Edward’s hands were tied tightly behind his back as a larger cohort of men arrived to take control of the ship. Edward and his crew were taken aboard the federal ship and thrown into the brig.
“What will you do with us?” he croaked. His forehead beaded with sweat, and it began to drip into his eyes. He would have liked to think that it was solely due to the heat, but he knew it was more from fear.
“You’ll be taken to Washington.” The man shoved Edward into the tiny cell with the rest of his crew and locked the door. There was barely room for any of them to spread their arms, let alone sit down. In embarrassment and a growing panic, Edward bowed his head, his back to the wall, and slid down it to curl into a ball on the floor.
Chapter Six
Anna’s jaw dropped, and she stared in disbelief at the man in front of her. This man, whom she had loved so well. This man, the father of her child. This man had been in prison.
“Why?” she whispered.
“I was accused of being a Confederate sympathizer. A spy. I was thrown into prison and remained there for the duration of the war.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and her stomach clenched.
Anna blurted out her question before she realized what she was saying. “Were you? A spy?”
Edward turned to face her, eyes full of hurt. “How can you even ask me that? I was a child, Anna! I went on my first great adventure away from my parents and ended up lost and alone and imprisoned. The ship was blown off course, and we landed in Boston, hundreds of miles from the buyer in Virginia. By the time the ship was repaired and ready to be delivered, war had been declared, and I was accused of running the blockade.”
“Was it terrible?” The ice around her heart began to thaw, just a fraction. Looking into his face, she could see the young man she had loved. She could imagine how frightened he must have been.
“It was hell.”
He put his head into his hands, and his words were muffled. “I’m sorry, Anna. I should go. I know I don’t deserve you. I know you can’t forgive me.”
She gently took his face in her hands and pulled his head up. She kissed his forehead, his scarred cheek, then pressed her lips to his. She poured seven years of sorrow into the kiss, seven years of joy in her son, seven years of being alone, and he took all of it. She tasted the salt of tears on his lips, but she didn’t know whether they were hers or his. He pulled her closer, and she fell into his lap. She wanted to climb into his skin with him, to be as close as possible.
Edward began to unbutton her gown. Gradually the garment fell open, exposing her chemise. He moved his mouth from her lips to the tops of her breasts. She gave herself over to sensation, to the feeling of her heated flesh against his moist lips. She moaned and let her head fall back, only dimly aware of the warmth of the sun on her face from the window.
The window. Anna’s head snapped up, and she tried to push herself off his lap, only to have Edward hold her tighter. What was the matter with her? She had nearly made love to Edward in her kitchen. Then her gaze fixed upon the kitchen door, and she froze.
Edward must have sensed her distress. “What’s wrong?” He caressed her neck, raining kisses along the top of her spine.
Anna shrugged him off, pointed at the door.
He shook his head. “I don’t understand. What’s the matter?”
“The door!”
Edward reached for her again, pulling her close. “What about the door?”
“It’s opening.”
Edward’s head whipped around; the door was indeed opening. Anna clambered off his lap and fastened the buttons on her gown. Edward stood and adjusted his trousers, an aggravating little grin on his face.
The door opened fully and her kitchen maid, Margret Allen, walked in. She stopped short as she saw Anna and Edward standing in front of her, and her gaze swept across Anna with concern.
“Miss Templeton! Are you all right?” She eyed Edward suspiciously.
“Of course, Margret.”
“Who’s he then?” Margret removed her hat and wrap and hung them on a peg by the door, then sidled over to the counter, her fingers hovering over the knives. Anna wanted to sink through the floor.
She glanced at Edward, who continued to look entirely too pleased with himself.
“He was just leaving,” she said. Margret pressed her lips into a line, clearly unsatisfied with this response. Before the girl could ask any more questions, Anna said, “Would you please go down to the cellar and fetch some potatoes?”
Margret looked as if she wanted to argue, but she was at heart a good girl who did as she was told. With another sharp look at Edward, she clumped down the stairs.
Edward chuckled and pulled Anna close again. He had recovered entirely too quickly from his earlier despair, she thought. Irritated, embarrassed, and so confused, she pushed him away when he tried to kiss her.
“Stop it, Edward! Margret may not be the brightest girl, but she isn’t stupid. She’s also a bit of a gossip, and she’ll be back up the stairs before you know it.”
“Very well. But we haven’t finished this, Anna.”
“Edward, this has all happened so fast. I shouldn’t have kissed you. There is too much left unsettled between us, and your secret…” She turned away from him, as the mild amusement in his eyes was giving way to something else—hurt, she thought, and it was breaking her resolve. “Well, I need time to think about that.”
“Anna, if you are worried that I would harm you, or Zachary, in any way, I would never…”
“I know. But this has all happened too fast. I hadn’t seen you for so long, and then you were kissing me, and I was kissing you, and…I just need to think. Edward, I…” She broke off as she heard Margret’s lumbering tread on the stairs. “Damn it!” She looked around frantically as she tried to think of something else for the girl to retrieve, but came up empty. “Oh, just go! Go!”
Edward laughed, kissed her quickly, and fled.
Margret reentered the room, her skirts full of potatoes, and glanced around for Edward.
Anna’s face heated. “Thank you, Margret. I, uh, forgot to ask you for onions. Please.” The girl looked from Anna to the bowl of onions on the counter, but she dumped the potatoes next to them and returned to the cellar.
Anna let out a deep breath and touched her lips, which still tingled.
****
Edward walked aimlessly for a while. The mud on his clothes had dried, making them stiff and uncomfortable. His clothes were not the only thing that was stiff, he thought ruefully. He could still feel the weight of Anna on his lap, the warmth of the soft skin of her breasts on his lips.
He was astonished when Anna had responded to his admission the way she did. He tried not to thank all that was holy; his life never seemed to work that way, and he knew that before teatime it would be all over town that Miss Templeton was entertaining an unknown gentleman, alone, in her kitchen. Very soon, they would know it was Edward.
Poor Anna. He had managed to make her life difficult with no inconvenience to him—again. He wondered if Anna had ever told anyone that he was Zachary’s father. Did Zachary even know? What had she told him?
A shout from across the street tore his attention away from his own unsatisfactory musings. Weston stood there, oozing malevolence.
He waited, knowing Weston would hate having to cross the street to meet him. Edward watched with amusement as he finally crossed, gingerly picking his way through dung and mud. Just as he was nearly across, a passing carriage splattered him.
His dark eyes flashing with active dislike—if not something more—Weston looked Edward up and down, clearly taking note of his filthy trousers and coat. “What happened to you?”
For reasons he did not quite understand, Edward decided not to tell the man the truth. “The same thing that happened to you, of course.”
Weston narrowed his eyes. “The mud on your clothing is dry. Where have you been?”
“I can’t possibly imagine why that would be any of your con
cern.” Edward considered for a moment. This was not the best place to have a business conversation, but he plunged ahead. “Have you vacated the premises of Mason Shipyards, as we discussed?”
“Weston Shipyards. And no. I have a proposition for you.”
“Weston, I am grateful that you kept the business going after my father died. But I am not dead, no matter how you might wish to the contrary, and the shipyard belongs to me. From what I understand, you are wealthy enough now. I am gentleman enough not to begrudge you the money you earned while managing the shipyards for me. Now kindly relinquish what is mine and move on.”
“My dear boy,” Weston began in a patronizing tone, “you have no idea how to run a concern such as this. Heaven only knows where you have been over the last seven years, but I am reasonably certain it was not serving as the manager of a thriving business. You need my help.”
Edward regarded him coldly. The man was right, to a point, but Edward didn’t think he needed Weston’s brand of help. He had never liked David Weston, who had always spoken to Edward with a superficial, patronizing air, particularly when Edward’s father was absent. Edward had always had the feeling that if he hadn’t been the son of the owner, Weston would have kicked him into the street like a common cur.
“I don’t believe I do. I watched my father for many years. When I left, the business was prosperous. The men we employed enjoyed their work, took pride in their craftsmanship. Although the business is still successful, the men you employ are dispirited, jumping at shadows. If that is the kind of assistance you seek to provide, I believe I will do better without it.”
A crowd which Edward had not seen gather around them broke into applause. Weston cast visual daggers at all of them, then spun on his heels and stomped away. Edward’s gaze flicked across the assembled throng until I found Anna, leaning against the doorway of the pub, a secret smile on her face.
Although he felt a certain satisfaction at winning this exchange, the look in Weston’s eyes, the determined set of his jaw, made Edward nervous. He accepted congratulations from some of the men, then set off after Weston.
He arrived at the shipyard close on his heels. Weston stormed up the stairs and slammed the door so hard the glass shattered and fell out of the frame. Edward immediately thought better of bearding the lion in his den and opted not to follow him. If he had learned anything in prison, it was that one never went into a volatile situation without others to back him up. He went out into the yard and called to one of the men, a big man Edward thought was called Caldwell. He remembered the man working closely with his father.
“Yes, my lord.” The man’s long stride quickly closed the gap between them, and he stood at attention in front of Edward.
“I am Edward Mason.”
“I know who you are, my lord.” He looked Edward up and down, as if judging his fitness.
Edward stood a bit straighter and tried not to squirm under the other man’s examination. “I am resuming control of the shipyards. I am a bit concerned about Mr. Weston’s state of mind. I wonder if you might accompany me upstairs to ensure that he leaves the premises without incident.”
“I’d be happy to see the man’s backside, and no mistake.” Caldwell patted Edward on the back with enough vigor to make him cough.
Two other men agreed to assist, and the four of them ascended the stairs.
Weston stood facing the window barking orders to his hapless clerk, who bustled about the room as if he were a recently beheaded chicken. The clerk stopped short when he noticed Edward and the other men. All the color drained from his face. He hurried to his desk in the outer office and fished a key from his waistcoat pocket, dropping it on the desk. He grabbed his coat, hat, and a fountain pen and fled without a backward glance.
Edward raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Weston continued to rail, oblivious to their presence.
Finally, Weston began to turn to face the room. “I should have…” He stopped when he saw Edward, his face resembling that of his departed clerk. Edward wanted to laugh but didn’t think levity was quite appropriate.
He waved his arms toward the men with him. “These gentlemen are here to assist you in carrying your things to your carriage, Weston. I am sure you must have gathered some personal items in your long tenure here.”
“I don’t need anything from you, Mason,” he spat. He attempted to leave the room, but Edward blocked his path.
He held out his hand. “Your keys, please.”
Weston reached into his pocket and tossed his keys onto the floor at Edward’s feet. He wove around Edward and left.
Edward took a deep breath and rubbed his temples with one hand. Then he looked up at the men who stood silently behind him. “I don’t suppose any of you might know a good clerk?”
Chapter Seven
By the end of the day, everyone in town knew Anna had been entertaining her former sweetheart in the pub before it opened and knew said sweetheart had thrown David Weston out on his ear. The ornate sign reading “Weston Shipyards” now lay in the street, dented and covered with dung, while a new Mason Shipyards sign hung in its place.
Anna wasn’t sure how to feel about this turn of events. Weston was a powerful man in this small town, and he was not the type to accept defeat with good grace. He would be a threat to Edward, and she didn’t think Edward truly understood that.
She was also very confused. She didn’t know how she felt about Edward at this moment. In her gut, she knew he must have been wrongfully imprisoned. It was a time of war, and Edward had been just barely an adult. But he had been away for Zachary’s entire life, including two years after the war in America ended. Questions remained unanswered, and until she knew everything, she didn’t think she wanted him to be a part of her boy’s life.
Zachary had expressed only idle curiosity about his father’s identity over the years, and she had been noncommittal. She had known she would need to face the issue at some point, but had put it off as long as she could. Maybe, she thought now, she had always somehow believed that if she told him his father was dead, she would have to admit it to herself. That she had never been ready to do. Now that Edward was home—and very much alive—she could not wait any longer. Someone would notice the obvious resemblance and would say something. Zach needed to know the truth, or at least part of it, from her.
She was waiting for him in the kitchen when he came home from school, with a plate of fresh cookies and a glass of milk, just as she always was. Zachary needed routine; any disruption of it caused him a great deal of distress. Yet another reason why she had never told him anything about his father.
He flew in from the street and tossed his satchel on the table, then stuffed a warm cookie into his mouth.
“Mam, you’ll never guess what we learned today!” Zach loved school; every day was a new discovery.
“Don’t speak with your mouth full, Zachary,” she said automatically, in what she thought of as her “mother” voice.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, then washed down the cookie with half a glass of milk.
“So, what did you learn in school?” Anna said, before he got so distracted he forgot what he was going to tell her.
“We had a geography lesson about America. Did you know there’s a city there called Boston, and it’s in a place called New England?”
What a coincidence, she thought dryly. “Actually, I did know that. I was just talking to someone today who has been to Boston.”
“Really?! Who?”
It was now or never, Anna thought, and opened her mouth to speak just as Margret came into the room. She sighed. The girl’s timing was impeccable today.
“I’ll just be going, Miss Templeton, unless there’s anything else you need?” Margret removed her wrap from the peg by the door and waited expectantly.
“No, thank you, that will be all for today. Have a pleasant evening.”
Margret nodded and slipped out the door. Anna was once again alone with Zachary, but he had finished his snack and wa
s squirming in his chair, Boston clearly forgotten.
“Can I go outside, Mam?”
“May I,” Anna said automatically.
Zachary grinned. “May I go outside, Mam?”
Anna pushed a lock of dark hair off his face and smiled. “Of course. Teatime in an hour, mind.”
“I will! Bye, Mam!” He was out the door in a flash.
Anna sighed again. She tidied up and began to get ready for the dinner crowd.
****
Hours later, Edward sat in his shirtsleeves in what was now his office, his eyes glazing over from hours spent scrutinizing the company ledgers. Whatever else Weston was, he knew how to make money. The shipyards were more profitable than they had ever been, with orders from Her Majesty’s Navy, America, Spain, and elsewhere. But Weston had made the business profitable at the expense of its workers, and this was where Edward’s interests diverged from Weston’s. The men were working nonstop to fill the orders but were not being paid extra for the additional hours. Weston should have hired at least twenty more employees, but he hadn’t. As workers fell ill—an inevitable consequence of the extra labor—Weston sacked them but hired no replacements. The orders were stacking up, and if Edward couldn’t turn it around, and fast, they would lose buyers. Their reputation would be in tatters.
As the clock on the mantel chimed, he realized he hadn’t left his chair since before lunch. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t actually eaten any lunch. Deciding to head to the pub, he told himself he was simply hungry, and it had nothing to do with wanting to see Anna. Shrugging into his coat, he headed downstairs into the yard and gave the foreman instructions to hire at least ten more men.
Satisfied that he had taken steps to fend off the immediate crisis, he stepped outside the gate, and something pelted him hard in the shoulder. He nearly spun around with the impact. “What the!”
A boy was running toward him. Zachary, again.
“Sorry, mister!” He stopped just short of smacking into Edward and looked up. “Oh, it’s you.”
Secret Promise Page 5