by Georgie Lee
‘I suppose her duties do give her some leeway to be ostentatious. I’m sure it’s something all ladies of rank do in England,’ Mrs Baker grudgingly conceded, sweating in her well-tailored but outdated short, green embroidered velvet jacket and matching petticoat.
Miss Baker nodded along with her mother, her pink silk dress with the lace along the bodice a touch more à la mode. Having been recently introduced to society, she drank in the adult conversation, reminding Cassandra of herself at fourteen. Like the young lady, she’d believed this initiation into womanhood was part of the natural course of things and hadn’t realised how easily it could be snatched away. Cassandra opened and closed her fan. It should be a triumph to be here, but it didn’t feel like one. The sense she was chasing the same illusion of success she’d been running after when she’d married Giles ate at her.
‘What do you say, Lady Shepherd, are all titled men and women in London expected to be extravagant, especially where balls are concerned?’ Mrs Chilton asked.
Cassandra set aside her concerns, ready to perform. All this effort was for Dinah and she would do well to remember it. ‘They are, but not every lady is inclined to follow the fashion.’
‘Is it the fashion to spend time alone with a pirate captain on his ship?’ Mrs Baker snidely asked. The tale of the attack on the Winter Gale, and Cassandra facing down the infamous pirate Captain, had spread the moment the ship had docked. It’d created something of a sensation and brought her a notoriety she’d used to further her goals. However, her time on the Devil’s Rose had also been a part of the stories and, as Dr Abney had warned, some people looked askance at her because of it. Cassandra tightened her grip on her fan and forced herself to smile the way she used to whenever she’d encountered Giles’s mistress at the theatre. Like his mistress’s nasty rumours about her, she could do nothing more than face them with dignity. ‘It is when the safety of one’s person and the entire crew is at stake.’
‘I hear Captain Rose is very handsome,’ Miss Baker tittered before her mother could reply.
‘The newspaper stories make him seem quite dashing,’ Miss Chilton added, making the fake roses on her wide-brimmed hat bob with her giggles.
Only Miss Fitzwilliam, Mr Fitzwilliam’s half-sister, showed no interest in the conversation. She fixed her dazzling blue eyes on everyone, scrutinising them with the sharpness of a hawk, saying nothing but listening to everything. The heat seemed not to bother her while she stood in her grey silk gown with black ribbons along the bodice.
‘Lydia, remember yourself,’ Mrs Chilton chided her daughter. ‘A dashing pirate indeed. What’s come over you?’
‘An unwarranted influence, I imagine.’ Mrs Baker regarded Cassandra as if it was her fault Miss Baker held romantic notions about pirates.
‘From what I saw of Captain Rose, he is very handsome.’ Cassandra winked at the two girls, sending them into a fit of giggles and making Mrs Baker scowl. She opened her fan, refusing to wilt beneath the woman’s chastising looks. She might seek their acceptance, but she wouldn’t allow any of them to cow her or they’d be relentless in their hounding. It was a hard lesson she’d learned in London.
‘Will Captain Rose still be handsome when he’s hanged, Lady Shepherd?’ Mr Fitzwilliam enquired, the arrogance of his position marking his stride as he left the men to join the ladies, his bergamot cologne as sharp as the late afternoon sun.
Cassandra stiffened in disgust when he came to stand beside her. Since her arrival, the burgess had made no effort to hide his interest in her, much to the chagrin of the matchmaking-minded Mrs Baker and Mrs Chilton. Cassandra would be glad if Mr Fitzwilliam turned his attention to either of their daughters and ended his dogged pursuit of her.
‘He’ll only hang if he’s caught and no one’s caught him,’ Cassandra challenged in a light voice. Her need of his influence couldn’t endear him to her. Nothing ever could after what she’d learned about him from Richard.
‘Yet.’ A wicked grin split his face, but failed to lighten the muddy brown of his eyes. Of average height, his jaw angled down to a rounded chin and full enough lips. He was handsome in a soft manner a few years of fine living and plentiful food would quickly erode. He wore a grey frock coat with gold embroidery around each buttonhole. His waistcoat was faced in dark yellow with matching breeches above his white stockings and silver-buckled shoes. He held a gold-tipped walking stick in his hand. Its dark, polished wood matched his fashionable shoes and tricorn hat. In Virginia, his fine clothes marked him as one of the elite, but in London, he’d instantly be recognised as a colonial. ‘With pirates, it’s only a matter of time before the Royal Navy catches up to them.’
Cassandra adjusted the fan ribbon on her wrist, worry for Richard unexpectedly overtaking her. Blackbeard hadn’t been able to elude capture for ever. Neither could Richard. The prospect he might be lost to her for good raised her flesh beneath her pale pink gown, as did the thought of him requesting her help.
‘I’ve received authority from the King to pardon any pirate who seeks the King’s Grace,’ Lord Spotswood interjected, entering the conversation along with the shade and drawing the other men with him. ‘The Crown believes it’s the best way to rid the seas of their scourge. Lady Shepherd, if you’re ever in close proximity to one again, please tell him about it.’
‘I’ll make a point of it should the chance arise.’ A strange hope she shouldn’t even contemplate filled her. If she could find a way to send word to Richard about the pardon, he might accept it. It would put an end to his troubles and at least one of hers. As fast as the idea came to her she dismissed it. If the purpose of forgiving pirates was to bring them back into good society, then a decree must have been read out in every pirate stronghold from North Carolina to Barbados. Surely Richard had heard of it. His not having walked into Williamsburg to claim one told her he wasn’t going to give up the thrill of the ocean for a bland life on land. ‘Though I wonder, if able-bodied men were given employment on our plantations instead of being pushed out of work by the odious purchase of slaves, would there not be fewer pirates?’
The gentlemen coughed and muttered into their punch glasses while their wives’ cheeks went red beneath their powder.
‘Lady Shepherd, allow me to show you the view of the river from the back porch,’ Mr Fitzwilliam offered, further rooting her to her new life, one which could never include Robert. With the trappings of civilisation sliding around her like the humid air, it was best not to think of him. ‘It’s breathtaking.’
She didn’t want to be alone with him, but she should take her leave before her tongue did an amount of damage neither her title nor her lands could undo. ‘I’d be delighted.’
He escorted her out of the shade of the tree and the strength of the sun added to her irritation at having to endure his company. All Williamsburg revered him as a member of the Governor’s Council and the House of Burgesses, and a prosperous merchant and landowner. She knew the truth about his illegal business dealings and the lives he’d ruined, but could say nothing. With no evidence, she was as powerless as Richard to make him pay for his crimes. Instead, she had to smile and endure him and keep Richard’s secret along with her hate of the burgess locked inside her.
Mr Fitzwilliam led Cassandra up the steps to the long porch spanning the length of the house. Across the river, an endless expanse of tress covered the rolling landscape, broken here and there by a square field.
‘Your house is well situated,’ was the best compliment she could conjure up.
‘So is yours. Belle View has one of the only docks close to the Chesapeake where the river is deep enough for large-draft ships to moor. If my dock had similar access, I could beat the Chesapeake Trading Company in services offered to farmers and traders. It would make the Virginia Trading Company far more lucrative than it already is.’ Mr Fitzwilliam’s Virginia accent was punctuated by a nasally twang so unlike the steady tones of Richard’
s voice. ‘If you build a larger dock and a warehouse and improved the roads to the wharf, you could establish a fine shipping business at Belle View. It’s better than wasting it on poor farmers hauling hogs up and down the river in leaking wherries.’
‘Poor farmers need access to docks, too. It’s the larger landowner’s duty to help their smaller neighbours,’ she repeated her father’s words. ‘I already allow some sizeable ships to moor there.’
She needed the fees the boats paid to help fund improvements to Belle View.
‘Without a better dock and stricter control of the cargo coming in and out of it, it’ll never prosper as it should.’
‘Yes, I’ve considered it.’ If the tobacco harvest was good for another few years, she could develop the Belle View wharf and perhaps establish a trade business like the one Mr Fitzwilliam suggested, the one her father had dreamed of years ago when they’d sat before the fire as a family. Cassandra missed the secure comfort, love and companionship of those days. Her present situation was too isolating and precarious to offer her any of those things now.
‘What you need is someone with experience to handle your business matters. If we combine our resources, we could become the most powerful couple in Virginia.’ He stared at the tops of her breasts above the line of powder-blue ribbons decorating the bodice of her dress, his lips curling up at the possibility of possessing both her land and her body. ‘Think of the influence you could wield.’
She snapped open her fan and waved it over her chest to block his view, the breeze from it ruffling the ribbon tied beneath her chin to hold on her wide-brimmed hat. The secret Richard had told her burned on her tongue as did her hate for Mr Fitzwilliam. He’d ruined her chance of happiness with Richard and there were no insults she could throw at him. Now, he wanted her to become his wife, to barter social esteem for her body, just as she’d done with Giles. She’d die first. ‘What influence will you have if Reverend Blair succeeds in having Lord Spotswood recalled?’ she asked in all innocence, determined to keep the conversation away from matrimony, but the question was as biting as the many flies down by the river.
Vincent jerked the edge of his frock coat. ‘Even if Lord Spotswood is replaced, as one of the largest landowners and the owner of the Virginia Trading Company, I’ll have a place on any future Governor’s Council.’
‘Mama!’ Dinah’s happy squeal and the thump of her feet on the porch stairs interrupted them. Jane, drooping in her simple wool dress, staggered behind her.
Cassandra knelt down and threw her arms open to catch her little mite. She hugged her tight, but Dinah wriggled free, chatting in short, hurried sentences about the caterpillar she’d seen in the flower bed. Cassandra listened, ignoring the disapproving scowl Mr Fitzwilliam fixed on them.
‘I think it’s time for the child to return to the others,’ he chastised.
Cassandra rose with Dinah’s hand in hers and faced him. ‘She will return when she and I deem her ready to do so.’
‘Of course.’ Mr Fitzwilliam smiled with feigned deference, his irritation at having his suggestion and authority rebuffed evident in his narrowed eyes.
Cassandra flexed her fingers over Dinah’s hand, then gripped her tight once more. She shouldn’t cross this influential man, but she wanted him to realise he could not order her about, especially where her child was concerned. Giles had done enough of that in London.
The sound of a man clearing his throat made them turn. Mr Adams, Mr Fitzwilliam’s man of affairs, stood at the back door leading into a drawing room. Cassandra swallowed hard, uneasy at the way Mr Adams regarded her. She’d had few dealings with him, but there was something about his light eyes set behind a long nose and his wide, pockmarked cheeks on either side of his thin lips which gave him the appearance of an owl waiting to swoop down to kill a mouse.
‘Mr Devlin and his son would like to see you in your office,’ Mr Adams announced in a voice as cold as an English winter.
Mr Fitzwilliam glanced back and forth between Mr Adams and Cassandra. It was the first time Cassandra had seen the gentleman’s confidence flag. ‘I’m afraid I must speak with them. I’ll return shortly.’
‘Don’t hurry because of me.’ With any luck, she could slip away while he was occupied. She’d had her fill of humidity, society and unwanted marriage proposals for one day.
* * *
‘What the hell are the Devlins doing here?’ Vincent growled. He and Mr Adams marched into the high-ceilinged entry hall and past the curving staircase dominating the far end. ‘There are enough damning rumours spreading about the Virginia Trading Company’s debts. I don’t need the Devlins here creating more and driving additional business to the Chesapeake Trading Company.’
Vincent strode into the study where Mr Devlin stood helping himself to the brandy. His large stomach forced the bottom of his white shirt to stick out from beneath his grey waistcoat. His son, Evander, lounged in a chair near the window as though the office were his. He was elegantly dressed in a tan frock coat and matching breeches. His dark hair, tied back in a queue, was neat and orderly where his father’s grey hair was frizzy and messy. If the son weren’t with his father, and a rapacious maker of loans with more money than taste, one might mistake the young man for a true gentleman.
‘Good day to you, Mr Fitzwilliam.’ The elder Mr Devlin raised his glass to Vincent, revealing a large circle of damp beneath his armpit. ‘Do you have my money?’
‘Keep your voice down. I have guests here—influential ones.’ Vincent slid the double-pocket doors closed, leaving Mr Adams to keep away nosy people who might happen by.
‘Then let’s saddle up your horses and take a ride and discuss the matter if you’re so concerned about your distinguished guests overhearing,’ Mr Devlin mocked, then threw back the drink. Vincent tightened his grip on the door handles. It was well known Vincent had never mastered riding. He preferred the elegance of sailing or his fine coach to a hard saddle. It was one of the many insults his father used to hurl at him during his drunken rants. ‘If I were you, I’d be more worried about the large amount of money you owe me rather than your fancy guests.’
‘And you’ll have it soon.’ Vincent let go of the door and took hold of the front of his coat, struggling to remain calm. The notes of the violin and harp drifting in from the garden were more grating than soothing. ‘I have two shipments departing tomorrow.’
‘Assuming they reach their destination. Pirates seem to have an appetite for Virginia Trading Company cargo.’ He threw his son a nudging look, then set down his glass.
‘It seems they do,’ the younger Mr Devlin concurred, a thin smile cracking the sharp planes of his impassive face.
Mr Devlin covetously examined the ornate candlesticks flanking the mantel above the cold fireplace. He plucked the delicate candle snuffer out from between them and turned it over in his thick hands. ‘If you can’t pay me in coins, you can always pay in goods.’
Vincent snatched the snuffer out of the man’s hand and raised it, wanting to beat him to death with the slender rod. The force of his movement wiped the covetous glee from the tobacco planter’s aged face and brought Evander ominously to his feet. Vincent lowered the snuffer and stepped back, regaining control over himself. ‘You’ll get your money.’
‘I’d better, or all Virginia will know your company is near sunk.’ Mr Devlin stepped around Vincent and made for the door, shoving one panel aside so hard it screeched on its rollers. ‘You have one month to pay or I’ll own this place.’
The hard fall of Mr Devlin’s boots against the floorboards faded off down the hall. His son followed, his pace leisurely as if he’d already taken control of Butler Plantation.
Mr Adams stepped inside the office and closed the doors behind him.
‘How dare he threaten me!’ Vincent slapped the snuffer against his palm. ‘Have you made the arrangement concerning the other matter?’
&nb
sp; ‘Yes. If all goes well, you’ll be in possession of a great deal of Spanish silver by the end of the week.’
Mr Adams didn’t offer any additional details, nor did Vincent ask, doing his best to keep his distance from this illegal trade. ‘And Captain Rose?’
‘He’s proven an elusive man to find. His crew is incredibly loyal to him. Makes it difficult to turn anyone against him,’ Mr Adams replied in a tone of near-respect.
‘Then search harder. I won’t have society gloating over my ruin while they swoop in like vultures to snatch up my property, land and influence.’ Vincent wandered to the portraits of his parents flanking the window across from his desk. The other paintings in the house were covered with netting for the summer, including the portrait of his mother that he’d brought down from the attic after his father’s death. Her pale skin shone beneath the netting shroud, but a smile didn’t decorate her youthful face. Even in the first days of her marriage, she hadn’t been happy.
I’m failing you.
The Virginia Trading Company had been her father’s. She’d raised Vincent to take pride in what would some day be his and what he could make of it and himself. All the while his father had done everything he could to destroy it and her. Vincent had been at her side when, bruised and broken, she’d finally given up. His father hadn’t cared enough to look her in the face in the end, too engrossed in drinking at the Raleigh Tavern and gambling away Vincent’s future.
‘You will not win, sir,’ Vincent sneered at his father’s portrait. It remained uncovered and the beetles could chew it to bits for all he cared. Vincent’s father had taken the coward’s way out, leaving Vincent to clean up the mess. He would trade with every pirate on the Spanish Main, or hire a mercenary fleet the size of the Armada to destroy Captain Rose before he’d allow him to steal his mother’s legacy from him the way his father had almost done.