by Georgie Lee
‘We burned the bottom black.’
‘And almost set the kitchen on fire doing it.’
‘I’ve heard sailors use more genteel language than she did that afternoon.’ He smiled for the first time since she’d seen him at sea, all Richard with no trace of Captain Rose.
‘I never realised she knew so many Scottish curses.’ She wadded more strips of clean cotton and set them in place. ‘Neither did the farrier who tramped through her kitchen last week, dirtying her newly cleaned floor. I fear Dinah will repeat one of her more vivid sayings some time soon.’
He reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘It’s good to see you smile.’
‘I could say the same about you.’
He lowered his hand and rested it behind his head, but his smile and the rare humour gracing him didn’t fade. ‘Perhaps I should get shot more often if it brings us this much joy.’
‘I think there are less lethal ways to find laughter.’ Except, she’d found it for the first time in years with him. Even in the midst of their current troubles he’d lightened her spirit and she his, but it was his body distracting her at present. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gently urged him up so she could wrap a strip of cloth around him and secure the wads. Her fingertips burned from the heat of his taut skin, almost making her fumble the cotton before she let go of him. While she tied the knot in front, his chest rose and fell with quick breaths to match hers.
She sat back, the angles of his face increased by the dawn light becoming brighter behind the thin curtains. Outside, the birdsong grew louder, insisting she go.
‘I’ll return as soon as I can and bring food and fresh bandages.’ Assuming he was still here—although in his current weakened state, she doubted he’d get far. It was a slim comfort. ‘Try to get more sleep.’
‘I won’t stay here any longer than necessary.’
‘You’ll stay until you are well.’ She stood and made for the door. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
* * *
Cas slipped out of the cabin and into the thick mist covering the countryside, taking her charm, comfort and laughter with her. Richard lay back against the pillows, lighter in spirit than he should be for a man with a hole in his shoulder. There was laughter aboard the Devil’s Rose, a great deal of it when they were sailing on a steady wind in gentle water, but there wasn’t the tenderness he experienced in Cas’s care or the delight he found in her smile.
Richard reached over, fighting against his dizziness to pick up one of the thin strips of cotton she’d torn from her panniers. He drew it through his fingers, the fine fabric as soft as her touch. It pleased him to think he could still make her smile, even in the midst of troubles. It had allowed him to forget everything for a few precious moments, including the fool he was making of himself over her. His men would howl with laughter if they could see him, but they were at Knott Island and he was here with the fading impression of Cas’s fingers against his skin and the delicate notes of her laugh enchanting him, offering him a taste of the peace he’d experienced only in his dreams.
That’s all they are, dreams. This is reality. He needed to heal and leave, both for her safety and his. There was work to be done, plans to be made and Vincent to ruin. He closed his eyes, recalling charts and courses to Cape Hatteras to clear his mind of her until he fell asleep, the fabric still clutched in his hand.
* * *
‘Richard!’ Cassandra cried, struggling through the thick fog in the forest to find the cabin. The trail was gone, so overgrown with vines and weeds she could barely see more than a few feet in front of her. Mud clung to her shoes and weighed down the hem of her dress, making each step like marching through a bog. ‘Richard!’
‘My lady.’ A voice pierced the mist. ‘My lady.’
Cassandra wrenched herself from the tight hold of the nightmare and sat up, blinking against the noon sun pouring in through her Belle View bedroom window. Her body protested the interruption of sleep and exhaustion dragged at her limbs. Across the room, her muddy dress lay rumpled on the floor near the wardrobe where she’d dropped it before climbing into bed. Her return to Belle View had been easier than she’d expected except for the moment she’d narrowly avoided running into Mrs Sween in the hallway before the housekeeper had gone down the passage to the kitchen.
Jane stood beside her, scared like a mouse. ‘Lady Shepherd, Mr Fitzwilliam is downstairs waiting to see you. Should I say you aren’t feeling well after tending to Dinah all night and send him away?’
Heaven smite the man. She didn’t need the worry of him adding to those already pressing on her. She was tempted to send Jane downstairs with the excuse, but putting him off might only encourage the man to call again. He was irritatingly persistent where she was concerned. She needed to make sure he went away for longer than a day or two. Cassandra flipped back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. ‘I’ll go downstairs and see him. Help me prepare.’
At the nightstand, she splashed water over her face to clear the last of the sleep from her eyes. Jane approached with the simple peach-silk gown she’d selected from the wardrobe.
‘No, I’ll greet him en déshabillé. It’s more fitting for a woman who’s been worrying over her child.’ It would also keep him from asking her to join him for a walk or some other impromptu outing.
Jane returned the peach dress to the wardrobe and removed the voluminous pale blue robe lined with yellow. She fluffed out the garment, then held it up for Cassandra to slide her arms into it.
‘Where’s Dinah?’ Cassandra tucked her feet into her satin slippers, then sat at her dressing table.
‘Taking her nap.’ Jane pinned Cassandra’s hair beneath a simple lace cap.
‘Good. Keep her in her room. I don’t want Mr Fitzwilliam to see her well.’ Cassandra reached up to pinch some colour in her cheeks, then stopped. The more wan she appeared, the more likely he was to leave quickly and without a great deal of questions.
Cassandra swept from the room and downstairs, slowing her pace when she reached the bottom. Despite the agitation crawling through her, she must appear to Mr Fitzwilliam like a tired mother, not a nervous cat. The closer she came to the drawing room, the harder it was to control her agitation and her regrets. If she hadn’t been so eager to court his influence, he might not have taken such an interest in her and been so troublesome.
‘Lady Shepherd, is everything all right? You don’t look well,’ Mr Fitzwilliam exclaimed the moment she entered the sitting room. He tucked his tricorn under his arm, then waved for her to sit down on the faded sofa in front of the window, as overly solicitous with her today as he’d been last night, the sentiment ringing as false as a cracked bell.
She remained standing, intent on making it clear this would be a short call. ‘It was a very trying night. Dinah is still sick.’
‘Is it serious?’ He clutched his chest like a frightened old woman and took a step back, ready to bolt from the house and save himself.
‘It might be the ague,’ she lied, hoping the potential danger hastened his departure. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you leave. I wouldn’t want you to fall ill.’
‘And what of you?’ He took her hand, pressing his clammy palm against hers. ‘We can’t have you sick or fatiguing yourself over some harmless childhood illness.’
Cassandra snatched her hand back, wanting to slap him for his disregard for Dinah’s life. ‘She has not been seasoned like the rest of us so I can hardly call the ague harmless. It could kill her.’
‘We can’t have that now, can we?’ He lowered his head, trying to appear humble, but Cassandra caught the hope in his eyes and it disgusted her. Whatever designs he had on her, her no longer having a child certainly appealed to him. ‘I apologise for sounding flippant, only you’ve both become so much a part of Williamsburg, I sometimes forget you’ve only been here a short time.’
She off
ered him a terse nod, neither withholding her forgiveness nor accepting his weak apology. Influence or not, she wouldn’t stand this man a moment longer or allow him to believe he held too much sway over her and her choices. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my daughter.’
‘I’m sure you are a great comfort to her.’ He tapped the hat down over his short wig and made a move to leave, then stopped. He pressed the tip of his walking stick into the floor, resting his hands on the silver handle. ‘Before I go, you should know that my schooner encountered the Devil’s Rose. The pirates killed the Captain and a number of the crew, but most managed to escape.’
Cassandra’s pulse thudded in her ears, but she forced herself to show no alarm or concern about his remark. ‘I’m glad to hear your expedition was successful.’
‘Captain Rose was wounded in the fray, but he escaped.’ He fixed cold eyes on hers, as if taking the measure of her response.
‘Really?’ she asked in as light a voice as she could muster through the whirl of fear whipping at her. She wished Richard had sunk the schooner, then news of its activities wouldn’t have reached Mr Fitzwilliam so quickly, or brought him here to regard her as if he knew she was hiding Richard on her property.
Impossible, he can’t suspect anything. Or can he? She’d been Richard’s fiancée and then she’d been alone with him, the man everyone believed was Captain Rose, on the Devil’s Rose. If Mr Fitzwilliam suspected they might be the same man, she might be the one to confirm it. It further tightened her chest and made it difficult to keep her nerves steady.
Then Mr Fitzwilliam’s scrutinising look shifted into his usual sycophantic smile, but it didn’t ease the tension building inside Cassandra. It made it worse. ‘Don’t worry, my lady, either Captain Rose will die of his wounds or I’ll find him and bring him to justice. Good day.’
Cassandra sagged against the doorjamb once the bang of his boots on the front steps faded outside. Overhead, the quick stomp of Dinah’s feet across the nursery floor made the chandelier in the roundel in the sitting-room ceiling bounce on its chain. She’d ignored danger to indulge her whim to be with Richard last night, but she could no longer ignore the risks facing her. Richard shouldn’t be here and she shouldn’t be helping him. If Mr Fitzwilliam discovered it, she suspected he wouldn’t send her to jail, but use his knowledge to trap her in the same marital prison she’d endured with Giles before his death had freed her. There was only one way to remove the threat to both her and Richard. If Richard survived, he must seek the King’s Grace.
* * *
Vincent tapped his foot against the floorboards in time to the rock of the coach carrying them down the long and rutted drive.
‘The house is falling down around her and she has the audacity to hustle me out like a common pedlar all the while lying to me about her brat. Something kept her awake last night and I’ll bet my teeth it wasn’t the child.’ Vincent had caught sight of the healthy-looking girl on the stairs, before the Scottish housekeeper had hustled her away.
‘You think she’s taken a lover?’ Mr Adams asked.
‘If she has, I want you to find out who it is. The secret most dangerous to a lady is the one a gentleman discovers and only threatens to reveal. If she won’t marry me willingly, I’ll force her to the church. I won’t lose the opportunity to gain more influence in London or to expand my docks.’
With the deadline for repaying Mr Devlin fast approaching, the loss of the pirate’s silver and the cargo from the schooner was a devastating blow. If he controlled Belle View, he could use a large amount of its land as collateral while keeping control of the wharf. He could raise the mooring prices and encourage more traffic. The main house could be rented out to a wealthy family, perhaps one new to Virginia, a second son of an English nobleman and his wife who could provide more connections to Parliament for Vincent to exploit. Lady Shepherd was very much mistaken if she thought she could put him off.
‘I want to know if Captain Rose is dead, and the location of the Casa de Oro. Captain Dehesa can’t be allowed to get away with this or it’ll embolden others. I also want you to visit Mr Ross. I have another commission for him.’
By the time Vincent was through, Captain Rose would be dead and Lady Shepherd and Belle View would be his.
* * *
Faint footsteps on the front porch jerked Richard from a light sleep, sending a jolt of pain tearing through his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth until it passed, keeping an ear open for the sound outside again. This time it was the creak of the iron lock and the cautious turning of the door handle. He carefully reached over and took up the blunderbuss, cocked the hammer and pointed it at the door. He didn’t blow out the candle flickering on the table beside him, not wanting to alert whoever was on the other side that he was awake. He should have put it out before he’d fallen asleep and maintained the illusion that the cabin was deserted. He hadn’t planned on drifting off or sleeping after sunset, but the rum he’d drunk to ease the pain in his shoulder had made him sleepy.
The door finally swung open and Cassandra jerked to a halt in the doorway, her eyes flicking to the loaded weapon pointed at her. ‘It’s only me.’
The basket on her arm swung as she fought against a gust of wind to push the door closed. It made the light from the candle dance over the smooth planes of her brow and the fullness of her cheeks. She wore a plain, brown-cotton dress devoid of the fine embroidery, flourishes and the wide hips of her gown last night. Her hair was done up in a simple twist of pins and curls instead of an elaborate coiffure. She was more beautiful like this, reminding him of when she used to meet him in the fields for walks, her eyes wide and bright with anticipation for him.
Richard lowered the pistol, his heart racing. He’d become so accustomed to jumping at shadows, he’d nearly shot her. It sickened him to imagine it and he carefully set the weapon back on the table. ‘I’m glad to see you.’
He’d spent the day holed up in this cabin with his thoughts, passing in and out of sleep and wicked dreams of her, his family and revenge. A sense of loss he hadn’t experienced since the day he’d received Walter’s letter informing him of his father’s passing had gripped him during this last brief period of sleep and he’d awakened to the ringing loneliness of the sea.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier, but I couldn’t get away.’ She set the basket down beside the candle, removed cold meat and cheese and set them on the table. ‘A few farmers came to me to complain that the cows are in the fields and the fence needs to be mended so they don’t eat the wheat. Once they were gone it was two captains from the dock wanting to barter flour and apples for the mooring fee. I would have refused them, but I’m in as much need of food as I am their coin.’
Richard smiled at her while she spoke in quick words, joy and pride in the daily work she did at Belle View evident beneath her complaints.
She stopped in her unpacking, one hand on her hip in feigned indignation, the old Cas from five years ago strong in the gesture. ‘Do my concerns amuse you?’
‘No, it’s simply been a long time since I’ve thought of all the details necessary to running a plantation.’
‘There’s no end to them. I could amuse you for hours if you’d like.’ She removed two apples and set them beside the plate. One rolled towards the edge and Richard caught it with his good hand.
‘Please, I enjoy listening to it.’
‘I had to wait until the house was asleep before I could even come here. As it is, I barely missed being seen by one of the field hands who was returning from Williamsburg. I didn’t expect anyone to be out this late at night or to take the path close to here.’
‘What time is it?’ He bit into the apple, sighing at the fresh sweet taste of it.
‘Past ten o’clock.’ The thunder that had been growing steadily louder for the last hour boomed over the cabin, announcing the coming storm.
She handed him a smal
l loaf of bread from the basket. Richard’s stomach growled at the earthy scent of it and he bit off a hunk, savouring the warm chewiness. ‘I haven’t enjoyed fresh bread in months. It’s usually hard tack taken from Virginia Trading Company ships, hardly fit for rats much less men. Vincent doesn’t waste money on supplies for his sailors. He thinks it’s cheaper to replace a worn-out and scurvy-riddled crew than to provide better food. He’s always underestimated the importance of garnering the loyalty of those in his care.’ It was a lesson Richard had grasped and why his men continued to follow him, even when he fell short.
‘Speaking of Mr Fitzwilliam...’ She took out a roll of bandages, fumbling with the tightly wound cloth with ill-concealed unease, and Richard paused in eating his meal. ‘He knows about your encounter with the schooner and you being injured.’
The bread turned to dust on his mouth. ‘How do you know?’
She lifted a bottle of wine from the basket and set it beside the food, flicking at a loose piece of cork with her fingernail. ‘He came to see me this morning to tell me.’
The anger that had slammed into him the moment he’d learned of Vincent’s betrayal struck him again. He tossed the bread on the table, the charm of this little scene gone. ‘You know what kind of man Vincent is and what he’s done and still you cavort with him?’
‘I’ve done all I can to discourage his acquaintance, but my place in society here is tenuous and I can’t have him undermining it. I have no choice but to be cordial and hide my disgust no matter what he says or asks of me.’
Richard gripped the coverlet, the rough cotton catching on the calluses of his palm. ‘What has he asked of you?’
She trilled her fingers on the wine bottle and his stomach tightened, as reluctant to hear her answer as she was to give it. ‘To marry him.’
Richard swung his feet off the bed and sat up. He focused on the blunderbuss on the side table as the room swam around him. He wondered when he’d have to use it to kill a soldier once she turned on him just like everyone had when he’d been accused of piracy. ‘Tell me, how long until you send the Governor’s men for me?’