by Grace Walton
“Why does this dangerous man hate your sister? And what are we going to do about it? I say we send him packing.”
“He doesn’t hate her, Rory. I’m very much afraid the man loves her. And she, him. But it will do them no good.”
“I have told you many times in the past that I despise these cryptic moods of yours. Either speak plainly or I will get to the bottom of this mystery myself,” she threatened.
He grinned down at his feisty wife. It always amazed him that, from the beginning, she had been unafraid of him. He was Heartless St. John, a man both feared and reviled. But this incredible woman loved him in spite of his fierce reputation.
“I fear they love each other.”
“You have said as much already.”
“But they are not for each other.”
The woman sighed as she looked up at her hard, handsome husband. “Dylan, this is America. We don’t cling to your antiquated ideas of class and status. Of course, they can marry. If Jessamine loves the man, he can’t be a total reprobate.”
“He’s not a reprobate. But they can’t marry.”
“I don’t see why not. Is he indigent? If he hasn’t the means to support Jess, we can help them until he does,” she argued.
Dylan’s low chuckles were dark. They sent shivers up the woman’s spine.
“I don’t understand. You even forgave Bram Gottlieb after that whole messy affair that transpired before we wed. Why can’t you see the good in this… this… pirate. People can change, Dylan. You know this very well. For look how you yourself have been transformed into a pattern of respectability?”
“Rory, stop your tirade,” he said with his hands lifted in surrender.
The woman sniffed at his temerity. But she managed to hold her tongue. She arched her eyebrow at him in question. It was a trick she’d learned from the man himself. He found it and everything else about Aurora Windsor St. John adorable.
“They cannot marry and we cannot avoid the man because he will be our newest circuit-riding preacher,” he said succinctly.
“That pirate is a vicar?” It was apparent she was shocked.
“He will be very shortly.”
“A Christian pirate?” She was not yet convinced.
Dylan shook his head. “He’s not a pirate, love. He works for Arthur Bassett. His flamboyant appearance is merely a ruse.”
Rory looked doubtful. “He certainly looks the part. More so than need be, if you ask me.”
“He’s a handsome rogue,” Dylan agreed. “Women seem drawn to that type. Arthur has used that as an asset.”
“Much like he used you,” Rory said pertly.
Dylan frowned down at her. They rarely discussed his life before he met her. Although, he’d been honest with her, from the very beginning, about his profligate past. He would not like to see her troubled over events that happened before he came to his faith. He was, as she said, a much different man now. Though he scarcely considered himself respectable.
“They won’t marry,” was all he said.
“Because you have asserted yourself as the head of the family and forbidden it?” Rory seemed grieved.
“I did forbid the marriage. For whatever good it was worth, since Jess promptly rebelled against my authority.”
“And well she might. Your sister is an adult, Dylan. She can do as she pleases.”
“Aye, so she told me,” he smiled again. But this smile was forlorn. “That is not the reason they will not wed.”
“No?”
“No. After she humbled herself, so far as to literally beg the man to marry her, he humiliated her in front of a whole host of witnesses.” Now there was a hard edge to his words.
Rory gasped. “Oh no, poor Jess. But if they love each other, why would he so foolishly throw that away? True love matches are rare.”
“They are, indeed,” he said as he steered her around several bales of raw cotton waiting to be transported to the teeming docks on the street below them.
“Then why?”
“He says he must keep his vow to the Lord. And that includes becoming a circuit rider. Tis a dangerous occupation in the best of times. And right now, with the Creek Indians still rising on the frontier, it’s almost a sure death sentence.”
“He’s being noble,” she sighed.
Dylan frowned. He didn’t like his pretty wife sighing over the actions of another man. Especially the handsome McLeod.
“He’s being an idiot,” the big man disputed. “But no one can dissuade him from his calling.”
“Has anyone tried?”
“Love, I’ve been in Charlestown’s gaol and afterwards I’ve been hacking my way through sawgrass in the back country. There’s been very little time for theological debate.”
“Maybe I should try talking to him?”
“No.” It was a categorical order. “I meant it when I said I want you and the children away from the man. He’s too new to the faith to know much of anything except his determination to play the martyr by doing the one thing he hates the most.”
“God doesn’t work that way.”
“No love, thankfully He does not. But McLeod doesn’t know that. And the man has mistaken his own stubborn will for God’s.”
“I’ll pray for him,” Rory said as she tucked a trusting hand into the crook of her husband’s arm. “God can fix this. Look at what He did for us. Who would have thought the biggest tomboy in Savannah would have ended up wed to the ton’s most notorious rake?” she asked with a great deal of cheek.
Dylan slapped a playful hand over his heart. “The ton’s most reformed rake,” he corrected.
“I do hope you don’t take this reformation business too far,” she teased. “I like my rakish husband. As long as he reserves his seductive skills for only me.”
“Only and ever you, my love,” he whispered into her ear.
Their attention was captured by the sound of sudden shouting on the street below. Above the incessant groan of the various ships rubbing up against the wooden dock and the creaking of the ever-present drays’ wagon wheels, they heard a furious argument escalating.
“You stole my ship!” Finn towered over the girl who stood unrepentant before him.
She still wore the tattered clothing of a boy. Her thick braid swung to and fro like a pendulum down her back as she gestured broadly with angry hands.
“Oh dear,” Rory said to her husband. “Do you think they will hurt each other?” she asked as the blonde girl kicked out at the pirate castigating her.
“They’ve already hurt each other, love, in so many crucial ways. This is just their unspent passion.” Dylan lengthened his stride and half-carried his wife down the cobblestone steps to the docks.
“Where have you been?” Finn demanded as he fumed down at Jess. “I’ve been searching for you for almost a bloody fortnight.”
The girl, facing him, balled her hands up and planted them squarely on her slim hips. “We got caught in another squall. I dare say you couldn’t have gotten here any quicker, if you’d been manning the wheel.”
“Do not tell me you captained my ship.”
Jess stuck her pert nose up in the air. “Fine then, I won’t tell you.”
Neither saw the confluence of folks of every description gathering to view the spectacle. Some of them were workers, some were passengers on another ship that had also recently docked. All of them were riveted by the sight of a small slip of a woman in men’s apparel haranguing the biggest, most deadly-looking pirate they’d ever seen.
“Hello Finn,” purred the aristocratic woman who’d just ambled off the nearby ship.
The man uttered a low foul oath. He turned to face her. “What are you doing here, Iona?”
“What, no kind word for your sister-in-law?” the hard woman tittered. “Your poor widowed sister-in-law.”
“Bloody Hades, Cedric’s dead?”
The woman lasciviously licked her blood-red carmined lips. “Yes, Your Grace.” She dropped into a slow, dee
p court bow. Her head was turned at the perfect angle to give Finn and any other who cared to see an excellent view of the white bosom exposed by the low cut of her stylish gown.
“I am no aristocrat. I told you years ago, I planned to decline the title. If you’ve sailed all this way in hopes of snaring yourself another duke, you’ll be sadly disappointed.”
“Oh no, Your Grace,” Iona McLeod, Dowager Duchess of Maitland, shook her curled head. She clucked her tongue in faux sympathy. “I have no desire to remarry, at least for another six months.”
“Then why are you here?” Finn had no time to deal with this now. He had to be certain Jess suffered no ill effects from the latest mad adventure she’d embroiled herself in.
“Why, I thought to introduce you to your daughter, of course,” the beautiful woman simpered.
Chapter 14
“Your gown is lovely,” Rory tweaked at the hem of Jess’s dress. The rich, heavy silk pooled at the girl’s feet.
For a ball gown, it was rather plain. The color was not at all suitable for a young miss. Black was the color of mourning. But considering all that had befallen Jess in the last few weeks, perhaps the color was appropriate, after all. No one would fault the cut of the dress. It was fitted in the newer style. It hugged her bosom, revealing the startling heart-shaped birthmark high upon her left breast. Rory was not at all sure it was suitable to flaunt the cunning little mark. It would surely draw every male eye to Jess’s perfect female form. But, at least the gown was modest in every other respect. It flowed down to the girl’s slippers in a soft drape. Long tight sleeves ended at Jess’s wrists.
This was the first ball Jess had attended in over a year. She found the clothing tight and restricting. Especially after weeks of the glorious freedom of wearing breeches. Even the undergarments felt confining. Her hair was plaited and pinned atop her head. The weight of it was giving her a headache. She just wished this night was over.
According to her brother Dylan, Arthur Bassett would be in attendance at the ball this evening. She’d yet to make the man’s acquaintance. So she had the letter from Mother Marguerite Marie tucked safely inside her reticule. She hoped to be able to pass it to him tonight.
She’d had such fine, idealistic plans. She’d somehow win Finn over to her way of thinking. Then they’d both hie off to the wilderness of what lay beyond the Flint River. They’d devote their lives to bringing the gospel to the Indians there. She’d worked it all out in her mind as she’d sailed Finn’s ship to Savannah. Of course, she’d not breathed a word of her scheme to Aunt Dorcas. The mere thought of her niece taking up residence with savage Indians would have sent the poor dear off into another fit of the vapors.
“Here, I’d like you to wear these.” Rory draped a string of glittering black beads over Jess’s head. She fixed the clasp and turned the girl to look at herself in the wavy glass of a small mirror set atop the dressing table.
In the glow of the candlelight in the chamber, Jess fingered the jet-colored pearls. “Are these yours?” she asked.
Rory nodded. “Yes, they are rose pearls. Dylan had them restrung for me. I don’t wear them any longer. They’re actually mourning beads. But I thought they’d look nice with your gown.”
“They’re beautiful.” Jess turned so the light from the candle would flash off the shiny surface of the beads. “Thank you.”
“Hmmp,” Tirzah commented from her place in a chair by the fireplace. “They’s meant for grievin’. You ain’t got nothing to be grievin’ over, gal.”
“Tirzah,” warned Rory with a hard look.
The black woman spread her broad work-roughened hands. “I ain’t saying nothin’ you ain’t thinkin’, Rory St. John. And you knows it.”
The burning wood in the hearth crackled. A clock on the mantel ticked rhythmically. All else was silence.
“I suppose you’re right,” Jess acknowledged.
The last few weeks had seemed an eternity. There’d been no romantic, last-minute meeting with the new Duke of Maitland. Somehow, that seemed to make what was going to happen tonight even harder. But she could understand why he’d favor his family over her. He had a daughter. One, she was sure, he’d never met. And tonight all of Savannah, at least the better parts, was turning out for a ball in honor of Finn, the new Duke of Maitland, and his aristocratic family. Jess supposed she’d be forced to meet his sister-in-law formally and his daughter.
Every time she thought of Finn, the man she loved, with that snake of a blonde duchess, Jess mourned her loss all over again. She’d still not made any firm decisions on what to do with the rest of her life. Becoming a missionary, with Finn, to the Creek Indians, as she’d once thought to do, still held appeal. Just getting away from the pitying glances of all of Savannah would be a relief.
Somehow the truth of her ruin had reached these shores almost as quickly as she had herself. Rumors of her relationship with the new duke now ran rampant. There was even talk of her being Finn’s discarded mistress. Besides being humiliating, it was all a lie. But there was no way she could defend herself. And she didn’t want any of her siblings involved in dueling over her lost honor.
Instead of trying to recapture her lost reputation. Jess decided to reinvent herself. There was always a need for volunteers at Rev. Whitfield’s orphanage over in White Bluff. Or she may join the Moravians who still maintained a religious settlement a few miles down the coast. She had options. Ones that didn’t include the husband and noisy brood of children she’d always dreamed of having.
“If you ast me, somebody need to have a Come to Jesus meeting with that there pirate.” Tirzah wasn’t through giving her opinion.
“Nobody asked you,” Rory said.
“You watch your mouth, gal. I can still come after you with a little green switch,” chided the old black woman. “Sides, you need to be gettin’ downstairs. You know that man o’ yours ain’t too good at waiting. He liable to take off to that fancy dance without you.”
Rory stopped by her foster mother and frowned. “Leave Jess alone. Some things are too deep for tears. This is one of them.”
Tirzah snorted her answer. She barely waited until the Duchess of MacAllister disappeared out the door before she began talking.
“You gone let that hussy take yo man?” she asked the girl standing by the dressing table.
“He’s not my man,” Jess corrected as she shrugged herself into the black satin domino that matched her subdued gown.
Tirzah heaved her considerable bulk out of the small parlor chair. She lumbered over to the troubled girl. “He yourn if you want him.” She methodically tied the thin velvet ribbons at Jess’s throat. With the cape fastened, the old lady looked the girl square in the eye.
“It’s complicated,” Jess said, dropping her gaze to her feet. “There’s that infernal vow he made. And now he’s a duke and… and a father.”
“Chile,” Tirzah put a comforting arm around the girl. “Life’s full of trouble. It always gonna be. God set it up thataway. So He must know way more than we do about why it’s gotta be so hard.”
“But this is… it’s impossible.”
“You sayin’ you cain’t love that chile the harlot brought with her?”
“Of course not,” Jess answered. “It’s not her fault. She’s as much a victim in this whole mess as I am.”
Tirzah cocked her head to one side. The colorful turban she wore listed heavily with the movement. She used one hand to slap it back in place. “That how you see yo’self? As a victim?”
Jess wasn’t quite sure how to answer the pointed question. After a few moments reflection, she shook her head. “No.”
It was true; all that had recently befallen her was not of her choosing. And it was a fact that she loved Finn McLeod, duke or no. And also it was plain she’d never be his wife. But she wasn’t a victim. She was blessed.
“I’m glad to hear it. Cause, chile, that man be purely lovesick over you.”
“He is?” Jess was startled.
&n
bsp; “He sho is. He been showing up on Mr. Dylan’s doorstep, like clockwork, every morning fore dawn. Rory’s duke, he ain’t letting yo man in the house. But that don’t stop the pirate from trying to see you every, single, day.” It was clear she relished telling the tale.
“But… but no one’s told me.”
“Course they hasn’t. Mr. Dylan done give orders you ain’t at home.”
“He has?” Jess fumed. “Excuse me, Tirzah, I need to go have a word with my brother.”
“Now hold your horses, missy. Going down there and causing another ruckus ain’t in yo best interests.”
“But Dylan’s kept Finn from me. What if he wanted to talk to me? What if he’s had a change of heart? What if Finn wants to marry me?”
Tirzah chuckled at the girl’s sudden animation. “Oh honey chile, he does want to talk to you. And he shore do want to marry you. I ain’t never seen a man so lovesick since Mr. Dylan met Miss Rory. But I ain’t so sure your pirate’s had a change of heart about this whole circuit rider folderol. Cause they’s still a whole lotta talk about him getting ready to take off to the wilderness.”
“It’s that careless vow,” Jess muttered.
“I’se thinking somebody needs to set that poor man straight about making foolish promises to God. And about praying over them, when he makes them, stead of just deciding he so smart he knows God’s own mind.”
“Even if Finn could be persuaded, he’d just give up being a circuit rider and go back to Scotland. He has a duty to his family. And I know Finn. He’d want to do anything he could for his daughter.”
“I ain’t so very sure that poor girl is his,” Tirzah said.
“What?” Jess looked as if the idea had never crossed her mind. “You think Lady Iona is lying?”
“That tarted-up wench?” Tirzah sniffed. She waved a broad hand in the air. “I don’t like to accuse nobody. But I think she got the look of a fox. A sneaky, egg-suckin’ fox. Where you suppose that girl-chile got her red hair? Yo pirate is dark as sin. That puffed up Lady Iona got hair and eyes lighter than yourn. How you reckon they come to make a redheaded baby?”