She stood, her cheeks colored with anxiety. I’ll not go down, she thought, her heart pounding. She avoided his gaze.
He lifted her chin, but Emerald’s eyes dropped under his knowing search.
“Now you listen to me, lass. I’ll not have you hiding yourself in your room like some frightened kitten, too afraid to show her face to important people. I expect my daughter to conduct herself with pride. You’ll come down. And you’ll hold your head high.”
She couldn’t tell him her worst fear. Suppose Baret Buckington accused her and Zeddie in front of her father?
They reached the gallery, and Sir Karlton paused. “It’s settled. It’s high time I introduced you to your distant cousin the viscount.”
The viscount was not her blood cousin, but evidently her father insisted on pretending they were related.
“Yes, Papa. I’ll do as you say.”
He smiled again. “You’ve a will of your own, to be sure, and it makes me proud, but trust me, little one. If I didn’t know the manner of man the viscount was, I’d not force you into the lion’s den.”
Yes, she thought. And Captain Baret Buckington Foxworth is one of the lions.
“You can’t blame a father now, can you?”
She watched him descend the steps, then forced herself to walk to her bedroom.
Inside the shadowed cloister of her chamber, Emerald knew a minute of emotional security and shut the door on the world of Port Royal. The silence shielded her from prying eyes and wagging tongues, but she knew she couldn’t stay here long.
How trying that life demanded so much of her!
She paced. Her father was right. She did possess a strong will and a desire to run the course that God might have for her future. It was not in her plans to hide away from the challenges life brought. She must cultivate reliance on His Word that would support her in every circumstance. She must develop endurance, as Uncle Mathias told her. Who knew where her ongoing steps would bring her?
She wrung out a cloth in the water basin and freshened her complexion, then tried to brush the signs of saltwater from her long hair, yet a glimpse at her reflection in the mirror evoked an uncomfortable twinge.
The dress was becoming, and she indeed looked the lady he had mistaken her for on the road, but no change of garment would make up for last night. “A wench,” he had called her on the ship. What would he say now? What would he do?
She knew a man as knowledgeable as Baret Buckington would have heard the tale about her mother, even if he had not visited Foxemoore sugar estate since a boy. At Buckington House the family of the earl knew all about Sir Karlton’s offspring. He would know her history even as he knew the fine-blooded background of Cousin Lavender.
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at herself in the long glass with critical scrutiny. She reached a hand to her hair, drawing it tightly away from her face. Yes … that made her look a trifle more severe. Tonight Emerald Harwick must not resemble the daughter of a French beauty on Tortuga. She must look cold, even puritanical.
A thought came to her. She looked quickly toward her small wardrobe. A tiny smile formed on her mouth.
Breathing hard from exertion and rush, Emerald left her small room to go downstairs as her father had bidden. He would not approve of the colorless garment she had deliberately chosen. But he would not say anything in front of the viscount, she thought victoriously. The Puritan belief in sobriety provided her the right image that just might counter any memory Captain “Foxworth” had of a pirate in calico drawers.
Minutes later, she came to the steep flight of steps that led down to the parlor, her unrelieved black frock rustling stiffly over her pantaloons.
The plain bodice was tailored with a high ruffled neckline that scratched beneath her chin, and the puffed sleeves were plain, without a trace of lace or buttons. She had last worn the dress to the funeral of a town friend of Uncle Mathias. And she had brushed her hair away from her face into a chignon that turned out to be too heavy for her slender neck. Yet, even though pale, more from fright than anything else, the comely features that were all her own could not be hidden.
Emerald stopped on the bottom stairstep and stood stiffly as the door to her father’s small office opened. She drew in a small breath and waited, heart fluttering.
Her father walked out with Baret Buckington.
12
SUMMONS TO THE GREAT HOUSE
They talked in low tones and did not glance in her direction. Her father’s previous mood, she noted, had been wiped away as thoroughly as though hurricane winds had swept over him. She was certain that the last thing on his mind now was the impression his daughter would make on Baret Buckington.
Emerald took anxious note of the strain in her father’s expression and saw the viscount place what looked to be some manner of document inside his doublet. Baret too appeared preoccupied. To her surprise, her father did not seem to notice her altered appearance. What had they discussed?
At some word from her father, the viscount’s gaze briefly swept the hall and came to rest on her. She held her breath.
He stood without moving for a moment, simply looking at her. His expression was unreadable.
Her eyes searched his face for any sign of recognition, yet there was nothing in that remote gaze that said he knew her. Indeed, if she had wished to hide behind her ugly black frock and unbecoming hairstyle, she had succeeded—perhaps too well. The viscount seemed totally unimpressed by her and anxious to be off.
Emerald stood stiffly, her cold, clammy hand clutching the banister while Drummond brought the viscount his riding cloak and hat.
Then, appearing the essence of gallantry, Baret walked with her father to where she stood.
Emerald avoided his eyes and felt her knees weaken.
“May I present my daughter, Lady Emerald,” her father was saying. “Emerald, your cousin Viscount Baret Buckington.”
She did not have a title, nor was Baret a cousin. The fact that her father would claim so added to her discomfiture.
There followed a moment of acute silence. Her gaze swerved to Baret’s to see that she had failed a social propriety. According to custom, he had reached for her hand to bend over it, but she had not extended it. Quickly she did so, but only after he had withdrawn his own and had straightened.
Her gaze met his, mortified.
A malicious glint showed in the depths of his dark eyes.
He recognizes me.
Her curtsy came off awkwardly, her stiff skirts hardly moving. “My Lord Viscount,” she said breathlessly, waiting like a condemned prisoner for the noose to slip about her neck.
He bowed. “Why, my dear Lady Harwick. Now this is a surprise—a most gratifying experience.”
Oh, thought Emerald. Now it was coming.
Her father turned an inquiring look on her. “You two have met before?”
“Oh, no—” began Emerald with a rush.
But Baret said, “A most unforgettable occasion, Karlton.” He turned to Emerald. “Surely you recall the vivid moment, Lady Harwick?”
Her eyes rushed to his, imploring his silence. “You must be mistaken, your lordship.”
His gaze swept her austere hairstyle and frock. “I was certain I had met you returning from some nightly festivity. A masquerade ball perhaps?”
The rogue. “Oh, not at all. I’m sure of it. I—I’ve never been to London.”
“How unfortunate.”
“Nay, m’lord, I’ve no wish to travel so far,” she said quickly.
“I’m sure you’d find passage aboard my ship comfortable indeed.”
“Pardon, I’m quite certain I wouldn’t. I have my work here to do, you see. Jamaica quite contents me.”
“Does it so? Yes—I can see how certain aspects of life in Port Royal could be advantageous to a young lady.”
She wanted to wince at his smooth tone of voice.
“I serve a Christian cause in aiding my uncle!”
“Ah? I see. Your uncle support
s you in this work of yours?”
“Uncle Mathias is a godly man, m’lord!”
“A Puritan, no less.”
“Yes! He’s begun a Singing School for the slaves, and I’ve every intention of carrying on his work one day.”
Obviously he didn’t believe her. Her embarrassment rose higher when he turned with a faint sardonic smile to her father.
“May I encourage you, Karlton, to send my cousin to Buckington House? Her presence will prove a rewarding diversion to the earl and family. My grandfather will heartily approve of her.”
Emerald’s lips closed tightly. He was mocking her.
But Sir Karlton took his suggestion at face value and gave a wily smile of subdued pleasure. “Agreed, her education and introduction to society is a decision I’ve too long kept at bay. I feel certain we’ll soon be changing all that.”
“Nay, Papa, you know how I’ve vowed my dedication to the Singing School, and Uncle Mathias—”
“Mathias will soon get you into trouble with the Jamaican Council, lass. ’Tis against the law to educate the slaves, and teaching them Christianity is forbidden. He may risk his own neck if he wishes, but he won’t bring my daughter with him.” He turned to Baret and shook his head. “Pay her sprightliness no mind. She’s inherited a stubborn will from me, but sound training in the ways of a fine lady will soon set her well in the eye of society.”
Emerald’s dismay grew when she heard Baret saying smoothly, “May I suggest you introduce your daughter at the wedding celebration?”
Her head turned swiftly toward him, but Baret was looking at her father. The “celebration” was the outdoor barbecue and evening ball following Cousin Geneva’s wedding to Lord Felix Buckington.
I’d rather die than face them all, she thought with horror. And she suspected the silky-tongued Baret Buckington of having already guessed as much, and that was the reason he suggested her presence.
Before she could make a fitting excuse, he turned his attention back to her with a touch of smile. “Then it’s agreed upon. I won’t take no for an answer. I will look forward to your presence, Lady Harwick, at the ball. You too, Karlton. Now I must say good-bye. Business at Port Royal demands my full attention.” With that, he took a step back from her, this time not bothering to see if her hand was extended, bowed, and left the room.
Emerald stared after him, her frustration restrained until the front door closed behind him and the sound of his horse faded into the twilight.
Slowly she sank to the bottom step.
“Now what’s ailing you, lass? Too excited at the prospect of the fine ball? Ah! Did I not tell you he would think well of you?” He chuckled with the secret pleasure of his own thoughts. “Aye, ’tis going far better than I first thought it may.”
“Papa, I won’t go!”
His brows rushed together as he gazed down at her. “There’ll be no sass from you, or I’ll need to be turning you over my knee,” he said testily, shooting her a scolding glance. “You’ll go in the fine dress you were wearing earlier, and you’ll hold your head high. And what was the notion of changing into funeral clothes, I ask?”
“Can’t you see he was only mocking me?”
“Mocking you! Why, he behaved the perfect gentleman that he is. Have you no eyes in your head?”
“Gentleman indeed. Why, he may be the grandson of the earl, but he’s nothing more than—” She stopped. If she accused Baret of being a pirate, her father would be alerted and demand to know how and why she would say such a thing. She suspected he already knew that Baret was also Captain Foxworth of the Regale, but he didn’t know that she knew.
“Do you stand there, daughter, and tell your father a viscount’s invitation to the family house is to be scorned? He has more say than either Sophie or Geneva, and that’s saying a great deal when it comes to their insufferable ways. Baret is heir to half of Foxemoore! And who’ll dare scorn you when he’s asked you to show yourself?”
“Oh, Papa, please. You don’t understand. It’s his reason for insisting I show myself tomorrow that matters,” she said obstinately. “He wouldn’t look twice at me, and he’s going to marry Lavender. He only wishes to—” She went silent under his narrowed gaze, for she feared she had already said too much. At least the captain of the Regale hadn’t told her father that she’d been aboard his ship.
Sir Karlton gave her a close look. “And just what is his reason, or maybe I should be asking your reason for wanting to avoid the man? And if it has anything to do with your moonstruck feelings for that rascal Jamie Bradford, you had best dismiss the notion. Jamie’s a runaway, and he’ll stay far from Jamaica if he has an ounce of wisdom in that head of his.”
“It’s not Jamie—it’s the family and their guests. Do you think I want Lavender’s friends whispering about me and snickering behind their fans? I won’t go.” She rested her chin in her hand and gazed ahead.
His mood softened as it always did eventually, and he patted her head as though she were a child. “I’m proud you’re determined you won’t be treated lightly, and you won’t be, lass. I’ll be seeing to that when I return with Henry Morgan. There’ll be no more hiding you out here in the overseer’s bungalow, no more hobnobbing with men of the likes of Jamie Bradford. I’ll be regaining my fortune soon. And you’ll accept the viscount’s invitation to visit Buckington House.”
Emerald turned her head away. Buckington House!
“Now don’t get flighty with me, Emerald. You’ll go to London some day—and to my cousin Geneva’s wedding reception as well. And stay for the ball like he asked you. You’re as good as any brat who’ll show her face, including Lavender. And you’ll let them know it.”
He doesn’t understand, she thought dismally. He actually believes all he has to do is push me forward and I’ll end up a countess!
Her father wearied of the discussion and walked back into his cluttered office with its collection of navigation books.
The minutes ticked by as she sat on the stair listening to the big clock in the gallery overhead, dazed.
Slowly she stood, resigned to having lost the battle. She listened to her father moving about, opening and shutting desk drawers and cupboards as if searching for some item he couldn’t find.
She recalled the document that she had seen him hand to Baret and wondered what that might have been. Had the viscount confronted him about the debts they owed the family? She must find out. Dear God, have mercy on us, she prayed.
Emerald picked up her skirts and left the stairs, briskly crossing the floor to her father’s office.
Entering quietly, she shut the door. “Papa?”
Sir Karlton sat bent over his desk studying a drawing of what appeared to be the Spanish Main. She could only guess the displeasure of Uncle Mathias when he learned that her father would take to sea again, joining Morgan and the other buccaneers in a raid. Mathias was adamantly against such practices and had often fallen out with her father over the difference between “pirates” and “buccaneers.”
A buccaneer, or privateer, sailed under a letter of marque—authorization granted by the king through the governor-general. The king and the Duke of York—who was High Admiral—received their share of booty as well as the governor-general and members of his ruling body. But a pirate sailed without authorization and wished it so, not wanting to share his plunder.
She walked softly to the front of the desk, trying to quiet her awful skirts.
“Mathias believes I’ve talent to start a legal Singing School in Spanish Town,” she said of Jamaica’s capital. “I showed him a hymn tune I wrote. He likes it. My English students would pay, of course.”
He looked up, bewildered. “Singing school?”
She tapped her foot. “Like the one Mathias has here on Foxemoore for the slaves, only mine would be much larger, with students from the colonial families who would pay me for my service. You’ve seen my hymn tunes. Mathias insists they’re quite good.”
“Oh.” He looked sheepish. “A
ye, the hymns. Yes. Now I remember.”
She doubted that he did. “I’m certain I can get students.”
He stared up at her blankly, then frowned. “Singing pupils? A pleasant diversion for you, to be sure, when it comes to Jette and the twins.” He shook his head. “But there’s no need to go to Spanish Town.”
“To help pay our debts? I should gladly work.”
His eyes came to rest on her face. “The debts to the family and the London merchants? What about them? Did I not tell you my plans?”
She was confused. “Did not the viscount come to see you about the debts?”
He sighed. “No.”
She was not convinced. “You can tell me, Papa. What is it? Did he threaten you?”
“Threaten me? Great Scot, no! Hardly that!” He gave a whistle through his teeth, a familiar sound of dismissal, and a wave of his hand. Pushing back his chair, he stood. “Nay, nothing like that.” He walked to the open window and stared out toward the cane fields.
Emerald’s anxiety was growing as she came swiftly up beside him. She took hold of his muscled arm, looking up at the side of his face.
“It is Foxemoore, isn’t it? You gave the viscount the document to our share of the sugar.”
“The one from Earl Esmond? Nay, it is quite safe. I’ll tend the wolves that prowl the gates—don’t worry about that. This voyage will end matters. Nay,” he repeated. “It was nothing like that.”
He rolled the parchment and placed it inside his desk drawer, frowning thoughtfully. “’Tis Baret’s own father he came about. He came to discuss a certain map and journal once belonging to his father.”
This information she had not expected. A map and journal? The viscount was wise in the ways of the sea, and she suspected he had taken more than one Spanish galleon in his time. Yet this map and journal had been important enough to discuss with her father.
“Isn’t Captain Buckington joining with Henry Morgan? Why does he need his father’s map?”
He gave her a shrewd glance, as though to judge her motive for inquiring. “Aye, he is, but ’tis information he seeks on another matter concerning his father.”
Buccaneers Series Page 13