* * *
She worked hard to not recall, becoming unaware that time was passing until she went to her room to dress for a party and was startled to realize that she had reached her twenty-fourth birthday. Thoughts of business expenses and debts, the cook’s squabbles with the under-cook, were crowded out by imaginings of what might have been, if her fantasies of eight years ago had come to pass. “What if, Captain Tar?” she asked the dog who sat at her feet while she dressed. “But I mustn’t think on such things or I shall be sad when I should be happy for all that I have.”
Cut off from England, Maddie could not stop mulling over suppositions. Even as she stood in her drawing room to receive her guests, she found it difficult to concentrate on conversations or follow a tangled chain of gossip. With her mind wandering, she cast a glance out of the window, and picked up the sounds of a commotion that was not explained by the typical noises of little cousins getting into mischief. Heywood excused himself, went to the window to see what was happening, and let out a yelp.
“Stephen, he’s back,” Heywood bellowed.
The room burst into a conflagration of cheers and welcome for a man feared lost at sea. Everyone wanted to shake Stephen’s hand, to touch his arm as if they had to verify that he was real. Heywood was so effusive that Maddie imagined he might explode. His delight at hosting such a distinguished sailor told her that her birthday celebration had been transformed into a far more happy occasion, and she was glad of it. No woman wanted to be reminded that she was a year older, a year less pretty, a year less beguiling.
Stephen had aged, and his care-worn expression was shocking in its strong resemblance to the Admiral’s weary mien. Even the way her brother’s eyes lit up when he turned his attention to his sons was a reminder of her stepfather. The joy of the reunion crowded out such thoughts, until her pondering was pushed away and nothing mattered beyond the walls of her home. Within its comfortable boundaries, Stephen met his infant son for the first time, an image that she imprinted on her brain so that she could sketch it later, to preserve for all time.
Dinner conversation was more of a monologue by the family’s hero, who regaled them with fantastic tales of travel to the Pacific, to exotic islands and far-flung places where British shipping provided easy pickings for an American frigate. “We cannot defeat them in battle,” Stephen said. “But we can be a thorn in England’s side.”
“What of your prizes? Heywood asked.
“Unfortunate that the gains were but short-lived, “ Stephen said. “I sent a confiscated ship back, loaded with goods, but she was captured well before she reached Savannah.”
On into the early morning, guests were treated to a series of adventures, from Norfolk around the Cape and on to the Sandwich Islands, where Stephen suppressed a mutiny by threatening to blow up his ship.
“What he did, Maddie,” Heywood gushed late that night, when he was unable to sleep and intent on keeping Maddie awake to listen to him. “If I could achieve but half, I would consider myself an accomplished gentleman.”
“You are accomplished,” she said. Her head was spinning, from too much wine and too much excitement. “You have enjoyed much success and you are admired by your colleagues.”
“Not as much as I would like. No, I must do more.”
“Public office, do you mean?”
“I must show that I am worthy of admiration. A person much envied, if it came to that. We are ambitious, but to realize those ambitions, that is where I make my mark. The name of Taft, on the same pedestal as Beauchamp.”
“You are a good father, Heywood, and no woman could ask for a better husband. We are happy, are we not?”
“But we could be happier. Richer, with more land and more income.”
He took her in his arms, an embrace that lacked his usual confidence. Never had she denied him, but he was possessed of a certain hesitancy. “I won’t have you doubting me, my worth or my position in society.”
“I have never doubted you,” she said.
There had long been an element of competition between the Tafts and the Beauchamps. The union of the two powerful planter clans had not decreased that rivalry, judging by Heywood’s assertions. Maddie had known him since childhood, but marriage had changed him. The bold, brash son of the Low Country had grown unsure, more uncertain since the war with England threw obstacles in his path. What could she do to bring back the man she had known? What words, what deeds would restore Heywood to himself?
“You deserve much more than I have given you,” he said.
“I want nothing more. I am content.”
“But I am not. There are avenues unexplored, ventures not yet attempted.”
“Chase your dreams, dearest, and I will be here to welcome you home in victory or defeat.”
“Then you support me?”
“As I always have. But I warn you, if you steer a wrong course, I will tell you, rather than see you dashed on the rocks.” She closed her eyes, to leave behind the endless litany of comparisons that Heywood made when he was too long in the company of a Beauchamp. “You are your own man. You do not need to emulate another.”
The Second War of Rebellion Page 49