"I'm happy your son is an honest one." He wiped his top lip with the back of his hand. Wouldn't Mama be appalled? Wasn't he a simple, honest sailor now in Albermarle's eyes?
The man across from him opened his mouth, but their vittles came before he could speak. They both ate ravenously from steaming plates until their appetites waned.
Half-finished, Albermarle pushed his plate away and rested his elbows on the table. He looked in better spirits now and seemed more friendly. "Your kindness and good cheer have always impressed me, Mr. Hathaway."
Now, this was a surprise.
"You are a young man, with privilege, but you do not rush to judgment or look for opportunities to use your position to hold others down."
James nearly choked. He didn't know how to take a compliment from hawk-eyed Albermarle. With his mouth full, he gave him a tight-lipped smile from over his plate.
"I have a proposal for you," said Albermarle. Something sparkled in his dull eyes, and James swallowed everything in one quick lump. What could this man offer better than floating up and down the river all week long?
Albermarle looked at him and a soft, fatherly smile spread over his face. "I have a cousin in Savannah, who has a small ship..."
PHOEBE FELT SO RESTLESS after helping Charity weed the kitchen garden, she toweled down her neck, washed her face again, tugged on her old leather boots, and marched down the wooden planks of the porch's rickety stairs. With a pointed walking stick in one hand and her widest parasol in the other, she stared down the property's drive to the opening in the tilted split rail fence. It would be too hot to do anything later, so now was the only time she would find any privacy unless she stayed in her room. Out here at Duck Point, Charity followed Phoebe everywhere like a lonely puppy and only brightened when Mr. Suter came around.
Since speaking with James on the docks, Phoebe had felt herself withdraw even further into her dreary mind, getting lost for long periods of time. Her list of grievances against him had dwindled, and they'd mysteriously faded for Mama, too. Emotions that once consumed her had metamorphosized from a dark angry caterpillar into a sleeping, numb cocoon.
Phoebe was not angry anymore but anxious to find her wings. She knew she must press forward despite having feelings that would likely never go away. Since James's appearance at the dock, they'd returned as fiercely as if he'd turned back time.
She exhaled in surrender while ambling down the road toward a row of trees casting late-morning shadows. Her alert gaze roamed ahead should Benedict Arnold decide to leave his beach and strut across her property for bigger prey than fish and ducks. When she'd last dined with the Jacksons, Mr. Jackson had made her blood run cold recounting one evening how there was a clatter at the door and his housekeeper opened it to almost be eaten alive. Benedict Arnold had climbed his way up the Jackson's porch stairs and appeared to be trying to climb up the house. Perhaps to the windows, Mr. Jackson said shaking his fist, where the baby slept in an upstairs room with the shutters unlocked.
It was a beastly tale, and yet the beast was real. Phoebe was surprised the alligator had not attacked anyone or taken up residence closer to the road within reach of horses and wagons. Yet.
At that thought, she halted at the end of the drive and looked carefully up and down each side of the road in both directions. The scent of cypress trees floated along the morning air. She inhaled, listening to the distant water gurgling along in the channel.
Well, she did have the thick and pointy walking stick Mr. Suter carved for her, and it was not that far to the dock. Scolding the Jacksons for filling her head with tales of horror, she strolled along the middle of the road, tapping the stick in front of her like it would seek out danger and alert her before it was too late.
The fresh air blowing off the channel felt like a happy embrace. The golden sunshine, inspirational. It was time to live. She must not fear alligators anymore, Phoebe told herself, or drown in the depths of despair over seeing James again. After all, she'd endured a war, a hungry, frightening childhood, and her beloved Papa's death. She'd survived pain from being teased about her homely childhood, the disdain of popular young women, and the humiliation of being single at her little sister's wedding.
Yes, Phoebe would survive this, too. It was just a broken heart, and like a ripped seam, time would mend it up again. Perhaps she could become better friends with Mrs. Jackson if she tried harder, or maybe her situation with Charity could be ignored. Why should they live so far out in a wild country and carry on as servant and mistress when they could be closer companions?
Phoebe exhaled and tried not to feel sorry for herself. Would she have friends again? Mama had written her the sweetest letter begging her forgiveness and insisting she missed her so, but would Phoebe ever feel comfortable enough to return to Charleston?
She slowed her gait as she realized the birds and crickets around her had fallen silent. Her heart began to thump as she came to a halt. She'd almost reached the dock. Looking sideways into the swampy brush and then back to the channel below, she realized it was eerily quiet. Benedict Arnold was nowhere in sight.
The sound of her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Phoebe held her breath. Behind her. That was the one direction she had missed. She could sense him, almost feel his hungry stare. Her throat became painfully parched. Phoebe clenched the handle of the parasol as her courage waned.
Suddenly there was a splash nearby, and her brain shouted a hundred instructions at once. She could see the monster—mouth gaping, teeth flashing, and jaws snapping just inches away—all in her mind's eye. Phoebe screamed and almost stumbled headfirst into the sandy dirt, but she caught herself and took off at a ferocious run. With eyes wide and ears straining to hear its shuffling gait behind her, she prayed the alligator couldn't run faster than a woman laced up in stiff stays.
The world began to shrink into a dark tunnel as Phoebe sucked in air in sharp, strangled breaths. Her legs felt weak as pudding, and tears pricked her eyelids when she realized she was not as strong as she had believed. She could not run more than a Charleston block at this pace. What a horrible way to die.
She stumbled as her strength gave out and a terrified bawl escaped when she looked back to see how much time she had to brace herself. Tripping over her feet, she fell backward onto her backside with a painful crunch.
Nothing.
She nearly fainted with relief when she saw nothing there. Not even in the distance. The fall had jerked her head back and wrung her neck. Gasping and clutching at the ground for support, Phoebe raised her eyes to heaven and cried out in relief.
She would have prayed in gratitude right then and there, but she heard her name. Reigning in the madness, she forced herself to get a grip on her hysteria and looked down the road. She'd run right past the dock, and there was a man.
He stared.
She panted for air.
Then like a vision, James Hathaway vaulted across the dock and dashed up the road. "Are you hurt?" When he reached her, he dropped to his knees, seized her elbows, and pulled her into him.
Phoebe clung to him as the world spun in and out. James. He was an angel in the middle of this swampland. With a stroke of courage, she peeked down the road. Still no alligator. James took her by the chin and lifted her head. "What is it? Smugglers? Poachers?"
Phoebe caught her breath and looked into his eyes. Her mouth tried to form words, but he hushed them by planting a gentle kiss on her lips without asking. "Tell me," he said in an urgent whisper. Now she was burning and tingling from head to toe.
"It's... I thought I—" she stuttered. Phoebe peeked around him again then closed her eyes and dropped her head back. She forced herself to breathe in and out before she fainted. When she looked again, his face hovered just inches away.
"I thought I heard something behind me," she faltered in a trembling voice. "I thought it was following me." She squeezed his arms as she regained her composure. He looked confused. "I thought an alligator was chasing me," she explained.
&nbs
p; James's jaw relaxed. Phoebe realized how ridiculous it sounded and dropped against his chest as a laugh of relief burbled out.
"I thought Benedict Arnold was going to eat me," she quipped. A laugh followed in high-pitched titters, and she felt a hum in James's chest grow against her cheek as his own chuckles erupted. He fell beside her, breaking into guffaws, and she completely lost all self-control, dissolving into hysterical laughter. They crowed together until her ribs hurt, and she had to hold them.
"By jove!" he chortled with delight. "I heard a scream and there you came like a cannon blast, throwing things left and right with your skirts held so high I thought your boots were on fire."
Phoebe swiped at the tears in her eyes and allowed two more spurting giggles. "What a spectacle," she exclaimed, throwing up her hands, "and what a dignified sight I must be now." She took another deep breath, unable to stop smiling. She was alive and here was James very real and holding her tight.
He did not let go of her hand but crawled to his feet. He lifted her up and drew her against his chest again. "Are you well then? I don't need to call for reinforcements?"
Phoebe wobbled her head no and glanced toward the dock. "Are you alone?"
The same barge he'd descended the river on a few days ago bounced against the current from its line knotted against a piling. "I'm not," James replied. "I've sent them off—to rest or fish if they want. Just for a little while."
"I hope they will be very careful then."
"The channel is fast-moving for alligators."
"But not for Arnold," Phoebe insisted. "He comes back and forth between the beach and the cypress swamp all the time. We've even seen him swim over from the island."
"The men have guns," James assured her, taking her hand and walking her toward the barge. "Would you like to see the bolts of silk and sheer embroidered muslins I'm taking back to the Quintons? They're quite lovely."
She eyed him with curiosity. "You want to show me your shipment?"
James hesitated like she'd said something wrong. A flush rose on his cheeks, and his face tightened. "Actually," he said at last, "I intended to come up to the house to call." He paused. "If you'd welcome me."
Phoebe tried to push back the ardent hope that flooded her heart. Here he was, no ship, no plantation, not even his fancy gig, and he wanted to see her.
"Of course you're welcome." She searched his face, aching to find the courage to plead with him to be frank and honest with her this time. Then it dawned on her that he probably only stopped at Duck Point to see if she had any handkerchiefs ready to send to the Indies.
James removed his hat. "I'm happy to hear that, and look, I brought you something."
Phoebe looked to where he pointed. Balanced on top of one of the pilings was a giant, golden pineapple. She gasped in surprise. "You remembered. Oh, how thoughtful! You are very much enjoying this river business, aren't you? I suppose you have come about handkerchiefs?"
He reached for her arm and pulled her close again. Intimately close. Quite inappropriately close for a barge captain. A light breeze riffled through his hair. "Actually, the only business I have to discuss with you is my heart."
Phoebe's breath caught in her chest, and she thought she would swoon if she heard the words he'd whispered in her dreams.
"My hopes haven't changed," he confessed in a quiet voice that melted her. "But my reasons have and only for the better."
"Miss Applewaite—Phoebe, I have admired you all my life and adored you since you refused to dance with me on Twelfth Night. To be frank, I must tell you..." He squeezed her hand as the healthy glow on his cheeks receded. "I was indeed encouraged by my parents to court you, and it was promised I would have a position aboard one of the company ships if I settled, but... How it all came about was that I – I fell very much in love with you and thought the position aboard Lily only as an additional gift. What they said, what they say now, is not true at all."
Phoebe searched his eyes for earnestness and found it there. Her eyes seeped with tears of happiness. She wanted to confess her joy but found she could not speak.
A smile bloomed across James's face as if he felt her bliss. "I would have asked you to be my wife if I'd only been promised a kiln."
She laughed lightly, her face aching from the depths of her deep smile.
"Say you believe me," pleaded James. "Say you believe in me." He waited with a hungry look for her response.
"James Hathaway, I never once believed you could not be anything you wanted to be." She swallowed. "And I have loved you, I think, since my coming out and our first dance, but I admit I gave up on it—until now."
He smiled with pleasure. "And I am very much in love with you and do not want to sail to any place in the world without knowing I've secured your affection." He gazed at her with hope. Phoebe nodded to urge him, her heart burning and cheeks flaming with the possibility that this could all be true.
"You will marry me, won't you? Change your mind? Despite my lack of interest in agriculture or bricks or—" He stopped short, and she saw he was near breathless with despair.
Giddy happiness coursed through Phoebe like a river. "Of course I will," she promised, eyes overflowing.
His gaze trailed down her face to her lips. As if in a dream, she let her eyes flutter shut. James knew exactly what she wished for and took her into his arms, unraveling her into a pile of helpless cotton and lace.
When the echo of men's voices snatched her from their private delight, she pulled back and whispered more encouragement. "It does not matter what you choose to do as long as we do it together," she promised. "There are no issues as far as I'm concerned if you want to captain a riverboat."
Inches from her lips, James's mouth parted into a sly and sultry smile. It was an inviting look she was beginning to know well. "Why, Miss Applewaite," he murmured, "I have been offered a small trading ship that takes short jaunts up and down the coast." His eyes shined with exhilaration. "So you will be a captain's bride after all."
She gasped with joy for him and threw her arms around his neck to hug him tight. He hung back his head and laughed then danced her around in a circle with his hands around her waist.
Phoebe dropped her head onto his shoulder. At last. Gazing down the rippling channel, she saw an old familiar log on the bank. A smile escaped as a tear slipped down her cheek.
Benedict Arnold, the traitor, if he had been following her at all, had made his way down to the cool water and was standing in it up to his wrinkled old elbows watching her soak in all the future happiness James Hathaway had offered.
EPILOGUE
In beautiful gold calligraphy, Mrs. Hathaway's Millineries and Fine Goods announced itself as the most recent shop to open on the corner of Queen Street and East Bay. Painted as blue as a robin's egg, a ray of early summer sunshine bounced off its window and made a rainbow in Charleston's sea air.
Phoebe smiled in satisfaction. She stepped back to the far side of the cobbled street to examine her display from left to right, finding the hats particularly attractive bookends for her clocks and jewelry resting between them.
"And just what are you grinning about?" called a familiar voice. She spun around with a delighted cry to see her husband. He was clad in his sea coat and handsome cocked hat with fine white trim. His striking grin made her heart spin, too. She dashed across the remaining distance between them and flew into his arms. He embraced her for long seconds before pulling back.
"You are not excited I'm home again?" They swayed together ignoring the looks of others passing by in carriages and wagons.
Phoebe pecked him on the cheek. "I just returned from the beach. Did you see me? I waved you in."
"Past the fort? Yes, I saw you there looking like a damsel in distress."
"A white handkerchief was all I had, and I assure you, I was not in distress."
"I see you are not. Is that a new clock there in the shop?"
Phoebe bobbed her head in assent. "I purchased a dozen and already sold tw
o this week—one to Mrs. Leonard who hurried out before I could thank her."
"Amazing," her husband murmured. "She must have wanted it badly. I suppose Mr. Quinton brought her in?"
"He's been very kind, you know."
"He is grateful you accepted his apology."
"I was happy to accept."
James pulled back and examined Phoebe's eyes, nose, and then her lips. "We should hurry along home," he suggested, and she flushed.
"You might as well kiss me here since I can deduce your intentions."
He grinned like an imp. "That's only the half of them, my lady."
She raised her brows and tapped him on the arm. "Come see the clock," she pleaded, "and my new bolt of white muslin. How fast it goes these days."
"French fashion," sniffed James, and Phoebe giggled. She led him to the window dodging a wagon pulling fishy-smelling barrels.
"See here," she exclaimed, "none of this would have been possible without your generosity or your parents, but..."
She then forgot what she was saying and admired their reflections in the window. Husband and wife now, they looked much older, she thought, and wiser, but it had only been a year.
James met her eyes in a windowpane. "I'm sorry, what? I only see a goddess in the glass."
She elbowed him. "Don't be silly." Glowing from his compliments and something more, Phoebe noted, "It's already hot. I've written to your Mama about June. We'll close down the town house when you next depart, and I will go out to Sandy Bank for the summer."
James wrapped an arm around her waist, still watching her in the window. "She's looking forward to it, and happy you are bringing your mama, too. I suppose you're happy not to be returning to Duck Point, although there's work aplenty with Daniel clearing our land now."
"So am I, more than you know," she agreed. "I even suggested to Winnifred that she join us at Sandy Bank for a time if she wishes. It would be grand to have her there with Mama and me to rest and relax.
He took her hand and slid it inside his arm to guide her down the street. "Come, walk with me to the water," he begged, and she allowed him to take her away although her assistant—the proud and independent Mrs. Charity Suter—would be wondering where she'd wandered off to. Sea air licked over them like puppy kisses, and she sighed with contentment.
A Captain's Bride (Gentlemen of the Coast Book 2) Page 20