A Zephyr Rising Page 3

  When she’d been younger, Ginger had watched the women in their beautiful dresses from the windows of the house, wishing to join them on the lawn. The garden parties then had seemed like a wonderful adventure—romantic, too. A chance to smile at a handsome young man, to feel the thrill of love.

  Her own experiences had been quite different.

  “It won’t be long before parties like this are but a memory,” a familiar woman’s voice said behind her, breaking into her thoughts.

  Ginger’s mouth opened. Her friend, Charlotte Thompson, stood there, a picture of grace. A lace parasol rested against her shoulder. The last big event Ginger had attended before coming home from London had been Charlotte and Robert’s wedding. “What are you doing here?” Ginger hugged her. “You’re supposed to be on your honeymoon.”

  “Yes, well,” Charlotte pushed a perfect dark curl behind her ear, “Robert decided it was too dangerous for us to continue abroad. And we were having the most wonderful tour of France.”

  They weren’t the only ones caught by terrible timing for their trips. A few ladies Ginger had talked to this afternoon had mentioned their ruined holidays. Ginger gripped her arm. “And where is your groom?”

  Charlotte shrugged and toyed with the single strand of pearls around her neck. “Heaven knows. Probably chumming it with your brother. If he can lure Henry away from Angelica Fisher. Henry looks absolutely besotted with her, by the way.”

  Did it bother Charlotte to see Henry moving on? Ginger couldn’t tell from Charlotte’s expression. But, then again, she’d chosen Robert over Henry. And she’d been a radiant bride. “Henry is easily besotted.” Ginger sipped her champagne. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am you’re here. I’ve been hiding from Henry and his friends and it’s been quite lonely.”

  “You mean you’ve been hiding from Stephen.” Charlotte smirked. “Aren’t you hoping for a double wedding? You with Stephen. Henry with Angelica.” She guffawed softly. “The whole thing seems incestuous.”

  Ginger’s cheeks warmed. Only Charlotte seemed to understand her dislike of Stephen. “Oh, Charlotte—what on earth am I to do? The man refuses to leave me alone.”

  A footman paused in front of them with cucumber sandwiches on a silver platter. They declined. “You could tell him no.” Charlotte adjusted her parasol. “You don’t want to marry him.”

  If only it were so easy. Then again, Charlotte had been away when Stephen had proposed. She didn’t know what had happened when she’d told Stephen no. “I did. But my father has made his expectations clear. Forced me to tell him I needed a month to consider his proposal. And it’s not as though I have other offers coming my way.”

  Marriage was her destiny. The only adventure to liven up her routine-choked life. Or so she’d been told. And if they didn’t settle her situation soon, people would call her an old maid.

  Another footman came by with champagne, which Charlotte accepted. She twirled the stem in her fingertips and the light bouncing through it threw reflections on the grass. “Because Stephen has frightened all other potential suitors away.”

  Irritation pricked her throat. Charlotte wasn’t exaggerating. All the young men in her circle assumed she was Stephen’s intended, both from his possessiveness and his attentiveness. Given his status and wealth, few would dare to cross him. “If those potential suitors aren’t willing to stand up to Stephen, I’m uncertain they’d interest me.”

  Charlotte frowned. “What you need to do is make a secret attachment elsewhere. Outside all the usual circles of our friends.” She scanned the lawn. “Now who can we fix you up with?”

  A secret attachment? Ginger couldn’t think of anything more unlikely.

  “Ginny, Henry was asking for you—” Lucy came scrambling up. Her stylish hat sat smartly over her braided dark brown hair. She stopped by Charlotte. “Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “It’s fine.” Ginger smiled at her sister. She remembered being fourteen years old at garden parties. Old enough to feel she should be part of the conversation, young enough to feel she still belonged in the nursery. “Lucy, you remember my friend Charlotte?”

  “How do you do?” Lucy curtsied. She inspected Charlotte’s elegant attire briefly before turning her gaze to Ginger. “Henry said it was important.”

  Ginger exchanged a glance with Charlotte, an uneasy feeling coming over her. “I suppose if it’s important.”

  Charlotte smiled at Ginger encouragingly. “I’ll go with you.”

  Lucy adjusted her hat. “What do you think of my frock? Will Angelica like it? Is it as fancy as hers? She won’t mind me bothering her. I haven’t seen her all summer and I’m eager to hear all about her debut ball.”

  Ginger remembered when the girls she’d gone to finishing school with had debuted before her, she’d felt a similar hesitation in knowing if their friendship would survive their new status as an adult.

  Ginger had never paid too much attention to Angelica, as she’d always considered her one of Lucy’s friends. After Angelica’s debut this year and Henry’s sudden attachment to her, she’d become part of Ginger’s circle, rather than Lucy’s. Not that Ginger found much to say to the quiet Fisher girl. What she lacked in personality, she more than made up for in looks, though, and her debut had been a smashing success.

  “I’m sure Angelica would be glad to see you, Lucy. She’ll likely welcome the break from Henry and his cabal,” Ginger said. The three women crossed the lawn toward a tent, Lucy leading the way.

  As they drew closer, Ginger caught sight of Stephen Fisher, who simpered at Henry’s side. Henry and Stephen’s friendship went back to infancy. If she refused Stephen, she didn’t want to be the source of a rift between the two. Given that Stephen had made his intentions with Ginger known, her refusal would wound his pride in a manner he would consider publicly humiliating.

  Stephen wore a hat over his straw-colored hair, the flat brim shading his eyes. Ginger couldn’t tell if he’d seen her yet. Into the lion’s den. She restrained the urge to hold her breath. If only Stephen wasn’t well-liked, it would be so much easier to explain to everyone. Yet he was charming and affable, respected, and handsome.

  Maybe she was being foolish.

  But where her family seemed to find his attentions to her romantic, the way he looked at and touched her repulsed her. She shivered and pushed her feelings deep down.

  “Ah, there’s my darling sister.” Henry stood from his seat at a round table, where some of his friends were gathered. He grinned at Ginger and then gave a quick wink to Lucy. “And you, too, Lucy.”

  Lucy’s cheeks reddened. But she wouldn’t dare retort in front of their guests.

  Angelica sat beside Henry. “Angelica. My mother was inquiring about you. Lucy can take you to her,” Ginger said. Hopefully, Lucy would have the time she sought with her friend.

  Lucy gave Ginger a grateful look as Angelica stood. The willowy blonde held out an arm for Lucy and they left, whispering together. Ginger slid into the seat Angelica had vacated, still avoiding Stephen’s gaze. She practically felt the weight of his stare. Charlotte rejoined her husband’s side after greeting Henry.

  Much as it had stung Henry when Charlotte had chosen Robert over him, Charlotte was right—Henry didn’t seem nearly as bothered about it now that Angelica had become the object of his affections. “I’m glad you hurried over.” Henry lifted a teacup to his lips. “I was telling the fellows of the Martins and it so happens Stephen may know someone who can help.”

  Ginger cringed inwardly. She wished Henry wouldn’t have said anything to his friends. Especially not Stephen. Stephen sat across from her and her face flushed. “How wonderful.” She smiled at Stephen. “I’d be so grateful for your help. Poor Mrs. Martin is devastated.”

  Stephen reclined back in his chair. “Of course, you realize the Aliens Restriction Act passed unanimously. You aren’t likely to find too many sympathetic to the Germans now.”

  The weight of additional eyes and ears weighed on their conversation. Ginger wished her champagne glass wasn’t empty—it made it so much easier to act calm when she had some object in which to direct her nervous energy. How like Stephen to insert his authoritative, smug attitude into everything. “I’m not sympathetic to the Germans. Only the Martins. Mr. Martin has been here for years. His wife is English. It seems to me a travesty to arrest him and his son for the crime of having been born in another country.”

  “A country with which we are currently at war,” Stephen countered. A few of Henry’s friends nodded and murmured in agreement. “The papers have been warning of spies in our midst for the last couple of years.”

  “But Mr. Martin isn’t a spy.” Ginger’s anger grew. She pleaded to Henry with a look. He could silence Stephen’s attempts to embarrass her this way.

  “How do you know?” Stephen shrugged. “I’d venture to say there are many who are sympathetic to the Germans, right under your nose. What does a German spy look like? They aren’t very good ones if they wear their allegiance like a button on their lapel.”

  Henry set his teacup on its saucer. “Ginny’s right to be concerned about the Martins, though. We can’t rightfully assume anyone with German ancestry must be sympathetic to their cause, can we, Fisher?”

  Something in Henry’s words chastened Stephen. He cleared his throat and his smile to Ginger faltered. “I was merely playing devil’s advocate. It’s good for Ginny to know what she’s up against.”

  Under the tent, the clink of silverware against porcelain interrupted the din of conversation occasionally. Guests sat at their tables listening to the strains of the violins while footmen served ices.

  She met Charlotte’s encouraging gaze briefly. “I know what I’m up against, Stephen. I’m up against a group of individuals who
would rather not bother with the trials that are changing the lives of a few people who they consider beneath them.”

  Ginger stood. “If you’re able to help, as Henry suggested in the first place, I’d be grateful for it. Otherwise, I don’t need the education you seem so eager to provide.”

  She sped away from the tent, furious for allowing Stephen to rankle her in front of their friends. Henry would be upset with her for acting impulsively. A breeze caught her hat. She held on to the brim, her face flaming. Why couldn’t she control herself? She’d done so well over the Season, being polite and smiling. Laughing at jokes and even enjoying vapid conversations of no actual substance. But Stephen’s proposal meant she could no longer pretend it wasn’t all heading into something more.

  The sounds of the party faded as she headed into the immaculately landscaped hedges forming a wall around one garden. She pushed a gate to the side and slipped inside, longing for privacy.

  “Ginny!” Stephen caught her by the elbow as she moved to close the gate.

  Ugh. Why did he always have to follow her? She gritted her teeth. “I don’t appreciate being made fun of. I care about this. What happens to the Martins is about so much more than them. How can we turn a blind eye to the good people caught in this situation?”

  He encroached on her space. Slipping both hands onto her shoulders, his fingertips curled over her collarbone. Too close and intimate. She stiffened. “I didn’t intend to poke fun at you, but I apologize. I love you, Ginny. I had hoped you would give me your answer by now.” His thumbs rubbed gentle circles over the tense knots on her shoulders, making goosebumps rise on her neck.

  She pulled away and turned, leveling her gaze at him. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be married.”

  A frustrated look crossed Stephen’s face, and he stepped back. “Not ready? Ginny, we’re about to go to war. Who knows what it will mean for me in the coming months? Either you’ll marry me or you won’t. It’s simple. We’re compatible in every way. And I’d give you all the privilege and prestige worthy of your name. You’d want for nothing with me.”

  The hum of bees amidst the sweet perfume of flowers ought to have been more comforting than it was right now.

  “But it’s not simple. I—” She caught her breath, trying to find the right words. He took her hand, his skin feeling cool against hers. His unwelcome touch made her stomach quiver. Staring at his hand, she clenched her jaw. “I want to know it’s the right choice for my life. For both of us.”

  He laughed and reached into his breast pocket for a cigarette case. “You know it is. Both our families have always known. There isn’t any doubt in my mind we should be together. I’m astounded you seem to think there is.”

  “But this has nothing to do with the Martins. You should help me regardless of whether I agree to marry you. You should help me because it’s the decent thing to do.”

  Stephen lit a cigarette and stepped closer to her. “I only want to protect you, Ginny. If you’d let me, I’d have married you years ago. I’ll always dream of you.” His hand slipped behind her back, drawing her in more closely.

  He’d ignored her. Burning with latent fury, Ginger craned her neck away from the scent of tobacco smoke. “Did you tell Henry you’d help me in order to corner me like this or because you can actually help?”

  Stephen blew a stream of smoke from the corner of his lips. His eyes narrowed. “Cornered?” He took another drag from his cigarette. “Perhaps you should think more carefully about how you’re speaking to me. If I could help, you wouldn’t be so rude, would you?”

  She looked him directly in the eye. “Can you help me or not?”

  “I can help you.” Stephen ran his fingers over the edge of her collarbone, then traced the back of his knuckle against her jawline. “It so happens a friend of mine works for the Home Secretary. I can send him an urgent message. Let him know about this situation and see what he can do.” Stephen’s look was stern. “But I can’t make any promises, Ginny. It will take more than your word alone to assure them the younger Martin isn’t a spy.”

  Ginger longed to step away from him but couldn’t. Not when he held the cards. “What about Mr. Martin?”

  “I doubt we can do much for him. His refusal to nationalize won’t speak in his favor. But I’ll ask.” His eyes scanned hers as though gauging her response to his touch.

  “Thank you.” The idea of Stephen acting as her intermediary didn’t entirely comfort her. “What’s your friend’s name at the Home Secretary’s office? So I know who to tell my father to send a note to?”

  Stephen’s gaze strayed, as though to make sure they were alone. Would he attempt something like a kiss, knowing he had the means to manipulate her? She held her breath. A bird’s wings fluttered as it landed in a fountain further in the garden. The bird titled its head, watching her with a beady dark eye. If only she had wings to fly away, like it did.

  After a moment, he said, “David Peterson. But tell him to wait until I’ve made inquiries.” He held out his hand. “Now. Since that’s behind us, care to stroll back to the tent as friends? We wouldn’t want everyone to believe we’ve been having any sort of unpleasantness.”

  Behave. She resisted the urge to flee. She’d feel less trapped with both feet in a peat bog than she did with him.

  She smiled, relieved, and took his hand. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help.”

  As they made their way toward the tent, Ginger searched for Charlotte. She spotted her standing beside her husband, smiling. Robert was in animated conversation with her about something.

  Her heart lurched. Charlotte could have married the future Earl of Braddock. She’d rejected Henry for Robert—a man whose family name did not appear in Burke’s Peerage.

  She wished she could simply tell him no, be done with it. Defy her father and not worry about the consequences. But was she as brave as Charlotte?

  Chapter Four

  Sitting down to breakfast the next morning, Ginger nodded at her father and Henry. They paused from their quiet, serious discussion with wordless greetings. Her father had the newspaper open. “Not more bad news?” Ginger asked. She wished she could breakfast in bed like her mother did and avoid morning discussions. Not that she minded the politics—she didn’t like mornings.

  But breakfast in bed was a privilege extended only to married women. Unfortunately.

  “It’s all bad news when we’re at war.” Lucy made a face. “I still don’t see why any Englishman should have to go and fight a battle over what’s happening in Serbia.”

  “Nor should you have to worry.” Henry pulled at a curl from Lucy’s dark ponytail. “You should be able to enjoy playing with dolls and riding ponies.”

  “I’m fourteen, not four.” Lucy straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Ginger suppressed a laugh. Lucy’s awkward attempts to seem grown had increased lately. Maybe because of her own uncertainty about the future. Lucy gave her father a sharp look. “You don’t think the war will mean any delay in my going to Brillantmont, do you?”

  “It may. Swiss finishing schools are hardly a priority, and we all have to make sacrifices.” With a somber expression, he sighed and added, “You may as well know, as I’ve already told the rest of the family. I’m being called to serve in Cairo at the Foreign Office.”

  “Cairo?” Lucy’s lips formed a round “o” with the last syllable. “That dreadful place? All I remember is flies and heat. When do you have to go?”

  It surprised Ginger that she remembered anything from Cairo at all. Ginger barely did. More than likely, Lucy’s “memories” were little more than stories they’d recounted over the years.

  Her father lifted his teacup and spoke over the rim. “You mean when do ‘we’ go?”

  What?

  Lucy gasped, upsetting her glass of water. As the footman rushed to mop it up, Ginger leaned back, trying to keep her own reaction muted. Her mother must have insisted they all go. Would her father be expecting them all to leave in two weeks?

  Despite so many unknowns, the idea of seeing something as iconic as the pyramids made her smile.