Petals on the River

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Gage stepped to her side and slipped his arms about her, drawing her close against him. As she leaned her head upon his chest, he lowered his chin to her capped coiffure and moved his hand in a gentle caress over her stomach. It seemed as flat as it had always been. “Whether boy or girl, my love, it makes no difference what the coffer holds. I only pray that it may go well with you. My heart would stop if I were to lose you.”

  Shemaine laughed as she snuggled against him. “Fear not, my love. My father’s mother whelped six with no difficulty, and she was smaller than I. A very feisty woman, she was.”

  “Your father must have gotten it from her,” Gage remarked with a fleeting grin. “But watch the fur fly when William Thornton and Shemus O’Hearn meet toe to toe. I’m sure each could give lessons to the meanest shrew in the area.”

  “Aye, but we were also afraid that your father and Mrs. McGee would get into a fray, and look what happened,” Shemaine reminded her husband.

  Gage’s thoughts drifted back to what had been said upstairs, and he had to chuckle at his father’s change of attitude toward the Irishwoman. “I gather from Mary Margaret’s gentle inquisition that she has set her sights on making another match.”

  Shemaine smiled and rubbed a hand down the front of his waistcoat. “Don’t be too surprised, my love, if it turns out to be a match for Mrs. McGee, as well.”

  With a grin Gage plucked the lace cap from his wife’s head and began to loosen the satin tresses. “They do seem to be getting along famously together. Who knows? They might be good for each other.”

  A heavy sigh wafted from Shemaine’s lips as she remembered her father’s explosion. “I wish my parents could be as understanding about us.”

  “Perhaps, with time, they’ll come to think of me as less of an ogre,” Gage mused aloud.

  “My father has a terrible temper, Gage, so please try not to upset him unduly when they come tomorrow,” Shemaine pleaded.

  Her husband settled a reassuring kiss upon her brow. “I’ll try to imagine the way I would feel if some blackguard took advantage of one of our daughters. I would probably be just as furious, especially if I had heard stories about the man being a wife-murderer.”

  “You must be very careful of Maurice, too,” Shemaine cautioned. “Don’t let him provoke you into doing anything foolish.”

  “I rather sensed that the Marquess is willing to reclaim you whatever the cost.” Gage could not find it in himself to fault the man too harshly for desiring such a thing, for he knew he’d be just as adamant about winning her back if the roles were reversed. “But I will take care, my sweet.”

  “Maurice may look pampered, but don’t be fooled. He’s as talented with a sword as he is with a pistol. Thus far, he has only wounded his adversaries when they’ve challenged him to duels, but he may prove to be of a different bent with you.”

  “No doubt, no doubt,” Gage replied, shrugging out of his frock coat. “If he can kill me, then he would have a clear path to you, and—”

  “Or so he may think,” Shemaine interrupted. “But if he kills you, then he’ll win my undying hatred.”

  Gage doffed his waistcoat, hung it over a chair with the coat, and then rid himself of his stock and shirt before returning to loosen his wife’s laces. “Mary Margaret will likely be upstairs for a while, talking with my father. With her delay in going to bed, perhaps we may dally in ours for a while just to see what arises.”

  “And would you be doubting such an event, Mr. Thornton?” Shemaine asked through the cloth of her gown as her husband lifted it over her head and swept it free from her uplifted arms.

  “Not when the woman I’m dallying with is you, my love,” he assured her with a chuckle, stepping away to lay the garment over the trunk.

  When he turned back to admire the vision of her garbed in nothing more than a lacy chemise, she threaded her slender fingers through her hair and lifted the curling tresses high above her head. As if reluctant to come too close, she moved cautiously in a half circle around him, commanding his full attention with a sweetly wicked smile and glowing green eyes. “Where I a sorceress, Mr. Thornton, I would keep you a prisoner in my den, where you would serve my pleasures both night and day. You would languish from my incessant demands until you had not strength enough to rouse from your couch, and then I would summon forth strange magic to make you pant in lust for me once more.”

  A lopsided grin widened her husband’s lips as he taunted her with a devouring perusal. “I do that now, madam.” Catching an arm around her waist, he drew her between the spread of his legs as he sat back upon the bed. His fingers plucked at the ribbons closing the bodice of her chemise and then moved the slackening cloth aside until the swelling roundness was brazenly displayed. The lustrous orbs thrust outward eagerly, tempting him to taste and devour as they gleamed warmly in the candlelight. He readily complied, evoking a wondrous enchantment as his mouth feasted greedily upon the voluptuous softness.

  Shemaine’s voice came in a whisper as she lowered her lips to his dark head. “ ‘Tis only when the handsome prince of my dreams becomes real in my arms that this sorceress yields up all of her devices and incantations and follows submissively wherever he leads. And then nothing can keep me from him.”

  Gage lifted his head and searched her smiling eyes. “Nothing, my love?”

  “Absolutely nothing, my darling.” Her lips parted as they approached his, and if any doubt remained, she snuffed it out with a long, lingering kiss.

  CHAPTER 21

  Gage had hurried across the porch shortly after the O’Hearns’ hired livery pulled to a halt near the cabin the next morning. His guests were much earlier than he had expected, for he had been told by Ramsey that the Marquess and the O’Hearns had just begun to stir when he left for work. Gage begged their indulgence for a few moments more while he and Shemaine completed several chores which they were in the midst of. At present, he was helping his father bathe, and while the elder was occupied downstairs, Shemaine had set about cleaning his room and changing his bed linens so she wouldn’t have to disturb him later. Although the visitors seemed apprehensive about the kind of reception they were receiving, Gage politely assured them that it would only be a few moments before he and his wife could join them. Until then, if they didn’t mind, Ramsey would see to their needs.

  In the absence of his employer, Ramsey took it upon himself to show them around the cabinet shop as Sly Tucker and the two apprentices worked at their separate tasks. With a great deal of pride and satisfaction, Ramsey skimmed over the painstaking process of making quality furniture, beginning his discourse by exhibiting his employer’s drawings and designs, which readily evinced Gage’s incredible talent with quill and ink. Ramsey went on to show them the difference in the grains of wood they used. Whether it was cypress, cherry, maple, oak, or some other, the unusual characteristics of each could make a piece of furniture unique. Upon concluding his talk, Ramsey led them back to where Sly Tucker was polishing a recently finished sideboard and eagerly urged the O’Hearns, their servants, and the Marquess to run their hands over the top of the piece to feel the smoothness of the hand-rubbed finish.

  Camille seemed most enthralled by the merits of the buffet, for it was she who, during the length of her marriage, had selected the furnishings for their homes, a task which Shemus had willingly left to her discretion. He had realized long ago that his wife had a natural ability for turning the simplest dwelling into a comfortable, tastefully appointed haven, and he had never been one to intrude and possibly hinder perfection in the making. Over the years, Camille had acquired a keen eye for recognizing a worthy piece when she saw one, and though the lines of the sideboard were fairly simple, the tiger’s-eye grains and burled woods from which it had been constructed made it distinctive and beautiful. Stressing the fact that it was among the finest she had ever seen, Camille implored her husband to examine it more closely, wanting him to understand the skill and dedication required to produce such an outstanding piece.

>   Outwardly Ramsey seemed inattentive to the couple’s muted discussion, but his ears were closely attuned to their exchange. While helping Sly for a moment, he also had a chance to study Maurice, albeit surreptitiously. His lordship remained coolly indifferent to Camille’s enthusiasm as he glanced casually about the shop. His reserved dignity seemed imperturbable, and when the tour continued, Ramsey tested the precise depth of that unflappable mien by purposely rubbing a bit of salt in the Marquess’s wounds.

  “Ain’t no doubt ’bout it. Mr. Thornton gots ta be the most skillful woodwright in this here area. Why, he not only draws up pieces like this here furniture from his imagination”—Ramsey emphasized his point by tapping a finger against his own temple—“he’s prosperous enough ta support several families, to boot. He’s a fair man with his wages, he is, an’ none o’ us would be as well off today workin’ for ‘nother carpenter.”

  After motioning them to the window, he hurriedly wiped away some of the sawdust until they could view the unfinished brigantine that rested in bracing stocks near the river’s edge. “Ye see that?” He glanced around to assure himself that he had gained their undivided attention and briefly noted the stoic detachment that his lordship still conveyed. “Mr. Thornton dreamed ‘at there vessel up in his noggin, too. If’n ‘tweren’t for his love o’ designin’ ships an’ buildin’ ’em, he’d likely be the richest man in these here parts by now, just by what he earns makin’ furniture. But ye wait, give or take a year or two more, maybe even three, he’ll be provin’ his worth as a master shipbuilder an’ then people’ll be takin’ careful notice!”

  Maurice allowed a pensive sigh to escape his lips as he turned away from the window. He had little tolerance for praise that was liberally heaped upon an unprincipled knave. If it were left up to him, he’d call Gage Thornton out right then and there and rid the world of a worthless scoundrel.

  Ramsey flicked a glance toward the tall, well-garbed man. The brooding hostility now roiling perceptibly behind those noble features evidenced his success in baiting his lordship. He now deemed a tour of the brigantine to be in order to set the barb more firmly, just to let the Marquess know that it was no common man he had defamed the night before.

  Bidding them to accompany him, Ramsey led the small entourage down the path to the riverside edifice and introduced them to Flannery Morgan. There he allowed the grizzled shipwright the honor of explaining the merits of Gage’s design, for none could do it with more enthusiasm.

  “When she’s finished, this here’ll be what ye’d call a two-masted brig’ntine,” the old man informed them. “She’s low in the hull an’ sleek in lines. If’n ye be acquainted with ships at all, m’lords an’ ladies, ye’ll see that in this vessel, the beam is well nigh the bow. ‘Twill give her good stability in the water, all right, but I’ll warrant her best feature’ll be her speed. Why, she’ll skim through the sea like a mermaid lookin’ for a mate ta sport with.”

  Camille pinkened lightly at his comparison, but the old salt failed to notice her unease as he encouraged them to follow him down the companionway. Gesturing here and there to draw their attention to several points of interest in the workmanship, he showed them around the lower levels, all the while extolling his employer’s extraordinary vision and talents. At last, he brought them up to the main deck again.

  Leaving the others behind, Shemus O’Hearn went to the far end of the ship and looked back upon it, wanting to consider everything he had been shown. He had taken in the comments with an attentive ear, trying to glean some insight into the individual, Gage Thornton. What he had been most surprised about were the employees. Shemus had hired many men in his lifetime, but he was not at all sure any of them had ever been as dedicated or had taken as much pleasure in their work and accomplishments as Ramsey, Sly Tucker, Flannery and the others seemed to. In the face of their loyalty and enthusiasm, he had to wonder how a rogue could have inspired such qualities.

  Shemus Patrick O’Hearn had made his own way in life, starting with little and working his way up to much. It was not at all surprising that he began to feel a grudging respect for the colonial as he became cognizant of the many achievements and diligent ambitions of the man who had married his daughter. When he recalled his own beginnings and the misgivings that Camille’s parents had once expressed about the Irish upstart who had thought himself good enough to court their daughter, he had to wonder if he was being too biased and harsh-minded when it came to the cabinetmaker. Over the years, he had won a place for himself in the hearts of Camille’s family, and they were now among the first to declare that he was a member of their family. Would the day ever come when he, too, could esteem his new son-in-law?

  The question of Gage’s involvement in the death of his first wife, however, remained his primary concern. It was a matter that had to be reckoned with or it would remain a sharp wedge between them, dividing one from the other. Shemus knew in his heart that he’d have to be totally convinced of Gage’s innocence before he could ever feel comfortable about Shemaine’s marriage, no matter how industrious the colonial was. Yet when questions still persisted in the hamlet after the passage of more than a year, Shemus seriously doubted the probability of such an occurrence. And even if he had to drag Shemaine aboard a ship bound for England, Shemus knew he would never leave his daughter in the care of a suspected murderer.

  Throughout the tour of the ship, Maurice du Mercer had maintained a phlegmatic silence. He still felt a fierce enmity against the man who had stolen his betrothed, and he’d have choked before disclosing the tiniest bit of interest or admiration for his rival’s achievements. It could not be said, however, that he wasn’t impressed, despite the ill will he bore the man. He had no doubt that Gage Thornton had a good eye for quality and beauty. Shemaine was certainly proof of that. Still, had he been able to dictate circumstances in his favor, Maurice could have easily wished the colonial had gone blind before laying eyes on the dazzling beauty to whom he had offered his own heart.

  The clouds that had seemed to hang in a perpetual gloomy gray over Maurice’s life since their arrival that morning vanished as soon as Shemaine joined them on the ship. She was wearing a fetching pale blue gown, a white lace-trimmed cap, and a white apron tied about her slender waist. In all, she looked very much like a colonial wife. Utterly delicious, Maurice mused, feeding on her beauty as she hugged her parents. Indeed, he was so moved by her presence, he became convinced that he would have given his entire wealth just to be the man who now claimed her.

  “I’m sorry Gage and I couldn’t come greet you properly as soon as you arrived,” Shemaine apologized graciously. “His lordship still hasn’t fully regained his strength, but he was greatly desirous of dispensing with basin baths and having a good soak in a tub. For that, he needed Gage’s assistance. It seemed a good chance for me to clean his room. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “His lordship?” Maurice had caught the significance of the address and was most curious.

  Any doubts about the Marquess being equal in height to her husband were put to final rest as Shemaine leaned her head back to meet his gaze. It was a similar necessity when looking up into the amber-brown eyes. “Gage’s father is Lord William Thornton, Earl of Thornhedge.”

  A look of wonderment passed across Maurice’s face. Lord Thornton had been his advocate on many bills before Parliament which had been intended to define the rights of individuals under English law, including one that would have forbidden the shipping of prisoners to far-off ports, especially for the purpose of spilling out the refuse of English gaols onto their colonies.

  “Do you know him, your lordship?” Shemaine queried.

  Maurice cocked his head and looked at her curiously, deepening the color in her cheeks. His dark eyes glowed with luminous warmth as a poignant smile curved his handsome lips. “What is that which you called me, Shemaine? I thought we had progressed far beyond titles and formal addresses.”

  Shemaine was sure the apparent ease with which Maurice now seemed abl
e to disconcert her was primarily due to the prodding of her conscience. In her eagerness to accept her husband’s proposal, she had given little heed to how Maurice might be hurt by her decision. She had basically taken it for granted that with so many winsome admirers among the nobility, her former fiancé would have casually directed his attention elsewhere after her disappearance.

  “We’re no longer betrothed, my lord,” she reminded him in muted tones, uncomfortable beneath the fervid intensity of those dark orbs. “And I do not think it proper to address you by your given name any longer.”

  “I give you leave to do so, Shemaine,” Maurice murmured, moving closer. “You shall always have a place in my heart, even if I cannot win you back.”

  Where once she had been at ease with Maurice, Shemaine now found herself on pins and needles. She was convinced that his nearness would bring about another confrontation after her husband joined them, and she was bemused by it. Was it some deliberate strategy on his part to rile Gage, or did he hope his proximity would play upon her emotions, perhaps making her regret her marriage to another? Whatever his reasons, Shemaine would have preferred him at a safer distance. Any moment now Gage would be coming up the building slip, and if there was one thing she had noticed since last night in Newportes Newes, it was the fact that her husband now seemed quite possessive of her, as if he feared losing her to her former betrothed.

  In the awkward silence that followed, Camille stepped forward and placed a doting kiss upon her daughter’s brow. “My dear, you look lovely.” She had seized upon a portion of Shemaine’s earlier statement and greatly desired to know more. “But tell me, dear, do you not have servants to clean for you?”

  Shemaine laughed blithely, thankful for the interruption. “No, Mama, I do all the cooking and cleaning myself.”

  “The cookin’?” Bess repeated, staring agog at her former student. “Ye mean all of it?”