Dangerous deceptions, p.1
Dangerous Deceptions, page 1
Table of Contents
DANGEROUS DECEPTIONS | A Colonial American Historical Suspense Novel | MARILYN CLAY
REVIEWS of DANGEROUS DECETIONS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
AUTHOR’S NOTES
DANGEROUS SECRETS
BETSY ROSS: ACCIDENTAL SPY
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DANGEROUS DECEPTIONS
A Colonial American Historical Suspense Novel
MARILYN CLAY
Published in hardcover by Five Star/Gale in July 2010 as DECEPTIONS
Original Copyright July 2010 by Marilyn Jean Clay
DANGEROUS DECEPTIONS Copyright June 2016 by Marilyn Jean Clay
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This book is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and other countries. No portion of this book may be reproduced or reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, e-mailing, scanning, or copying digitally or electronically, for the purposes of selling or distributing on the web, nor can it be electronically reproduced by any other means, including those yet to be invented; or introduced into or stored in a retrieval system, or sold to others, without written permission from the author. To sell or give copies of this book away is a violation of the United States copyright laws. This sort of illegal activity can now be traced and violators will be fined and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Thank you for abiding by the Copyright laws of the United States and for honoring the author’s hard work and her livelihood.
REVIEWS of DANGEROUS DECETIONS
“WITH REALISTIC, WELL-researched historical detail, a strong, intelligent heroine, and a fascinating, uncommon setting, DANGEROUS DECEPTIONS will appeal to romance and historical fans alike.” . . . Library Journal Review.
“A surfeit of fascinating historical details and a refreshingly different setting give DANGEROUS DECEPTIONS its unique flavor . . .” . . . John Charles, Booklist Review.
“DANGEROUS DECEPTIONS delivers page-turning suspense and knife-edged tension. A heart-pounding romance with captivating characters!” . . . Melissa Frederick, author.
“Marilyn Clay is a masterful storyteller! Her characterization and attention to historical detail is admirable!” . . . . Jo Beverley, best-selling historical author.
“A gripping, spellbinding story! Excellently told!” . . . Anna Campbell.
Chapter 1
LONDON, MARCH 1617
The bright morning sun squinting through panes of wavy leaded glass scattered patches of bright light on the uneven floor of the small garret room. Furnished only with a narrow bed, a cupboard, chair and low washstand, the cramped space squeezed beneath the tiled roof of the otherwise elegant London town home was not brightened even by the sun.
Light falling across her face awoke Catherine. With a low groan she turned toward the wall, at once aware of the same sense of dread and foreboding that had twisted her insides the entire past month. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she pulled herself upright and cast an anxious gaze about the tiny chamber she’d called home the past six years. The austere furnishings and low ceiling had always made her feel like a prisoner . . . and unless she could figure out a way to escape today, she would virtually become one, her future lost to her forever.
As usual this time of morning, the third floor of the sumptuous London town home was silent as a tomb. The maidservants who occupied rooms on either side of Catherine arose far earlier than she in order to hurry below stairs and get about their duties.
Catherine had been a girl of ten and two years when, upon the death of her mother, she’d been sent up to London to live with the aristocratic Lord and Lady Montcrief, to whom she was told she had some connection, though no one had bothered to explain to the grief-stricken little girl what that connection might be. During the ensuing years, Catherine had tried to please her guardians. Still she knew they thought her foolish because she wanted the selfsame thing today that she wanted six years ago . . . to reunite with her father and brother and spend the rest of her life in the arms of her beloved.
Finding a way to escape the Montcrief household should be easier for a grown-up young lady of eighteen years. But thus far no opportunity had presented itself, and now, today, time had all but run out. If she did not find a way to escape today, all would be lost. She’d never see her father, or brother, or him again.
One month ago, two events transpired that not only disrupted Catherine’s life but set the entire Montcrief household on its ear. The first was that Catherine had at last received the long-awaited letter from her father, forwarded to her here in London. Fortunately Lady Montcrief had been away from home that morning and, because a maidservant had delivered the missive straight to Catherine’s door, not even Lucinda knew about the letter. Anything Catherine confided to Lucinda soon found its way to Lady Montcrief’s ears; therefore Catherine had wisely decided to keep the contents of her letter to herself.
When she was alone in her room, however, she could hardly keep from laughing aloud, so jubilant was she to finally know that her father, brother, and Noah were actually alive. Six long years ago, the three men had sailed across the sea to a vast, unknown wilderness the English called the New World.
“As soon as we’re settled,” her father had said, “we’ll send for you and yer mother.”
Poor Papa, Catherine thought now. Neither he nor Adam knew that Mama, who’d suffered from a weak constitution, had passed away only a few short months after they departed. Catherine fervently hoped now that she would be able to deliver the sad news to her father and brother in person. In his letter Papa had enclosed a voucher good for passage to the New World. He said he’d send another one as soon as he could. All one had to do was present the voucher to the ship’s captain.
Trouble was, how was Catherine to escape unnoticed from the Montcrief household and find her way to London’s busy dockside the very day a ship was set to sail for the New World? Especially now that the second occurrence had suddenly rendered Catherine Parke the most important member of the Montcrief household.
Dragging herself from the narrow cot, Catherine dejectedly put on one of her two fustian frocks, the one she’d worked so hard to pretty up with a frilly edge of embroidered lace.
Though the hour was late when she entered the elegant dining chamber below stairs, she noted that Lady Montcrief and Lucinda had also just come down to break their fast.
“Good morning, Catherine,” said Lady Montcrief. Not unkindly. Not warmly. Matter-of-factly, as she had done every morning since Catherine had come to live with the family. The fashionably attired matron then turned her full attention to her sixteen-year-old daughter Lucinda.
As Catherine nibbled on a buttered scone and swallowed a few bites of the coddled eggs placed before her by a liveried footman, she vaguely heard her companions discussing Lucinda’s bright future. Not at all hungry, Catherine, who was rarely included in the conversation when Lady Montcrief was present, soon murmured her excuses and rose to leave the table.
Lady Montcrief glanced up. “You’d best pack your bag this morning, Catherine. By this time tomorrow you’ll be a married woman. I expect Mr. Windmere will be eager to whisk you off to . . . somewhere.” She paused, perhaps expecting Catherine to exhibit some show of enthusiasm over her impending nuptials.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lady Montcrief’s lips pursed. “Ungrateful gel,” she muttered. “We shall be making calls this afternoon. See you do not keep us waiting.”
“No, ma’am.”
Back in her bedchamber, Catherine obediently dragged her mother’s well-worn valise from beneath the sagging cot.
A month ago, Catherine had accidentally learned that not all was as it seemed in the Montcrief household. Apparently, as did many members of England’s upper class, Lord and Lady Montcrief lived far beyond their means. Lord Montcrief was now in the embarrassing position of being head over ears in debt. The same day Catherine’s father’s letter arrived, a wealthy London merchant named Mr. Windmere, to whom Lord Montcrief owed thousands of pounds, had rapped at their door intent on collecting the enormous debt owed him.
On his way inside, Mr. Windmere happened to catch a glimpse of Catherine and Lucinda strolling in the garden. Drawn by the lovely face and figure of one of the young ladies, whom he assumed to be Montcrief’s eldest daughter, he’d pointed out the girl to his lordship.
Vastly relieved that the man had not fixed on Lucinda, since to marry one’s daughter off to a lowly tradesman, no matter the size of his purse, was not the done thing, Montcrief had seized the moment wh en Windmere declared all of Montcrief’s debts would be cancelled; the amount owed Windmere as well as that owed every other tradesman in town, and a generous portion besides . . . in exchange for the hand in marriage of the auburn-haired beauty. The “generous portion besides” Montcrief decided would serve nicely as a handsome dowry for Lucinda, something on his own he couldn’t hope to provide. His lordship wasted no time in orchestrating a match between his daughter and a wealthy earl, a widower without issue.
Quite by accident, Catherine had overheard her guardians discussing the convoluted arrangement.
“All my debts shall be canceled the very second the wedding vows are exchanged!”
“And the additional funds Windmere has promised?” asked Lady Montcrief. “When will he pay . . .?”
“The selfsame day. I will immediately turn the funds over to Pembroke’s man of business. When our Lucinda provides the earl with an heir we shall be set for life! Pembroke understands Lucinda to be a lass of tender years, and has agreed to delay the wedding a bit.”
“We shan’t want them to wait too very long,” cautioned Lady Montcrief.
“Our daughter’s wedding will take place just as soon as Catherine’s is safely executed.”
An execution is exactly what it felt like to Catherine. Even if she hadn’t received a letter from her papa, she would not agree to marry Mr. Windmere, a man of greater years than her father and whose rotund belly reminded her of the puffed-up toads her brother and Noah used to catch from the pond on the land her father farmed.
It didn’t matter to her that Windmere had deep pockets. Her heart belonged to another; a handsome young man with twinkling blue eyes and golden curls. She had loved Noah Colton as long as she could remember and he loved her.
Now, as Lady Montcrief had instructed, Catherine listlessly set about folding up her few garments and stuffing them into the tattered valise. The heartfelt words Noah had scribbled on the bottom of her father’s letter, telling her how much he missed her and longed for her to join them in a far-off place he called Jamestown, Virginia, replayed over and over in her mind.
Would she ever see Jamestown? Would she ever see Noah?
Terrified that her much-longed-for future was fast slipping away from her, Catherine felt a rush of tears fill her eyes. How, how, how was she to travel to the New World when she could not even figure out how to escape from the Montcrief household? Neither she nor Lucinda were allowed to go freely about London. Always a maidservant or footman must be along. True, she’d be out of the house this very afternoon, but she could hardly fling herself from the carriage and outrun the horses on foot.
She had no money. Reaching to the bottom shelf of the wobbly old cupboard, she retrieved the small pasteboard box she’d hidden amongst the folds of an old bed rug. In the box she kept a few precious mementos; a miniature of her mother when she was a girl, her mother’s sewing scissors, her grandmother’s pestle and mortar, and a few faded paper notes, the value of which Catherine hadn’t a clue. The few pieces of her mother’s fine jewelry, which had been in her possession when she arrived here, had somehow vanished; sold, she believed, by Lord Montcrief. Fearing she’d be turned out without a farthing, Catherine had never said a word about her loss, since perhaps the money his lordship gained from the sale of her mother’s jewels had helped defray the cost of keeping her.
But that was neither here nor there. Now. Today her father and Noah were awaiting her in the New World. And she simply had to find a way to reach them! Tomorrow would be too late. By then, she’d be wed to Mr. Windmere. For the rest of her days.
Though Lord and Lady Montcrief had succeeded in bending Catherine to their will in many areas, this was the one time she was determined not to acquiesce to their wishes. Because they’d insisted she take lessons alongside Lucinda, Catherine now knew how to read Latin and French, was familiar with Greek mythology, knew how to cipher sums, and how to paint a pretty picture and sew a fine stitch. She was truly grateful for all that her guardians had done for her. But to their latest plan, she could not agree. She simply had to find a way to escape. She had to!
“LADY TARKINGTON HAS invited us to a reception this afternoon, girls, but we shall not stay overlong,” Lady Montcrief declared as she and the young ladies climbed into the Montcrief carriage after a tedious visit at the mantua-maker where fittings had been taken for Lucinda’s trousseau, the cost to be borne by the girl’s unsuspecting bridegroom.
Seated across from them in the carriage, Catherine tried for the thousandth time that day to swallow past the lump of fear in her throat. Thus far today, she’d seen no viable means of escape.
“The reception is to honor that Indian woman,” Lady Montcrief said. “Your father insisted I pay my respects. For the life of me, I cannot understand his interest in this New Virginia Company.”
Virginia? Catherine’s ears perked up.
“Papa says he stands to make a good deal of money investing in the New Virginia Company,” Lucinda replied.
“Your father is atwitter to be able to invest in anything these days. At any rate, I am told the woman and her husband will leave for the New World on the morrow. Good riddance to them, I say.”
Catherine could hardly believe her ears. A ship was leaving for the New World on the morrow?
“I thought you met the Indian woman at Lady Sandys’s reception a twelvemonth ago,” Lucinda said.
“Indeed. And I have seen her at countless balls and dinner parties since. She is rather attractive . . . in a foreign sort of way. The king was quite taken with her. Though on my life I cannot think why John Rolfe would marry a savage!”
“Perhaps there are not many women to choose from in the New World,” Lucinda offered.
Seated across from them, Catherine was hanging onto every single word her companions exchanged. In recent years, she had avidly read every notice printed in the weekly news pages about the New World. How the colonists were to ship back silk, sugar, grain and exotic woods to repay their debt to the investors, who, in turn, sold the goods for a profit here in England. How the prominent colonist John Rolfe had married an Indian woman, and not just any Indian woman, she was the favorite daughter of the Emperor of the New World, the powerful chieftain Powhatan, who had thousands of warriors at his command. Catherine had been alarmed to read that before the Rolfes’ marriage, the colonists had known virtually no peace or harmony with the Indians since the first settlers arrived back in 1607. Consequently, this marriage between an Englishman and an Indian woman was seen on this side of the Atlantic as a triumph. Except to King James, who feared the Indian princess might be planning to elevate herself to a position of power in direct opposition to him.
When Catherine had read nearly a year ago that, at the king’s invitation, John Rolfe and his new wife had arrived in England and were to be presented at court, she had ached then to meet them. Mrs. Rolfe, she read, had embraced her husband’s Christian religion, had been given the Christian name Rebecca, and even spoke English. Perhaps, Catherine thought now, the Indian woman was acquainted with her father? Or Noah? The excitement within her grew.
“I shall be obliged to present both you girls to the savage,” Lady Montcrief was saying, “though I confess I cannot recall her name. Something . . . foreign-sounding, a word no civilized person could pronounce and would not make sense to us anyhow.”
“Pocahontas.” Catherine was surprised to hear the sound of her own voice, it being the first word she’d uttered all afternoon.
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t signify. Lady Tarkington will no doubt tell us her name and there’ll be an end to it.”
“Is her name Pocahontas?” Lucinda asked, a twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes as she grinned at Catherine.
“Why . . . yes, dear, that’s it precisely! How clever of you!” Lady Montcrief patted her daughter’s gloved hands, folded primly in her lap.
Lucinda shrugged an apology at Catherine, who said nothing. She was accustomed to being ignored by Lady Montcrief.
“You will not be expected to actually converse with her, sweetheart. I doubt she understands a word of English.”
Again, Catherine was unable to hold her tongue. “I read where the princess has delivered several speeches in Town and even addressed Parliament.”
