All the stories she’d heard about America came back to her. It was a place of wild, murderous Indians, a place of strange beasts that destroyed people as well as property.

  Her footsteps were the only sound on the forest floor, but there seemed to be many others—slithering movements, squeaks and groans, stealthy, heavy footsteps.

  She walked for hours. After a while, she began to hum to herself, a little French song her grandfather had taught her, but it wasn’t long before she realized that her legs wouldn’t be able to carry her any farther if she didn’t rest. But where? She followed a narrow little path, and both ends of it were nothing but black emptiness.

  “Nicole,” she whispered to herself, “there is nothing to be afraid of. The forest is the same during the night as it is in the day.”

  Her brave words didn’t help much, but she used what courage she had and sat down by a tree. Instantly, she felt damp moss stain her dress. But she was too tired to care. Curling her body, pulling her knees into her chest, her cheek resting on her arm, she went to sleep.

  When she woke in the morning, she was aware of eyes staring into hers, enormous eyes. Gasping, she sat up quickly, scaring off the curious little rabbit that had been watching her. Laughing at her silly fears, she looked around her. With the early morning sunlight coming through the trees, the forest looked friendly and inviting. But as she rubbed her stiff neck, and then when she tried to stand, she found her whole body was sore and aching, and her dress was damp, her arms cold. She hadn’t even noticed yesterday how her hair had come unpinned and now hung about her neck in messy tangles. Hastily, she tried to put what pins were left back into her hair.

  The few hours of sleep had invigorated her, and she set out on the narrow path with new energy. Last night she hadn’t been so sure of herself, but this morning she knew she’d done the right thing. Mr. Armstrong’s accusations were something she couldn’t have lived with, and now she would be able to repay him and regain her pride.

  By midmorning she was very hungry. Both she and Janie had eaten very little the two days before they reached America, and her growling stomach reminded her of this.

  At noon, she reached a fence that protected an orchard of hundreds of apple trees, some barely ripe, and a few in the middle of the orchard laden with fat, ripe food. Nicole was halfway over the fence before Clayton Armstrong’s voice accusing her of stealing made her pause in midair. What was happening to her since she had reached America? She was turning into a thief, a generally dishonorable person.

  Reluctantly, she backed down from the fence. Although her mind felt good, her stomach gnawed at itself.

  At midafternoon, she came to a steep-sided creek, painfully aware of the ache in her legs and feet. It seemed that she’d walked for days and she wasn’t anywhere near civilization. The fence had been the only sign that a human had ever set foot on this land before.

  Carefully, she walked down the side of the creek, sat down on a rock, unbuckled her shoes, removed them, and put her feet into the cool water. Her feet were blistered, and the water felt good.

  An animal ran out of the bushes behind her and toward the stream. Startled, Nicole jumped and turned around quickly. The little raccoon was as shocked to see her as she was to see it. Immediately, it turned and ran back into the forest as Nicole laughed at herself and her fears. Turning back to get her shoes, she was just in time to see them floating downstream. With her skirts over her arm, she went after them, but the stream was deeper than it looked and much swifter. She’d barely gone ten steps when she slipped and fell, her skirts wrapped around her, tangling her feet, and something sharp bit into her inner thigh.

  It