A Captain's Bride (Gentlemen of the Coast Book 2)

by Danielle Thorne

  Mama had questioned her thoroughly tonight, and though Phoebe admitted to the dancing and cider, she kept any new feelings to herself. Their talk turned to the machinations of Mrs. Leonard, and true to form, Mama reassured her that Alice Quinton Leonard had always been a jealous thing who had once set her cap for Mr. Hathaway and had no luck.

  It made Phoebe admire him a little more, that he should be so sensible as to avoid Mrs. Leonard's pursuit, but she did not admit it to Mama. She could hardly admit it to herself. Instead, she shuffled it away and thought about the possibilities of exporting fine trifles from Charleston to the Indies. At least she hoped Mr. Hathaway was serious about that. She shouldn't expect it though. Perhaps it had all been meaningless puffs of air.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  James bet little and won nothing at Whitely's, but that was the way of things. The party and Miss Applewaite's attendance there lingered in his mind for more days than he dared to count. Even more strangely, he found himself looking for her at church every time he was there.

  The day before, as his mind wandered in circles during the sermon, he glanced over his shoulder across the bodies behind him, acknowledging each young woman with a silent tick. He found Miss Applewaite at last, to his right and several rows back with her mama. She'd looked straight ahead, her neck long and rather lovely with her hair up on her crown, but her gaze seemed distant as if she was thinking of other things besides humility and repentance. Her mama caught his eye, and he'd turned back around fast.

  "Mr. Hathaway!" The cry from the end of the pier shook James from his reflection. Shivering, he raised a gloved hand at the Regina's bosun directing traffic on and off the ship. Dash it all, he would have to hurry back to the warehouse to ready the next load of the crew's supplies. He crossed his arms over himself and bustled through the crowd of sailors and traders along Charleston's wharf, thankful at least Gadsden's was further north so he did not have to see or hear the Africans being unloaded like cargo as if they were not human beings. It rent his heart in two to see other people acting as if this was a normal, Christian thing to do.

  He was almost done for the day. Papa and Albermarle had sent him from the yard to see to business in the port. The captain of Regina and he had paperwork to finish, and then he was free. Dinner, of course, would be at Shepheard's. He knew Benji would be there. But he had promised, he reminded himself, that he would call on Miss Applewaite in regard to her pristine goods. He glanced up at the overhead sun, and thinking it not too late after noonday, decided it wouldn't be out of order, not if he at least took a card.

  He wondered if she'd refuse to let him in, and he almost grinned. She did not enjoy splashing cider down herself, but really it had been a funny thing. If she had not jumped up to leave and if he had not jumped up to be so proper for Mrs. Leonard, they would not have bounced into one another so heartily.

  After business was settled, James hurried down East Bay to his simple apartment not far from the taverns and wharves. He discarded his old boots, changed his shirt and breeches, donned his favorite waistcoat embroidered with peafowl, and slipped on his finest riding boots—two-toned and polished to a luster. His hair looked tangled so he set it right with a little pomade, then donning his silk plush hat, hurried out to take his gig up to the market and across the way to Beaufain Street.

  The sun appeared in full force. It chased away the iron clouds as Dogberry clopped toward the house. At the carriage stoop, James hopped out, tied off the horse and gave him a bite of peppermint before skipping up the steps.

  The coastal climate had not been kind to the Applewaite house. The shutters needed a fresh lick of paint, and brick pavers leading to the back garden were dappled with moss and beginning to separate. Sympathetic to the women living here without a husband or papa, he tapped his cane on the door and waited, wondering why he felt rather anxious instead of eager to converse with someone other than one of his father's workers who looked down their noses at him.

  A charming girl wearing a crisp white linen apron and cap opened the door. She was as fair as a princess, he decided, with rather light eyes that made her mousy hair rather nice. James fumbled for his card and passed it over with a quick introduction. Obviously, none was needed. She seemed to know exactly who he was and allowed him into a long hall with mahogany wainscoting and oil paintings. The young housekeeper slipped into a room on his left, most likely the ladies' parlor, he guessed, and was pleased when the door widened, and she motioned for him to go in.

  "Mr. Hathaway," said Mrs. Applewaite, "what a very pleasant surprise."

  Miss Applewaite and her mama stood. Hoops holding cuts of cloth were tossed onto a comfortable looking settee with a low back. Both looked surprised, and it amused him. He gave them a sweeping bow.

  When Miss Applewaite looked less than impressed, he widened his grin until he felt it touch his ear. "Please, ladies, do sit down. I did not mean to interrupt your commendable toil."

  "Oh, they're just little projects," insisted her mama.

  Miss Applewaite seemed drawn and serious. She looked away when James examined her then sank down into her seat. Mrs. Applewaite indicated for him to take a chair, and rather than stand, he pulled a fine side chair from the wall with a country scene painted on its back rest.

  "How charming. Did you do this?" He looked from mother to daughter."

  "Oh no," answered Mrs. Applewaite, "there are no artists here. Not quite." She smiled. "They were commissioned. I have a set of four."

  "How handsome," repeated James, realizing all of the subjects he'd thought of to carry on a conversation here were disappearing out of his head faster than he could retrieve them. He cleared his throat. Miss Applewaite looked like a hare about to bolt. She wore a colorful frock with jaunty stripes he admired, but before he could say so, her brown eyes sparked with something like uncertainty.

  "Why, I promised you I would call," he said, stiffening his back. "Our business arrangement," he reminded her, and her mama looked over at her in surprise.

  "You are still interested in purchasing some of our handkerchiefs and fichus for export?"

  James raised his chin at Miss Applewaite's query. "If you are still interested. I think it would be best to ship them at a prearranged price, and I would like ten percent."

  "Ten percent?"

  Mrs. Applewaite was speechless, her eyes snapping back and forth between James and her daughter's caller.

  "Are you certain that's fair to you?" asked Miss Applewaite.

  "You don't want me to be generous?"

  The corner of her mouth twitched, and James found himself admiring it. Her lips were full, but not heavy.

  "I expect you to be fair," she insisted, "although ten percent would be a wonderful rate."

  "It would be more if it were heavier cargo," he explained, "or took up a great deal of space, but it's such a small thing."

  "I suppose the more I export the higher the rate?"

  He shrugged, realizing Papa was far better at this type of negotiating than himself. "I don't see your goods taking up any more space I don't already have."

  "That would be generous of you, Mr. Hathaway." Miss Applewaite granted him a smile and reached for the tea table beside her. It was stacked with perfectly aligned handkerchiefs. "When would you need them?"

  "Well," said James, dropping his gaze to think, "the Regina departs tomorrow on the first tide. She is destined for Bridgetown where I think your goods will be snapped up rather quickly."

  Miss Applewaite riffled through cotton, linen, and a few silk squares. "I'm not prepared to give you a substantial amount at this time."

  "My goodness," he teased, "they'd easily fit into my ditty box."

  "Oh," she answered, "we have more upstairs. Are you going this time around?"

  James felt his heart wrinkle. "Why, no," he admitted, "I am still working at the yard, you see, or sometimes down at the docks."

  She fell quiet. It became obvious Mrs. Applewaite knew nothing of his change in responsibilities wh
en she looked sideways at her daughter. James chuckled under his breath, saying nothing about his penance, because it would certainly get back to Mama.

  "Well," blurted Mrs. Applewaite, "it is getting on, and I forgot to offer you something to refresh yourself. Perhaps something warm?"

  He smiled in appreciation before realizing she hoped for an excuse to leave the room. "If it's on," he suggested.

  "There is always water on," she insisted, "and coffee ground, too." She glanced at her daughter with curiosity then hurried out leaving the door cracked rather than ajar.

  Miss Applewaite's cheeks flushed. "You have made my mother happy today and probably for the entire week."

  "My, my, how our mothers will talk. And by the by, I did not get to wish you a good night when you hurried from the refreshment room at the Whitely's, and it's been almost a fortnight. I did say I would come."

  "Yes," remembered Miss Applewaite, "I haven't thought much about it."

  James jerked his head back. "You did not take me seriously? Or you do not wish to export your handsome things?"

  "Oh, no," she answered in a rush, "I do, Mr. Hathaway. It's just I didn't know for sure that you were in earnest."

  "You don't take me seriously, do you?" he asked, thinking how often she looked bemused with him like his mammy did.

  Miss Applewaite folded her hands in her lap. He thought she might be fighting back a smile.

  "You may be frank with me, Miss Applewaite," encouraged James, leaning back against the chair to study her. He folded his arms. "So few people are truly honest and forthcoming with their thoughts. I can hardly tell the difference when one is sincere. It makes me a poor judge of character on occasion."

  She smiled at last, and it crinkled the delicate skin around her eyes. "I'm afraid I am too forthcoming and honest, Mr. Hathaway, and it discomfits others."

  "I challenge you to discomfit me," he teased.

  A quiet laugh escaped her sweet mouth. It was a gentle, breathy sound. Slender fingers tucked a dark auburn curl of hair behind her ear. "I could easily win that challenge," she promised him. She crossed her feet together at the ankles, and he admired her embroidered little slippers that looked far more comfortable than his boots.

  "You see," she continued, "I am anxious to invest in some type of commerce that would benefit my family; if not for my mama, for myself in the future. So I can in no way refuse such a bargain from you, especially when it is such a small amount of inventory and hardly worth your time."

  "But," James pointed out, "one must begin somewhere."

  "I agree, and I appreciate your eagerness to help."

  "They're quality pieces, your handkerchiefs," he praised her. "I'd buy a dozen and sell them myself if I had the time."

  She smiled openly now, and it reminded him of their dance. She'd seemed pleased then, and dare he think it—comfortable with him.

  "I am happy to do it," he assured her. "Our fathers worked together on the banking board so many years ago besides doing business together, and the Applewaites are known to be as good as their word."

  She beamed. "Thank you."

  He caught himself grinning. "Will you be dancing again? At the next ball, I mean?"

  Her expression seemed to crisp. "What ball? We have nothing but an invitation to dine with the McClellans next week. I'm afraid a widow and her daughter do not receive invitations to every party."

  James caught himself pulling at a loose thread on his cuff. "Mama will have a spring ball at the plantation house in a month. Surely, you have been invited to Sandy Bank."

  Miss Applewaite looked past him. "I suppose, but I'm not certain. We do not leave town often I'm afraid, and we've had to decline invitations in the past."

  "You could travel across the river with me. I know an excellent ferry to Mount Pleasant."

  Her gaze flitted about the room. James could see her thinking. It would mean staying at the great house on his property, away from her hidden fortress, her sewing, and the private places along the shore she snuck away to.

  "I..."

  "It would please our mothers," he joked with a wink.

  Her cheeks pinkened, and it made his chest quiver. Why, how silly. He was only teasing.

  "About that," said Miss Applewaite with no warning. She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. "I know my mama and Mr. Cadwell are quick to encourage any bachelor to pay me compliments because of my age and situation, but the truth is, Mr. Hathaway..." She flushed to a crimson red that made her hair look darker. "I hope you understand you are not expected to pay calls or ask me to dance just because our mothers have lately become better friends." She took an unsteady breath. "I have no expectations. I understand this is a business call only."

  A surprising stream of disappointment trickled down James's spine and made him feel hot and uncomfortable. She was such a handsome girl, and intelligent, too, but she had no interest in the likes of him. But that was not new. She'd never shown an interest in anyone. He thought of her rapid withdrawal from the Whitely's party after her hand felt so fragile and soft in his. Unable to hold back a flirtatious inclination, James replied, "What if it's not?" He felt his brows wrinkle as if he was asking himself.

  Her eyes widened with the familiar amusement he was now accustomed to seeing. "I know you are not here for any other reason, and I'm sure it's for the best."

  "Is it?"

  "Yes?" she said as if confused. "You have aspirations to go to sea, and of course, there are certainly girls of more interest and... well, equal to your station in life at Mount Pleasant than a late merchant's daughter living in blessed spinsterhood with her mama on Beaufain Street."

  He slanted his head at her. "Do you really find singleness a blessed state?"

  Her amusement faded, and her gaze returned to the window behind his head. "Yes. Don't you? If I ever marry, it will not be for anyone's convenience or my mother's whim."

  Was he a whim? James blurted, "What about love?"

  She made a noise in her throat. "I'd never let myself fall into that trap," she assured him. "I have a mama and our home to care for. Perhaps I did when I was young and silly, but it was just vain imaginings."

  "I have a very good imagination, Miss Applewaite," baited James, "and I think a dose of infatuation or falling in love on occasion serves one well."

  She flushed but answered, "Well then, Mr. Hathaway, you fall first."

  To his surprise, James liked the idea, and he liked the idea of such a thing with her. He caught himself grinning again, but she did not take the hint, merely blinked and looked away.

  A clatter on the other side of the door made them both jump. Mrs. Applewaite and her housekeeper burst into the room juggling trays and cups. "Here we are, Mr. Hathaway," she said in a breathless voice. "We do not drink English tea in this house anymore, but there is coffee."

  James clapped his hands together in pretended delight while he snuck a peek at her daughter. The red-cheeked Miss Applewaite was studying him like a ledger.

  MR. HATHAWAY TOOK ALL of the inventory Phoebe had stored upstairs. She packed over a dozen handkerchiefs in a small watertight trunk made of sturdy oak. When he promised to return it—it had been Papa's—she gave him a solemn nod. She had a few kerchiefs left she saved for market day but waited a few days for Mama to finish the latest fichu she had been embroidering with birds and French knots.

  It felt warm and pleasant for February. The sun shimmered, and the wind felt less biting. Phoebe all but melted with contentment as she strode out of the Pilchers' shop, satisfied that the woman shopkeeper had bought from her what Mr. Payne would not.

  She was deeply appreciative. There were more than a dozen women in the city with their own businesses, from dry goods to dressmaking to millinery. Seduced by the fair weather, Phoebe tightened the ribbon under her chin and strolled to the busy corner of the Exchange then turned south toward the fort at the end of the peninsula. As she walked past row houses one up against the other, she surveyed the busy wharf through the
branches of naked trees waiting patiently to bud.

  It made her think of Mr. Hathaway. He'd surprised her by showing up just as he said he would, to collect her handkerchiefs for the next merchantman out. It was kind of him. Generous. He certainly didn't need the small amount of money, not with his inheritance, but perhaps he was trying to impress his father. Maybe he didn't care for his labors in the shipyard as much as he pretended. It seemed to keep him out of trouble though.

  She caught her cheek pulling and fought back a smile. His arrival left her speechless the first few minutes because she'd convinced herself he would not come. Not to mention, he was so handsome and effervescent, it'd felt like the lighthouse on Morris Island had cast one of its long stretching beams through the window and into the room. He quite made her forget her determination not to be distracted by the other sex.

  Sunbeams sparkled like diamonds over the scuttling bay. A few soldiers practiced formations in the distance. As the street widened, she diverted from the cobblestones onto the familiar footpath that led to the narrow strip of sand along the sea wall. She set a silk and linen drawstring bag inside her basket and dropped them onto the beach. Off came her shoes.

  The barrier islands shined in the distance, and she stared hard between their arms to gaze out to sea. Movement in the expanse made her squint, but it was not runaway boats. She smiled at silver porpoises leap-frogging in the distance.

  "What are they running from, I wonder," said a smooth voice behind her.

  Phoebe nearly jumped out of her stockings. Gazing heavenward with relief, she put a hand on her heart. "Mr. Hathaway, you nearly caused me to faint."

  He grinned at her from beneath a worn cocked hat that shielded his palm-green eyes from the sun. "I do have that effect on the occasional woman."

  A gushing laugh erupted from Phoebe's throat. "I said faint, as in with fear, not swoon," she corrected.

  He laughed and stepped nearer, so close their elbows touched. They watched the vessels in the harbor scurry from island to port to river mouth, dodging sandbars and one another.