Captive Innocence by Fern Michaels

known.”
    Royall smiled and gazed reflectively toward the water. She felt the light touch of Mrs. Quince on her arm. “Forgive me, Royall. I wanted to tell you this in as kind a way as I knew how. I startled you in the beginning, but it was for a reason. I’m proud of you for coming from so sheltered a life and accepting things as they are here. I can see it now. You will give the plantation life some sparkle. All the young men will be after you like flies to a honey pot.”
    Royall laughed aloud. As long as Sebastian is the fly, she thought secretly.
    That evening Royall dressed with extra care. Annoyed that her hair kept turning into unexpected curls, she tugged and pulled and combed and smoothed until she achieved the effect she wanted. A high coif, not too high, but higher than she was accustomed to wearing. That afternoon she had buffed her nails till they had a soft gleam that enhanced her oval-tapered fingertips. The bath, which the stewards on the paddlewheeler brought to her after many trips back and forth to the galley, carrying the heated water in great jugs, had been scented and taken leisurely.
    Picking through her wardrobe, she chose a smoky rose silk gown with a puckering of ribbons at the bodice. “Simplicity itself,” the New England dressmaker had sighed. It was of classic design, soft folds falling unhampered from the slightly elevated waist. A drop neckline left her arms bare and showed smooth, flawless skin against the muted color. Against her tawny hair, its contrast was striking. She picked up the ostrich plumes that were popular, and then abruptly threw them back again on the dressing table. She would feel foolish and flighty wearing them. She knew they had been a mistake when the dressmaker insisted they would be a perfect foil against the simplicity of the rose gown. A simple pendant of quartz was all the accessory she felt she needed. All Sebastian would like to see her in. She did not take him for a man who liked to see women dressed in “gadgets,” as her father had called them. As she sorted through her dainties to select a fresh handkerchief, she thought again of what Mrs. Quince had revealed to her that morning. What a strain he must have lived under, although he seemed to fare with it very well. A doubtful parentage was not exactly a boost to a man’s career, and she was delighted for him that he had overcome its burden.
    She stood before the mirror and studied herself. The gown was perfect, but she had doubts about the hairdo. Was it too high? Too affected? “No, silly,” she told herself, “you’ll do just fine. No sense trying to be what you’re not! Still ... no, it’s fine,” she assured herself. Before she could change her mind she hurried down the hall. “Mrs. Quince, are you ready?”
    Sebastian was waiting for them outside the dining room. He was handsome in a dinner jacket of white gabardine with snowy frills on his shirt front. His deep tan and dark hair were in startling relief against the whiteness of his dress. He turned in their direction and saw them. His eyes fell on Royall and seemed to drink her in. Her patience in her dressing was well rewarded. He kept his eyes on her face as he bid them hello, and it was with effort that he drew his attention to Mrs. Quince.
    With little conversation, he led Royall into the dining room, a steward pushing Mrs. Quince’s chair. The table was the same one as the previous night, and he explained that he had reserved it for the entire journey.
    â€œI wish we had thought to do the same, Sebastian. Were it not for you, we would have been in that din waiting for a table,” Mrs. Quince said, looking toward the doorway where a myriad of people stood waiting to be seated.
    â€œI repeat, Senora Quince, the pleasure is all mine.” This he said as he looked in Royall’s direction. She felt her skin grow warm under his gaze. Why could this man make her blood race