by Merry Farmer
Grand-mère raised her thin eyebrows and pursed her lips. I braced myself for the inevitable castigation. Instead she said in fluent, comforting French, “That isn’t how to do it, cherie. Follow me.”
Without another word, the old woman turned on her heel and carefully mounted the steps with the aid of her cane. I stared at her, open-mouthed, before glancing at the heavy wooden door of the study.
“Jeanne?” called Grand-mère.
I hiked my skirts to mid-calf and hurried up the stairs after her, my heels clacking on the wood. I met her at the next landing. As I followed after her, I dropped my skirts and smoothed them into place, the picture of serenity.
From the curve of her mouth, she didn’t believe the illusion in the least.
As she opened the door into a cozy sitting room looking out over the coast, she said, “I have a much better place to eavesdrop.” She shut the door and navigated the cluttered array of mismatched chairs and tables until she reached the window. Deftly, she opened the latch and slid the rain-speckled glass open to let in the damp, cool air. She lowered herself onto a lonely chair next to the window. Voices drifted in.
Male voices.
Not daring to raise my own above a whisper, I joined her. “We are directly above the study, aren’t we?”
Grand-mère cackled. “That we are, cherie. Your father always leaves the window of his study cracked open, even in winter.”
She had claimed the only chair, so I perched on the edge of a round, upholstered stool. “Is this why you prefer this room?” Although I’d lived here for years, I’d given this room a wide berth. Papa had warned me this was Grand-mère’s parlor, and she wasn’t to be disturbed.
She set her cane within easy reach and moved closer to the window. “Hush. Listen.”
We both leaned forward. Silence. The cool air raised gooseflesh on my exposed skin.
“Do you think he heard us and shut the window?”
Papa’s voice broke the tension, strong and clear and burdened with the proof of his origins. “This letter of recommendation is impressive,” he said in accented English.
“I am serious in my intentions. I’ve formed quite the preference for your daughter.”
He has? I held my breath. Wait… Why would a man bring a letter of recommendation to marry me?
Papa asked, “Jeanne?”
I wrinkled my nose. I had three younger sisters, and they had all been married within the past two years. I was the only unmarried woman in the house. The spinster, as the gossips of the town twittered when they thought I was out of earshot.
“Yes. Miss Jeanne is walking perfection.”
I snorted. If I was perfection, I’d have a husband along with my sisters. No, I had a reputation for argumentativeness, which my would-be suitor might have known had he spoken to me for longer than it took to return my bonnet.
The romantic soap bubble I’d revelled in since his arrival burst. This handsome seafarer hadn’t fallen madly in love with me. How could he have?
Grand-mère’s voice next to my ear made me jump. “Who is he?” She continued to speak to me in our native tongue.
My suitor listed a few of my imaginary qualities. Did he remember me at all?
“I met him in the village yesterday. He rescued my bonnet. He didn’t introduce himself.”
Grand-mère hummed her disapproval. “You haven’t formed a preference for him then?”
How could I have? True, our circle of acquaintances was small, and fresh blood in the village, for the most part, belonged to men three times my age who claimed the salt air eased the ache in their bones. This navy man might be my only choice. But a preference? I needed to know more of a man than his occupation and the fact he had nice eyes.
I shook my head in answer to Grand-mère’s question as the man continued to speak. He had a pleasant voice, deep and warm, even if he seemed a bit hasty in his judgements.
Papa laughed, cutting the fellow off. “You have no need to convince me. Your character speaks for itself. And this—” Papa flapped a sheet of paper. “A capitaine, so young!”
“There are younger captains than I in the Navy. We haven’t yet been assigned ships, so I understand the confusion. As for myself, I’ve been at sea since I was thirteen.”
The creak of leather hinted at a man shifting position. I easily imagined my father, who resembled his mother in everything but height, leaning back in his favorite chair as he surveyed the eager young man in front of him. But that eager young man? I couldn’t form a picture of his reactions at all. Was he reserved or relaxed? From his voice, I couldn’t tell.
“This is not your first visit to town.”
It wasn’t?
“No, sir.”
Perhaps he’d formed an attachment to me prior to yesterday then. We’d never spoken, but if he was shy…
“After your third visit, I asked myself if something in our little village compelled you to return.”
I chewed on my thumbnail. Grand-mère’s attention was fully on the conversation, leaving no room for her to chide me over the habit.
“I have asked about you, Capitaine Sterling.”
Sterling. Mrs. Jeanne Sterling. It had a nice ring to it, or at the very least didn’t sound horrible. But could I imagine myself wearing the name?
“Please, call me Milton.”
Milton. My husband’s name is Milton.
No, it sounded bizarre to refer to any man as my husband. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t live at the mercy of my relatives for my entire life. Even Papa didn’t have a place here in England. I desperately longed for a home and purpose of my own.
“Milton. Your superiors have naught but good to say of you. Your service to your country is commendable.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. We are French, Papa. Never mind that I’d spent the past ten years in England ever since the revolution had driven us out of our home when I was sixteen. I hadn’t acclimated as well as my sisters had to the change, being over seven years their senior. They had acquired British accents quickly, whereas my words retained a touch of French.
Perhaps Papa was trying to convince everyone to forget our heritage.
“Thank you, sir.”
“It is a true shame you don’t have a ship to command. Especially with this odious embargo in Norway.”
“I don’t intend for that to be my lot forever.”
“Certainly not.”
Papa paused for so long that I wondered if he chased the captain out his door.
“You’re aware I have exchanged Jeanne’s dowry into material goods rather than an annuity, are you not?”
“I am. I saw the ship on my way in. A beauty—now that is a ship fit for battle.”
“It is. What a waste for it to languish in the bay where it can do no good to anyone.”
This lonesome year, in particular since my sisters had married, I’d often dreamed of boarding the ship, leaving England, and finding a place of my own. Not in France or even the Sainte-Domingue I barely remembered from my early childhood—Napoleon had rendered both inhospitable—but somewhere else. A place where I wouldn’t be holding my breath whenever I was out in public, hoping to blend in with the sea of pale English misses. A home.
“I would take it to war for the Crown, of course,” the Navy captain said.
I sighed. Grand-mère patted my knee absentmindedly.
A gust of wind shooed my hair from its pins, the dark curly mass fluttering around my face. The noise made my father’s voice wobble before it met my ears. “And my daughter?”
My suitor’s voice hardened. “War is no place for a lady. She’d have quarters on land.”
Quarters…not a home.
“I wouldn’t curtail her movements, of course. She may visit you as much as you both please. My salary allows for a comfortable life.”
My fingernails bit into my thigh where I clutched my skirts too hard. A life in England, away from friends and family. Without even the comfort of a husband or child
ren, from the sound of him. He would marry me for the damned ship and abandon me in a quiet corner as soon as possible.
No matter how nice his eyes or the timber of his voice, I could not relegate myself to such a future.
Another creak of leather followed by Papa’s eager voice. His accent thickened with his excitement. “I have but one matter to address.”
“And that is?”
“Jeanne must accept. Let me speak with her. I will ensure she is amenable. We can have the banns read before you are recalled to duty.”
No.
No, I would not be amenable to marrying a stranger who only wanted my dowry. I bit my lip hard, trying to contain my disappointment. With a marriage, I’d hoped to find a family, a place in this world, a purpose. But I was reduced to baggage yet again. Papa might be amenable to the arrangement, but I never would be.
I would not stand to be passed from hand to hand, discarded when convenient. And if Papa was willing to consider such a fate for me, then I had worn out my welcome. My future held more promise than this.
And if Papa would not arrange it, I would.
Captain Milton Sterling stood from his chair at dinner, the legs scraping against the floor. For the first time all evening, he addressed me directly.
“Mademoiselle,” he said in atrociously accented French and continued in the same language, “Do you want to have to walk with me in garden?”
I had never heard a worse assault on my native tongue, but he was making an effort to speak it when he could have made his point far more eloquently in English. Papa beamed at him as though he was an infant speaking his first words. Even Grand-mère watched me with an expectant look on her face. The air in the formal dining room was suddenly stifling.
I saved my would-be suitor the need to converse in French by answering him in English. “It would be my pleasure.”
My voice was flat, and I didn’t meet his eye, but it seemed to be the correct answer. Papa’s satisfaction emanated from him in waves.
Captain Sterling rounded the elegantly carved table and offered me his ungloved hand. When I slipped mine into his, I felt the callouses of work, evidenced by the suntan on his skin. It must be sunnier at sea than it was in this wretched town, because I felt as though I’d grown several shades paler since moving to London. At the moment, the sun and the open ocean sounded divine.
In near silence, I directed him through the corridor to the exit into the gardens. No one followed us, leaving us unchaperoned as though we were already wed. My stomach tightened, and I ducked my head as we strolled toward the lantern-lit path between the hedges. The promise of rain was heavy in the cool air, a mist on my skin and a strong scent in my nose. I was acutely aware of the man at my side—the heat of his body, his strong build, the movement of the muscles in his arm beneath my hand.
My thin shawl and the tall hedges shielding us from the house did little to protect me from the bite of the night air and the wind ruffling the foliage. I shivered, my hand inadvertently tightening on the captain’s arm.
He paused, craning his neck to peer down at me. The nearest lamp on its wrought iron pole cast soft shadows over his face, emphasizing the line of his clean-shaven jaw and the incongruous softness of his mouth. “You’re cold.”
“Not terribly.”
The protest barely left my lips before he pulled his arm from my clasp. With deft fingers, he slipped the buttons free of his coat. He doffed it in a fluid, practiced movement and laid it across my shoulders. The warmth and strong cedar smell of him burrowed into me, making my stomach tumble in an unfamiliar way. As he stood in front of me, pulling the collar close around my neck, we were close enough for our breaths to mingle in the air between us.
Without his jacket, his muscular chest and shoulders were on more prominent display. The thin linen of his shirt wasn’t enough to contain them. His waistcoat hugged his torso, leaving little of his physique to the imagination. I’d never thought of a man as beautiful, and he had a roughness around the edges that prevented such a verdict, but the lamp light softened him just enough. He could have been a dashing, chivalrous knight. He made me feel maidenly. Cherished in a way no man had ever made me feel.
Until he spoke. “Am I too presumptive?”
Color flooded my cheeks, and I stepped back, putting distance and cool air between us. “No. Thank you for your coat. It is very thoughtful.”
Silence stretched between us save for the rustle of the hedges and faint drone of insects clustered around the lamps. I felt his eyes on me, hot and searching, but couldn’t bring myself to meet them. His coat was simply that—a garment. The intimacy of his courteous offer was an illusion. I’d do best to remember that. If he had his way, he would wed and abandon me in some empty house in an unfamiliar town.
“You don’t converse easily, do you?” He sounded speculative, perhaps even offended.
I forced myself to meet his gaze, only to find him inscrutable. “I don’t have anything useful to say.”
After all, we were alone, sequestered from the house. Now wasn’t the time to spurn his suit. Although he had acted honorably thus far, if I angered him, anything might happen. He was a stranger to me.
The hard planes of his face softened again as his gaze fastened on my mouth. My lips tingled at the intensity in his eyes. I licked them to quell the sensation. It didn’t help.
His voice held a hint of gravel when he said, “Then perhaps it would be more prudent to converse without words. May I kiss you, Jeanne?”
My breath caught. I couldn’t look away. No man had kissed me, had expressed interest since I’d fled to England. Warmth unfurled in my belly as I imagined those expressive lips mating to mine. His strong arms around me, cradling me. My breaths came quicker as I fought the temptation.
And he was temptation. One I’d be prudent not to encourage.
He wants to leave you behind.
But what would it feel like to kiss him?
At my hesitation, he took a tentative step closer, reading something in my expression I didn’t want him to see. I lowered my eyes again, trying to hide my reaction.
“No. I don’t think that would be proper.”
He didn’t press the matter, but the sensation of something unresolved between us lingered until he returned me to the house.
Papa awaited me.
“Jeanne? May I have a word?”
I had been expecting this conversation ever since I had been called down to dinner with our unexpected guest. Straightening my spine, I followed Papa into his study. The window of the cramped room was cracked open. On the wall across from his desk was an image that made me nostalgic.
I hadn’t turned six when Maman passed on. Time had dulled my memories of her and of Sainte-Domingue until all I recalled were snatches. The beautiful lilt of her singing voice. The spicy smell of her cooking in the kitchen. The way she laughed and chased me outside to play. I recalled the humidity, the scent of the air, and the hum of the insects as I ran barefoot over the dirt path. It felt as much a dream as a memory, brought on by the painting on the wall. A dirt path through ferns and scattered trees, mountains rising in the distance and our house painted to one side. The painting was focused on a brown woman balancing a baby on her hip, staring at the mountains. Papa had a miniature of her face, but this was all I remembered of her, the back of her head and a peek at her profile.
It made me heartsick. I turned my back on the painting and sat in the chair across from Papa’s desk.
With a smile, he took the chair opposite. “How did you enjoy your walk with Captain Sterling?”
I felt wrung out due to the tension that had gripped us. Stifling a sigh, I cut to the heart of the matter. “I don’t wish to marry him.”
Papa lost his jovial attitude at once. “Jeanne.”
Perhaps I resembled him a little. Whiskers framed his jaw, and he’d developed wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, so it was difficult to tell. I took after him more so in temperament than in appearance with a broader
nose than him, darker eyes and plumper lips.
“It’s what you intended to ask, wasn’t it, Papa?”
Despite my innocent tone, he bristled. “This isn’t the time for your sarcasm. We’re speaking of your future.”
“I am aware.” My mouth dried. I wiped sweaty palms on my skirt.
“Captain Sterling is a good match for you. He is honorable. He is ambitious. He will provide well for you and keep you safe. This country has never treated colored women as equal to white women. You need someone to keep you safe.”
No country offered equality to colored women. No matter where I went, I would be dependent on another. I bit my tongue.
When I felt calm enough to answer, I repeated softly, “I do not wish to marry him.”
Papa stood, bracing his hands on the desk and leaning closer. “If not him, then who? You must marry, Jeanne. You cannot stay here indefinitely.”
Perhaps not, but an empty marriage was not the answer. I bit the inside of my cheek to stave off tears. “No, Papa. I suppose you’re right. I cannot stay.”
He looked relieved as he sank back into his chair again. “Then you’ll consider Captain Sterling’s offer?”
That, I could not do, but I saw no use in arguing. Words wouldn’t help me.
Action would.
Chapter 2
Beg, Borrow, or Steal a Ship
“Butterflies are supposed to fly away,” I muttered under my breath as I stumbled over the obstacle at my feet and caught myself on the post at the foot of my bed. The carved wood dug into my palms. On the floor, the calico cat, Papillon, purred deeply and twined around my ankles as if trying to cast me back into the neatly made bed.
Not tonight, hairball.
Tonight cursed me to clumsiness as I nearly tripped over him yet again. With my heart pounding in the base of my throat and my mouth as dry as sand, my inelegant fingers and feet didn’t want to respond as usual. Inertia gripped me, nearly pulling me back to bed.