The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  “I’m quite well, Mother, thank you.” Isabel grimaced. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  “Not see your parents? Absurd.”

  Isabel glanced over her mother’s shoulder to see her father standing in the foyer. His satin crimson doublet glistened in the rays of light coming in from the windows. Ruffles of lace trimmed his spotless breeches, beneath which silk stockings extended to his boots. Below his brown periwig, his ruddy face glowed not with joy but with perspiration and annoyance.

  Booted footsteps sounded behind her.

  Isabel had forgotten about the captain. Kent stepped beside her, his mouth set in a firm line.

  Her mother shrieked and tugged Isabel away.

  “Never fear, Mother.” Isabel pulled back and patted her mother’s hand. “The pirate is with me.”

  Her mother’s face twisted in horror. “With you?”

  Toiling with the white cravat bounding from his throat, the earl approached and halted before Kent, studying him with disdain. “A pirate. I daresay. Daughter, what has become of you?”

  “Hello, Father.” Isabel shuffled her feet and darted her gaze to Kent. Heat swarmed up her face and neck. “May I introduce Captain Carlton. He’s assisting me in my search for Frederick.”

  “Frederick! Who the blast is Frederick?” The earl adjusted his periwig.

  Isabel’s heart sank. She tried to speak, but a burst of sorrow stuck in her throat.

  Kent must have seen her agony. “’Tis your grandson, milord.” He doffed his plumed tricorn and swept it before him in a bow. But the twitching of his upper lip gave Isabel pause.

  “Humph,” the earl snorted. “I should have you arrested and hanged.”

  “On what charge?” Kent smirked.

  Sawkins inched up the stairs and took his place next to the earl, a cavalier grin on his lips.

  Isabel’s heart pounded. She gave Sawkins a pleading look, hoping he would step in. All she needed was for Kent and her father to break into a sword fight. Certainly if her father knew the captain was the pirate who’d ravished her, he would abandon the sword and simply fire a pistol shot through Kent’s skull. The thought disquieted her. If her parents wouldn’t help her, she still needed the captain’s ship to search for Frederick.

  Sawkins did nothing save stare at her from behind a silly grin.

  Clutching her stomach, Isabel stepped between her father and Kent. “Father, please, he is a friend.”

  Kent’s warm whisper drifted onto the back of her neck. “Promoted from scoundrel, then?”

  The earl clutched Isabel’s arm and pulled her to his side. “No matter. His company is unbefitting of someone of your status. You are home now and have no further need for pirates.”

  Turning toward Kent, he waved his jeweled hand in the air. “You are dismissed.”

  Kent’s dark eyes smoldered as they shifted from the earl to Sawkins.

  Isabel wrenched from her father’s grasp. “No, Father, your refusal to help me caused me to look elsewhere for assistance. I do need the captain.” She hoped her declaration would prod her father into offering his help. But instead, the earl’s face ballooned into a purplish red.

  “Is it not enough that you brought shame on this house? Now you disrespect me!”

  Her mother wove her arm through Isabel’s. “Come now, Brenton, please do not quarrel. Isabel has just arrived home.”

  As she stared into her father’s fierce eyes, a tremor ran through Isabel—the same tremor she’d always felt when she faced his stubborn wrath. But more was at stake this time than simply purchasing a gown or attending a ball. Her son’s life teetered in the balance betwixt her will and her father’s. She swallowed hard and looked at her mother. “Alas, Mother, I have not come home to stay. I thought perhaps you might…” She gazed up at her father. “I have returned your carriage. Now, I must go with these men and rescue my son.”

  Isabel turned to leave, but her mother clung to her arm, desperation pooling in her eyes.

  The earl stiffened his jaw and glowered at Isabel.

  Sawkins cleared his throat. “Milord.” He bowed toward the earl. “If I may offer a suggestion. I do need to discuss plans with”—he pointed a slender finger at Kent—“this man. And while we are thus engaged, perhaps Lady Ashton would like to refresh herself within?”

  “Brenton.” Isabel’s mother touched her husband’s arm. “Please let these men come inside to discuss whatever business they must. At least we shall have our Isabel back for a brief time.”

  Raising his chin, the earl gazed off into the distance. “Lord Sawkins may come in, but not the pirate.”

  Isabel stomped her foot. “His name is Captain Carlton, and ’tis his ship which he offers to help find your grandson.”

  The earl’s green eyes narrowed as he glared at Kent.

  “Brenton, please, Isabel is home.” Her mother cast a surly glance at Kent. “Surely you can accommodate this… this… man for a few moments.”

  Kent peered through the door, then nodded toward Isabel’s mother. “How kind of you, but I would much prefer to conduct my business on your porch.” His gaze snapped to the earl. “If you don’t think my presence here would defile it overmuch.”

  The earl’s burning glance scoured from Kent to Sawkins, who gave him a reassuring nod. “Very well, but be quick about it.” He turned to Sawkins. “And you, my good man, are welcome inside when you are done.”

  “I will stay out here as well,” Isabel stated. “I also wish to hear the news of my son.”

  Ignoring her, Isabel’s mother squeezed her arm. “I’m sure you’ve not been formally introduced to his lordship, my dear. Lord Sawkins,” she cooed, leaning toward the blond gentleman, “may I introduce my daughter, Lady Isabel Ashton. Isabel, this is the Lord Richard Sawkins of Colchester. He’s a baron.” She chuckled as though they were just meeting over tea.

  “Please forgive Isabel’s appearance,” her mother continued. “I’m afraid she’s just come from a long voyage.”

  Isabel cast her mother a peevish glance.

  “Quite the contrary.” Sawkins curled a strand of his hair behind his ear and swept her with his gaze. “The sun and wind become you. You are the picture of beauty, milady.”

  Isabel’s face warmed under his perusal. “Why thank you, milord.”

  Kent snorted.

  “Perhaps you should listen to your father,” Sawkins said. “Go inside, rest from your journey, and I will meet with Captain Carlton here on the porch.”

  “Ah, at last, the voice of reason,” the earl said. “Now, come along, Isabel.”

  Her mother pulled her through the doorway.

  Isabel yanked her arm back. “No, Mother. I want to hear about my son.” She spun around and thumped into her father’s wide chest. He pushed her back into the house, but Isabel slunk around him.

  “Isabel!” His harrowing voice roared through the foyer, halting her.

  Kent stared at her with sympathy through the open door. He gestured for her to go in. “I will tell you everything later. You have my word.”

  Grabbing the door, her father flung it shut. The slam shook the walls and echoed through the house like the sealing of a tomb.

  Isabel turned around. Her glance took in the Italian tiled floor, the wood-paneled walls, the glittering chandelier suspended high above her. Carved oak doors surrounded the foyer leading to the study, the library and the sitting room. A curved staircase ascended to clusters of rooms on the second floor.

  Nothing had changed.

  Numb, Isabel allowed her mother to escort her upstairs.

  “Isn’t Lord Sawkins charming?” She unlocked the door to Isabel’s room and swept her inside. “And so handsome and wealthy. What luck to run into him on this savage island.”

  “What luck indeed, Mother.”

  Isabel scanned the room and released a deep breath. Toiletries sparkled on her vanity, the armoire in the corner overflowed with colorful gowns, a white coverlet billowed on her bed beneat
h mounds of pillows. All the comforts and luxuries she had missed so much. Plopping onto the plush feather bed, she spread her hands over the soft silk.

  “I’ll have a bath brought up, my dear. Refresh yourself and get out of that hideous rag.” Her mother rolled her eyes and gave her a maternal smile. “I’ll return shortly. Oh, ’tis so good to have you home.” She headed out the door, her laughter ringing through the hallway as she left.

  Isabel crinkled her brow. Didn’t her mother understand she must leave soon? Hadn’t she heard anything Isabel had said below?

  Soon, two servant girls brought up pail after pail of water and poured them into a white tub in the corner of Isabel’s room until it was filled. After they left, Isabel tore off her dirty gown and undergarments, kicked them in the corner, and stepped into the bath. The hot, steaming water splashed on her chin as she plopped into the porcelain tub, expecting the warmth to sooth her nerves like it always had, but today it only seemed to aggravate her further. She used to spend hours soaking in this very tub, dreaming of a grand future, without a care in the world. Now, though her home, her parents and this very room had remained the same, Isabel realized that she was the one who had changed.

  After a quick scrub, she jumped out of the tub, raced a towel over her body, and snatched one of her gowns from the armoire, donning it hastily. She combed and pinned her hair up and sprayed herself with perfume, then leaned to glance at her reflection in the mirror of her vanity. She barely recognized the woman who glared back at her—no longer the innocent girl who’d last graced this room.

  Scurrying to the window, she scanned the lush green lawns, beautiful gardens, and the horses grazing in the field. Her father had done well since she’d been gone. If she stayed now, surely it wouldn’t be long before she’d enjoy all the luxuries they’d once had in Hertfordshire. Or perhaps he’d even make enough money to move them back to England. That had been her dream ever since they’d first arrived in New Providence. Now that she saw it coming to fruition, it no longer seemed important. All Isabel could think about was what Lord Sawkins and Captain Carlton were discussing below. She would not wait another minute.

  Darting to the door, she flung it open and crashed into her mother, nearly knocking her over.

  “Dear,” her mother stammered as Isabel steadied her. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” She took a step back. “You look absolutely stunning. Lord Sawkins will be so delighted,” she cooed, ushering Isabel back into the room.

  “Why would I concern myself with delighting Lord Sawkins?” Isabel glanced out the open door.

  “Why, he’s everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s what you’ve dreamed of. And he seems quite taken with you, my dear.” She clasped Isabel’s arm and leaned toward her. “He doesn’t even seem to mind your little indiscretion.”

  Isabel’s heart wrenched. “I would hardly call my son an indiscretion.”

  Her mother studied her. “You seem different, dear.”

  “I am different, Mother. I have a child now.”

  Turning, her mother busied herself with straightening the pillows on the bed. An ache formed in Isabel’s heart for the woman she had once admired above all others. Her chestnut hair was curled and pinned elegantly at the back of her head, circling a creamy face—unmarred by the hot Caribbean sun. Only the tiny lines around her eyes and the slight sag of the skin on her neck gave away her age. Until now—until it had happened to Isabel—she had not understood what her mother had suffered when her only child was kidnapped. Especially when no news of Isabel had come to her for months. But many good things had happened to Isabel during that time as well. Should she tell her mother about her newfound faith? Isabel wrung her hands and glanced out the door again. The baritone sound of male voices lured her downstairs. She hated to delay even another minute her quest for her son. Her mother’s sweet face swung to hers, nothing but love and adoration flickering in her gaze.

  Isabel rushed to her mother’s side and grasped her hands. “And I’ve found God, or I suppose He found me. I’ve given my life to Jesus, Mother, and it’s been so wonderful.” She longed for her mother to do the same, knowing it would make such a difference in her life.

  “Well, yes.” Her mother tucked a loose strand of Isabel’s hair into her bun. “We’ve attended church since you were young.”

  “I don’t mean church, Mother. I mean a real relationship with God.”

  Her mother frowned. “Never mind that now, dear. You are home. Let us forget the past few years and begin where we left off.”

  Sorrow swept through Isabel, followed by a huge sense of loss. At one time she’d been so close with her mother. Now she felt as though she were talking to a stranger. She gave her mother’s hand a squeeze and smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

  Tears moistened her mother’s eyes.

  “Shall we go see what Father is doing?” Isabel tugged on her mother’s arm.

  Down in the sitting room, the earl sat in his padded leather chair by an immense fireplace that he’d insisted on building but never used in the tropical heat. With pipe in hand, he spoke pointedly to Lord Sawkins, who stood with one hand draped over the mantel.

  The spicy scent of tobacco drifted over Isabel as she and her mother entered. Lord Sawkins turned, and his eyes lit up.

  Isabel scanned the room. “Where is the captain?”

  “On the porch where he belongs,” her father said, taking a puff from his pipe.

  Ignoring him, Isabel approached Lord Sawkins. “I beg you, milord. Please tell me what you told Captain Carlton.”

  “I’d be happy to, milady.”

  Isabel’s mother stepped forward. “Surely you aren’t encouraging our daughter to take this preposterous trek, milord.”

  “Mother, how can you say that?” Isabel said. “Every minute I linger here is one more minute Frederick is lost. If you won’t help me, Father, I must leave immediately with the captain.”

  Isabel’s father rose. His immense frame swallowed her up in his shadow. “I forbid it, Isabel. I thought perhaps a bath would not only clean you of your filth but wash away your foolish notions as well. You are home now and home you will stay.”

  Taking a deep breath, Isabel stepped toward him. Her knees quivered. “I will not, Father. I must find my son.”

  “Nay, I will not have it. You will—”

  “Darling.” Her mother clutched Isabel’s arm, but her pleading gaze landed on her husband. “Perhaps these men could find the boy and bring him back here.”

  “I’ll not have that son of a pirate in this house!” Her father flung his pipe against the marble fireplace.

  Clutching a hand to her stomach, Isabel’s eyes filled with tears. “He is your grandson, and he always will be.” She yanked her arm from her mother’s grasp and ran out the front door.

  Kent jumped up from the bottom step, concern warming his eyes when he saw her. Sawkins stomped down the stairs after Isabel and onto the gravel pathway.

  “If you sail off with this pirate,” her father bellowed from the doorway, “and bring further disgrace to the Ashton name, I will disown you. You will no longer be my daughter.”

  Isabel halted and turned around. Her mother gasped and flung a hand to her mouth. Yet the earl’s face remained like steel.

  A warm breeze blew in from the sea and fluttered the leaves on the gardenia bushes surrounding the porch. Isabel glanced over the immaculate house, the beautiful gardens, the wealth that seeped from the very ground beneath her feet. Her eyes met her mother’s beseeching look. All Isabel had to do was walk back in that house, back where she would be safe and cared for and where all her dreams would come true.

  Even as she stared at her father, moisture glistened in his unbending gaze. He loved her in his own way. She knew that. How could she turn her back on her family? How could she turn down her only chance at happiness? If she left now, she’d be nothing but a desolate commoner with no money, no husband, no title, and no future.

  Isabel took one last glance
into the pleading eyes of her parents, her heart crumbling. Then turning her back to them, she forced her quivering legs to walk down the gravel pathway. She skirted the carriage as Kent and Sawkins fell in step beside her. By the time she reached the gate, sobs burned in her throat, but she forced them down as the servant swung the iron lattice open with a grinding screech. It clanked shut behind her, locking her forever from all that mattered to her in this world—all save Frederick.

  And it was his call alone that beckoned her onward.

  Chapter Nine

  The Deception

  Sawkins checked his pistol for the third time and returned it to its holster on his baldric. He paced the dirty alleyway, careful to avoid the puddles of slop that had been heaved from the windows above. His nose curled at the stench of human waste and rotting food. Bawdy music and roaring laughter blared from the tavern next to him. He rubbed his sweaty fingers over the hilt of his cutlass.

  A splash and the crunch of sand alerted him, and he squinted into the shadows. Captain John Morris emerged into the scattered rays of the moon, a twisted grin on his lips. “You sail tonight?”

  “That we do.” Sawkins caught movement behind Morris and reached for his pistol. The slight whimper of a baby reached his ears.

  “Calm yourself, ’tis only the babe.” Morris fingered his own pistol “You’re as skittish as a ship mouse.”

  A dark-skinned woman lingered behind Morris, holding a wrapped bundle to her chest.

  “You brought the child here?” Sawkins found Morris’s audacity invigorating. “What if she hears her baby cry?”

  “’Tis all part of the fun of it.” Morris chuckled. “We have an accord then?”

  “Yes, as planned.” Sawkins hesitated, his thoughts drifting to Isabel. “The woman, she’s quite delectable. I had no idea Captain Carlton had such exquisite taste.”

  “Do not underestimate him. He is a formidable foe.” Morris turned and spat onto the ground. “And don’t allow your weak sentiments to dissuade you. I know what a fool you are for a comely face. She must go, along with the child.”